Music Boxes E-Book

Tonja Drecker

• Herausgeber: Dancing Lemur Press LLC
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 247

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

“I only desire your talent...”

Twelve-year-old Lindsey McKay's biggest dream is to be a famous ballerina. But after moving to New York, she ends up at the Community Center with a teacher who’s a burly bear in tights.

When she meets Madame Destinée, the teacher of a top dance school who offers her classes for free, Lindsey can't believe her luck. In exchange, she must perform in the school’s exclusive midnight shows, ones sure to make her a star. But something’s not right...

One by one, the other dancers disappear. Each time they do, a music box with a figurine just like the missing ballerina joins Madame Destinée’s growing collection. If Lindsey doesn’t discover the truth about the dance school, she might end up a tiny figurine herself.

Leseprobe

Tonja Drecker

DANCING LEMUR PRESS, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

“A powerful story with a compelling, mystical tale of adventure. 5 stars” – Readers’ Favorite

“…based on a powerful concept, with echoes of the Brothers Grimm. It will provide plenty of chills and excitement…” – Anne Digby, author of Trebizon Series

“Deliciously creepy with a side of sinister, Drecker weaves an enticing story of talent, jealousy, and dark magic.” - Dianne K. Salerni, author of The Eighth Day series

“Tonja Drecker has woven a fascinating tale of mystery and suspense.” – Beverly Stowe McClure, award-winning author

“An ending that will surprise you…” – Fran Lewis of Book Pleasures

“Author Tonja Drecker has created a spellbinding and magical journey in Music Boxes; a journey every reader will be delighted in taking.” – Diane Mae Robinson, multi-award-winning children’s author.

“Highly imaginative and more than a little creepy, Tonja Drecker’s Music Boxes is a novel to get lost in. A delicious sense of atmospheric foreboding pervades much of the book.” – Susan Rooke, author of The Space Between: The Prophecy of Fairies

“Music Boxes is a terrific thriller for young fans of Goosebumps and other books that go bump in the night.” – Laurisa White Reyes, award-winning author

“Before you do anything else, pick up a copy of Tonja Drecker’s MUSIC BOXES. The magical parts are enchanting, the exciting parts heart-pounding, and the poignant moments completely wrenching.” - Ilana Waters, USA Today bestselling author

“I highly recommend MUSIC BOXES--a magical story of aspirations, avarice, and arabesques!” - Tara Tyler, author

“Music Boxes is like a modern day fairy tale.” – Melody J. Bremen, author

“I highly recommend this book to fans of YA paranormals. It had me under its spell.” - Christine Rains, author

“This book will have you turning pages well into the night…” – Ellen Jacobson, author

“…readers of all ages will love this story. Congratulations, Ms. Drecker for your masterful crafting of this remarkable book!” - Deanie Humphrys-Dunne, children’s author

“I loved the intricacies of the sibling relationship…” – Book Room Reviews, 4 hearts

“With its engaging sense of mystery and intrigue, and a cast of international characters, Music Boxes will enchant you.” - P.K. Hrezo, author

“Follow Lindsey on this peculiar tale of what can happen when your desire to make your dream come true, can make everything else slip away.” - Ruth A. Douthitt, author and Christian Writers of the West: Arizona president

“Well-crafted with suspense and passion, this book is a hypnotic mystery that you won’t want to put down.” - Alysson Foti Bourque, award-winning author

“…a captivating read.” – Nayu’s Reading Corner

“An enchanting mystery young readers will enjoy.” – Kids Bookshelf

“…it’s scary, but in a fun Goosebumps way.” – Geek Reads Kids

“I highly recommend this book, and I cannot wait to read it again!” Pages For Thought Reviews

Copyright 2019 by Tonja Drecker

Published by Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383

http://www.dancinglemurpressllc.com/

ISBN 9781939844576

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form–either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other–except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by C.R.W.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataNames: Drecker, Tonja, author.Title: Music boxes / Tonja Drecker.Description: Pikeville, North Carolina : Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C., [2019]    | Summary: When her family moves to New York so her younger sister can    attend Juilliard, twelve-year-old Lindsey finds solace performing in    Madame Destinâee's exclusive midnight ballet shows until she realizes that    her fellow dancers are disappearing and Madame's music box collection is    growing. Identifiers: LCCN 2018040062 (print) | LCCN 2018046523 (ebook) | ISBN    9781939844576 (ebook) | ISBN 9781939844569 (pbk. : alk. paper)Subjects: | CYAC: Sisters--Fiction. | Ballet dancing--Fiction. |    Witches--Fiction. | Magic--Fiction. | Ability--Fiction. |    Jealousy--Fiction.Classification: LCC PZ7.1.D765 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.D765 Mu 2019 (print) | DDC    [Fic]--dc23LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018040062

