“You’d really do that?” Audrey asked. Her eyes had gone huge.
“Somebody has to get you to Broadway,” Derek said.
“That’s theater, Derek,” she said, laughing.
“See? This might even make me a more cultured man.”
Audrey jumped up, ran around the table and threw her arms around his neck.
Derek’s daughter, Mia, was the same age as Audrey. They’d taken those beginner classes together at the community center when they were eleven. Mia had auditioned for Westbrook too.
When I tried to thank him after dinner, out on the porch, Derek waved me off.
“Nicole. You’re family. Stop making it weird.”
The next morning, I drove to Westbrook on my lunch break and filled out the paperwork. Enrollment agreement. Medical release. Tuition autopay authorization, $70 on the first of every month from our checking account at Commerce Bank.
And an authorized pickup form.
I wrote Derek’s name on the line. Derek Malone. Family friend. I wrote down his cell phone number. I signed my name at the bottom.
I didn’t think twice about it.
I called Audrey’s high school too, and had them add Derek to her emergency contact list so he could sign her out early if he ever needed to.
For the first few weeks, everything felt easier.
Three afternoons a week, Derek picked Audrey up after school. She’d do homework in the studio lobby until class started. He’d work at his office down the street. And he’d drop her off at our house around nine o’clock.
She’d burst into our kitchen starving and glowing.
“Mom, watch this.”
“Not while I’m carrying boiling water.”
“Put it down! You’re going to love this!”
She’d explain the combinations they learned. Words I couldn’t pronounce. She’d correct my posture while I stood at the stove. “Shoulders down, Mom. Down. You hold all your stress in your shoulders.”
One night, Scott filmed her practicing a turn sequence in our narrow upstairs hallway.
“Future superstar,” he announced to the camera.
“Dad! Delete that!” Audrey said, laughing so hard she lost her balance.
He never deleted it. It’s still on his phone.
Around the third week, Audrey mentioned at dinner that Mia hadn’t made the advanced group.
“Derek says she’ll try again next year,” she said.
“Maybe you two will perform together someday,” I said.
“Maybe,” Audrey said. But she didn’t sound excited about it.
A few days later, Derek lingered in our driveway after dropping her off. Scott was out on a job site. It was just me.
“Kids put so much pressure on themselves,” he said, leaning against his car. “Make sure Audrey knows there’s more to life than dancing, you know? Mia’s taking it hard. I just don’t want Audrey’s whole world riding on this one thing.”
It sounded like ordinary parenting advice.
I nodded and thanked him.
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
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