To all those dreamers who do

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Twenty-four stairs led up to the apartment, twenty-four final stairs. Lindsey squeezed her sleeping bag tight against her chest and stared at the staircase in front of her. Each step rose higher and higher, twisting in a never-ending spiral through the air. It seemed to snicker, as if daring her to go near it.

A mixture of dust and musty air filled her lungs as she took a deep breath. Ugh. She didn’t want to be here. The house back in Nebraska was the only home she’d ever known—a big house with four bedrooms. Now, they were moving into an apartment in the middle of Manhattan, a small one with only two bedrooms. There wasn’t even a balcony let alone a yard.

“Aren’t these brick walls gorgeous? It’s like taking a peek into New York history. Jacques d’Amboise was from this area, Washington Heights.” The screech of Mom’s shoes against the wet floor announced her coming up from behind.

Lindsey nodded and gazed at the brick walls. She was sure Jacques never had anything to do with these walls. He was an amazing ballet dancer and an even more awesome choreographer. Definitely not someone who would find plain brick walls exciting. Why Mom thought they were so pretty was beyond her. They were brown. Boring. Back on the farm in Nebraska, every room had been painted in a different color of the rainbow. The kitchen beamed yellow sunshine, the living room was caterpillar green, and Lindsey’s room shone in misty blue to match the summer sky over the corn fields. Here, the walls were the color of squishy mud. Worms found mud fantastic.

Lindsey was not a worm.

Mom tugged her stocking cap over her head, making the black ends of her bobbed hair sink under a mushroom of pink fuzziness. “Go on upstairs while I grab the rest of the stuff from the car. Your father had to finish up some paperwork over at the warehouse, and I’m afraid your sister will get scared sitting up in the apartment all by herself.” She tried to add a smile, but a yawn got in the way. With a pat to Lindsey’s shoulder, she headed back outside.

Lindsey stared at the old staircase. Again. It hadn’t disappeared while she wasn’t looking, which was too bad. Taking a deep breath, she marched straight at it.

Creak. The first stair sent goose bumps up and down her arms.

Creak. The second could have come from a haunted house.

Sliding her heels together, she stretched her toes straight out to the sides.

“1st position!”

Skipping up to the next stair, she shifted her heels farther apart.

“2nd Position!”

Eight more stairs meant two rounds through all five ballet positions. The first landing was perfect for a pirouette. She planted her legs, threw one arm up into the air, and spun with the sleeping bag clutched to her chest. Around and around and around...

Her boot stuck like old bubblegum, and she went flying against the railing. At first her breath caught, but then a giggle slipped out. Staring past the banister, she gazed up at the stairs above. Five floors shot upwards high and tall.

“Hello!” Her voice echoed, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Hello! Hello!” she called again, and her voice echoed back. She had to tell Bridget. She’d love it.

Squeak. The sound raked from behind—loud and long.

Clunk.

Swallowing hard, Lindsey gripped the sleeping bag as a shield and spun around.

The door on the left, Apartment 2A, opened. The smell of moth balls and lemony cleaner poured from inside. An old woman appeared from the shadows beyond the door. Ringlets of tight gray hair piled into a wobbly mound on top of her head. Each of her movements carried the moan of ten thousand years. The woman shoved a folding chair smack dab in the middle of the doorway and plopped down onto it. The aluminum groaned under the weight of her over-sized backside as she folded her arms across her chest and glared.

“Hello.” Lindsey cranked a friendly smile, one that hopefully fit introductions to new neighbors...even the kind that gave her the creeps. “I’m Lindsey. We’re moving in upstairs.”

The woman’s lips cranked from one side to the other, and the mole under her nose wiggled like a fat bug. She drew in a rattling breathe and held it.

One...

Two...

“Don’t play on the stairs!”

Lindsey yelped and bolted up the next flight, stumbling as her feet tried to keep up with the rest of her. Her boots screeched when she hit the next landing and skidded through the open door to the right.

“Bridget?” The words stuck in her throat. “Bridget?” she screamed louder.

Nobody answered. Emptiness settled in.

Fighting a shiver, Lindsey stared at the living room. White paint beckoned from every side, except for the far wall. That one was brick, the kind her mom liked so much. A row of windows stretched across one of the other walls from ceiling to floor, which might invite the sun in if it weren’t so cloudy. But it was. Super dreary and gray.

Off in the corner, a kitchen stood guarded by a breakfast island. A short hallway with three doors shot off to the right. The door at the end of the hall was open, displaying a bathtub. That left the two other doors: one to the left, and one to the right.

“Bridget?” she repeated, sliding toward the hallway.

An off-pitched tone sang from behind the door on the right.

When Lindsey opened it, she found walls striped white and pink, carrying as much excitement as a paled candy cane.

Bridget sat cross-legged in the middle of the bare wooden floor. She brought the violin down from her shoulder and perched it straight up between her legs. She rested her chin on the end of the scroll, making her cheeks puff out like a big bull frog.

Lindsey dropped her sleeping bag to the floor and slumped down on top of it. Her heart still thundered in her ears, and she had to stuff her hands under her thighs to keep them from shaking. “Did you see the woman downstairs?”

Bridget shook her head, making her pigtails flop against her cheeks. “Nope.”

“Good. You don’t want to. Trust me. She’s a witch.”

Bridget’s chocolate eyes widened. “A real witch? Did she cast a spell on you?”

“No, not that kind of witch. I meant she’s mean. Cranky.” Lindsey started to roll her eyes but stopped. Bridget was smart when it came to school and especially her violin, but she was more gullible than most eight-year-olds. Getting to her knees, Lindsey untied the sleeping bag and rolled it open across the floor.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let her turn you into a toad.”

Bridget pursed her lips. “We can sneak downstairs and steal her broomstick.”

And fly all the way back to Nebraska. Lindsey picked at the end of the zipper, wondering if any of her friends back home would let her move in with them. But Mom and Dad wouldn’t approve of that. Not in a thousand years.

“Bridget, I don’t hear the violin.” Mom’s voice came from somewhere past the apartment door.

Bridget sighed and shoved her violin under her chin. “Maybe the witch could cast a spell to make my violin practice itself.” A second later, music filled the room.

Lindsey stretched out across her sleeping bag and stared at the light bulb bobbling down from a bare wire sticking out of the ceiling. It hung there, dusty and alone.

Everything the McKay family owned was stuffed in the back of a moving truck battling its way through a blizzard somewhere on the other side of the country. All Lindsey had was one super-small suitcase with a couple of sweaters, jeans, socks, and underwear. And her music box. Mom insisted she pack it in her suitcase for fear it might be damaged in the moving truck. Lindsey had to take out her ballet outfit to make it fit. The trade was anything but fair, but there was no arguing with Mom.

Shaking off a sudden chill, Lindsey dug the music box out of her suitcase and balanced it on her knee. It had been a present from Grandma for her twelfth birthday—a handmade original from the famous toymaker Jeannot Broussard. Being a collector’s item, it was expensive, too. Mostly because the toymaker had disappeared without a trace after his sister’s ballet performance in Paris. Completely vanished. All that was ever found of him was a pile of clothes in the center of her dressing room with a big, red apple in the middle of his shirt collar where his head would have been.

The lid of the music box squeaked as Lindsey lifted it. The tiny ballerina inside spun on her pedestal. Her yellow tutu flared out like rays of sunshine. Her smile beamed. Her posture was perfect. Lindsey closed her eyes and pictured herself on a stage. The music playing...the crowd applauding...

“I’m sorry.” Bridget held her violin half-kilter between her legs and chin.

Lindsey sniffed and quickly rubbed away tears she didn’t know she had. “Sorry for what?”

“For everything. I know you’re sad, and I know it’s my fault.” Bridget’s eyes shimmered.

Hopefully not with real tears. Lindsey could stand almost anything but not when Bridget cried.

“Don’t be a goofball. Nothing’s your fault. You’re amazing! How many people get to say that their little sister will be one of the best violinists in the world and mean it?”

Bridget pushed her legs out straight, making the bells on her Christmas socks cling and ring. All other gifts they’d unwrapped the day before the move had been stuffed into a box in that lost moving truck.

“You mean it? You’re not angry?”

“With you? Nah.” The beaming grin Lindsey wore was real. She was proud of Bridget. So proud that it was almost enough to drown out the stab of hurt she had every time she thought of leaving Nebraska and her ballet. Almost. But Bridget was right—the move was her fault. Everything was her fault.

When Mom and Dad told her that Bridget was going to apply for Julliard, she’d thought they were joking. Bridget was only eight! But it turned out that eight was old enough for the pre-college program. Bridget should have started that Fall, but with Grandma’s bad health, Dad’s work, and other things, they’d had to wait until now. Part of Lindsey hoped Julliard would have changed their mind in that time. But they didn’t.

Now, Dad had to work two jobs, and Mom needed to work full time at a café several blocks away. Sure, Bridget had scholarships and grants, but that didn’t cover everything. New York was expensive, or that’s what Mom and Dad said. Everything they did and every cent they earned went to Bridget.

Lindsey poked at the figurine’s tutu, wishing she could squish it, but it bounced right back.

“Mom said your new ballet teacher is really good.”

Lindsey kicked her legs out in front of her. They felt stiff. “Yep, that’s what Mom said.” That didn’t mean Mom knew what she was talking about. Classes at the Community Center didn’t count as real ballet no matter how well-known the teacher had been. Community Center meant trash. Even if the instructor had been a famous Russian dancer a hundred years ago, no one ever went from Community Center to the New York City Ballet.

Never.

“Bridget? I don’t hear you practicing.” Mom called again, more tired than angry.

“Yes, Mom.” Bridget stuck out her tongue, not that Mom could see, but it made Lindsey smile. A bit.

Before the first notes filled the room, Lindsey flipped onto her side away from Bridget and stared at her music box. The tiny wooden ballerina turned on the pedestal. She’d always spin and be the star of her own little stage. If only Lindsey would have that chance too.

CHAPTER 2

Hours later, a moving tower of sleeping bags and pillows blocked the doorway. Underneath, poking out like a pair of chopsticks, were Mom’s legs.

“It’s going to be another hour or so before we can have lunch,” she mumbled from behind the stack as if it had swallowed her alive.

“Really?” Lindsey’s stomach rumbled.

“One hour. I promise.” Mom backed away with a wobble and turned down the hall.

One hour. Although Lindsey hadn’t been hungry before, eating cooked spinach sounded like a treat right now. Or maybe not. A pizza wouldn’t have been bad, though.

“Are you hungry, too?”

Bridget nodded. “Yeah. I want pizza.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lindsey sprang to her feet and charged into the hallway. “Mom?”

The mound of blankets stopped outside of Mom and Dad’s bedroom door with a huff and another wobble. “Can’t it wait a second?”

Her stomach’s rumble made that a definite no. “I could run and get a couple of pizzas. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. There was a sign for a grocery store around the corner. It’s really close.”

The pile of blankets sank. “I don’t know. Are you sure it isn’t too far for you to go by yourself?”

“It’s not far.” Back in Nebraska, Lindsey went everywhere by herself. Even Bridget had been allowed to walk the two blocks to her friend’s house alone, and Bridget was four years younger.

A long, heavy breath made the pile fatter than before. “I know you’re accustomed to more freedom, but New York isn’t Nebraska. It’s more dangerous here. Why do you think we have three locks on the door?”

Lindsey glanced back at the door, sure Mom was joking. Nope. Three dead bolts rowed the edge of the frame, with a chain at the top. As if the locks knew she watched them, they began to turn and clunk—one after the other. Lindsey stepped back, not sure what to expect. Something dangerous, after what Mom had said.

“Honey, I’m home!”

She dove at Dad before he even made it through the door. His fat parka swallowed her face as she squeezed into his waist and breathed in the smell of motor oil and peppermints.

“Whoa! You’d think I hadn’t seen you in years.”

“Hey, Dad. I bet you’re hungry, so starved you could eat a bear.” She stepped back to watch him unzip his coat. His head nearly hit the top of the door frame, and his hair poked out in all directions. Melted snowflakes glistened on the ends. His puffy cheeks shone as bright and red as his rounded nose.

“Why? Was one delivered to our door?” he asked.

Mom hurried over and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Lindsey wants to run to the store and pick up some pizzas.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll take sausage.”

“But do you think that’s safe? We just moved here.” Mom’s forehead wrinkled.

Lindsey knew she worried—a mom thing—but now that she was only three months away from becoming a teenager, Lindsey hoped she’d get over that.

“I thought that’s why we moved to this part of Washington Heights. Family friendly. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Dad added a wink, the one that always made Mom give in.

“I guess you’re right. But I have something she has to have first.” Mom headed back down the hall and disappeared into the door on the left.

Lindsey wondered what she was about to get. A cellphone? That’d be neat. Mom and Dad had never allowed her to have one in Nebraska. Maybe New York was different.

Dad leaned closer to Lindsey’s ear. “She grew up in Nebraska. The big city scares her, but she’s not wrong. It is more dangerous here. You’ll have to keep your eyes open, even with the thing she’s about to give you.”

“What is it?”

His answer was a smile. He barely had time to pull back before Mom returned with a black, egg-shaped keychain. She held it between calloused fingers. “Here, take this with you.”

Lindsey stared at it. It had one button in the center, and that was it. Not a cellphone. “What is it?”

“An alarm. You push the button, and everyone within a block will hear it. It has 135 decibels.” She dropped it into Lindsey’s hand. “That’s about as loud as an airplane taking off.”

Dad peered over her shoulder. “You might want to plug your ears when you use it.”

“So, this alarm is great because if no one comes to help me, at least the bad guy will be deaf?”

Mom blinked with confusion. “No. It will scare them away.”

Lindsey sighed. Mom must have been overly exhausted to not get the joke.

Dad wrapped an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “She’s joking, honey.”

Never ready to miss a family hug or a hint, Lindsey quickly joined in. “It’s great, Mom. Thanks.” And it was. Even though the alarm wasn’t a cellphone, it got her outside. That was already worth a lot.

With the alarm and money for the pizzas stuffed into her pocket, Lindsey headed out the door. Before going down the stairs, she leaned over the railing and peered down to make sure Witch 2A wasn’t still sitting there. Her witch’s brew must have been keeping her busy because not a single sound came from the apartment, and the door stayed closed.

“Here it goes.” Taking a deep breath, Lindsey dashed down the stairs and out the door.

Rumbling traffic vibrated from the neighboring streets behind a wall of parked cars. The sidewalk in front of the apartment building stretched all the way to the street and was wide enough to play four-square. That was better than nothing. A row of trees growing along the edge towered big and tall, but the lower limbs were chopped away, keeping the branches too high to reach. Lindsey tugged her hood tighter over her head, went down the block, and continued around the corner.

New York was how she pictured it. More or less. Lights, cars, and buildings pushed from every direction. Some stood stubby, some tall and lean, and some stretched out flat as if the next story had been chopped off. People swarmed in both directions, zigzagging as they went. They were bundled tight without smiles or passing hellos. Lindsey kept her head down, only glancing up to make sure she didn’t run into anyone or miss the store, which had to be coming up soon.

A high-pitched yip came from the side, and she looked over. Talk about cute! A small terrier tied to a post waggled his tail and barked at the people passing by. No one paid any attention to him, although his super sweetness begged to be petted. Two black circles ran around each eye, giving him the look of a canine nerd, and a tuft of gray fur flopped over his eyes. When a few more people slid by him without the least bit of interest, he whined. Poor thing. He was too small to be out in such a big crowd.

“Hi, there.” She crouched down and scratched between his ears. “You look like a furry little Einstein. Are you waiting for someone?”

Certain that his owner was inside the store, she gazed through the glass pane. Instead of shelves loaded with things to buy, a large, open room waited on the other side. She rubbed her glove over the glass to clear away the fog and leaned in for a closer look. Colorful figures moved everywhere, swirling, jumping, and flying. Dancers.

“Excuse me, darling. I’m afraid my dog isn’t as friendly as he appears.” A tall, slender woman stepped up from behind, unhooked the dog’s leash, and lifted him into her arms.

“Oh, sorry.” Lindsey said without looking up. A boy in a purple cape darted past in a row of amazing turns. Behind him, two girls in pink reveled en pointe, and then they stretched their legs out behind them into a pair of perfect arabesques.

“They are spellbinding, aren’t they?” the woman asked.

Lindsey nodded, not wanting to look away. Not for a second.

“I’m Madame Destinée. I own this dance school.”

When a slender hand appeared next to Lindsey’s face, she turned and stumbled to her feet. The second she saw the woman, the statement about owning the dance school hit full force. The dark blue leotard perfectly matched her skirt and tights. Her black hair parted down the middle of her scalp and was pulled so tight into a bun on the back of her head that it must have hurt. She gazed down, batting long eyelashes over a pair of bright red lips. “Do you dance, darling?”

Lindsey started to nod but then stuck out her hand to return the shake. The woman’s fingers were boney and icy-cold, but that was no wonder considering it was freezing outside. “I’ve been taking ballet lessons since I was six.”

“Oh my. You must be good. Perhaps you’d like to take lessons here. I bet you’d fit right in.” She waved her arm toward the window and the dancers inside.

Lindsey peered back. The studio was amazing, so much better than the one she’d attended in Nebraska. And the dancers were fantastic! Each movement flowed as if they’d been practicing for years.

A girl in red spun by the window. Her skirt swung out like a budding rose. So beautiful! Even if Lindsey was allowed to take classes here—and she already could hear Mom’s flat “no”—the dance school owner was wrong. She’d never fit in. She was talented. Sure. But these dancers were genius. It’d take years before she caught up to them.

“Your school looks great, but I’m already signed up for classes somewhere else.” It was a good excuse. Too bad it was also true.

“Might I inquire where?”

Lindsey dug her fingernails into the inside of her gloves. “The Community Center,” she mumbled.

“Ah, Mr. Lagunov! He’s a fine teacher.”

Lindsey blinked. Wow. The woman knew him. But he had been famous once, so it probably wasn’t super surprising.

“My mom said he danced for the Russian ballet,” she said.

“That’s true. He was extremely talented. How lovely that he’s giving classes to the community now. A shame, too.”

“Why?”

“His lessons are...umm...let’s say lacking. The Community Center simply doesn’t have the funding needed to nurture true talent. My school is the finest in the city. I’d say the best in the world, but that would be a bit presumptuous, and we don’t want to appear arrogant, do we, darling? You should know that I only accept the best.”

On the other side of the window, the girl in red leaped through the air like a shooting comet. So high…she practically flew!

Lindsey’s heart sank. She definitely couldn’t dance as well as that girl. Even if she wanted to go to this school, once Madame Destinée saw her dance, she wouldn’t accept her anyway.

“You mustn’t worry about the cost. I’m not interested in money. I only desire your talent.”

“You think I’m talented enough to come here?” Lindsey had to have misunderstood. Madame Destinée hadn’t seen her dance a single step.

“Yes, darling, I know you are. Your posture speaks for itself. Why don’t you come in for a quick trial lesson?”

An icy gust of wind caught Lindsey’s scarf, whipping it across her face. As she tucked it back into place, the change in her pocket tinged against the keychain alarm.

“I can’t. I have to get going. My mom’s waiting for me.”

Madame Destinée swished her hand through the air, cutting her off. “It’ll take a few moments. Tell your mother you had to wait to get past the garbage truck.” She pointed down the street, and sure enough, a garbage truck backed over the sidewalk into the alleyway. The pedestrians swore and went around it, stepping on the street between the cars. Mom would die if she saw Lindsey do that!

When Lindsey looked back, Madame Destinée held a small, red apple in front of the dog’s snout. If it had been a dog treat, Lindsey wouldn’t have thought much about it, but as far as she knew, dogs weren’t apple fans.

The dog leaned forward and bit into it with a vicious crunch.As he chewed, drops of juice dripped from his whiskers.

Huh. If she’d known dogs liked apples that much, she would have tried to feed them to one of the neighbor’s dogs back in Nebraska. It barked whenever anyone went by its owner’s fence.

“You must come inside and take a quick peek. That’s all I ask.”

Lindsey stared at the truck still parked over the sidewalk. The driver opened his door and climbed out, stretching his legs and yawning as he reached the concrete. He wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

“Okay.” But only for a few seconds. Hopefully, Mom wouldn’t get upset.

The brick hallway inside the school was another mud-colored, worm paradise. It smelled like lemon cleaner and moth balls, too. A few pictures hung along the walls, each showing Madame Destinée in a different ballet pose. Lindsey searched for some photos of the students—every ballet school had them—but there were none.

On the right side, a life-sized photograph caught Lindsey’s eye, as if she could miss it if she tried. Madame Destinée wore a beautiful, blue dance dress that shimmered with thousands of tiny crystals like a star-filled sky. It’d been taken while she hung mid-flight in a grand jeté, the most elegant one Lindsey had ever seen.