By the fourth week, Audrey stopped showing us her steps.
Her ballet shoes stayed zipped inside her dance bag. She started taking her dinner plate upstairs to eat in her room. I figured she was just exhausted. Three nights a week of advanced classes plus junior year.
“How was class?” I’d ask.
“Fine.”
“What did you learn?”
“Stuff.”
When the studio emailed about auditions for the spring recital, I mentioned it at dinner.
“Have you picked what you’re going to audition with?”
Audrey’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.
“I’m not auditioning.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not ready.”
I set down my glass. This was the girl who once practiced through a sprained wrist until I physically took her by the shoulders and made her stop.
“Did your teacher say something?” I asked.
“Maybe I don’t feel like giving a report every single night!” she snapped.
She picked up her plate and stomped upstairs.
Scott found me at the kitchen sink later, scrubbing a pan that was already clean.
“Teenagers get moody, Nic,” he said.
“Audrey’s never acted like this. Not once.”
“She’s growing up. She’s sixteen.”
I wanted so badly to believe him.
Over the next two weeks, things got worse.
One night, I told her I’d seen a sale on pointe shoes and offered to drive her to the dance store that Saturday to get a new pair.
“Can you just stop trying to fix everything?” she shouted.
Then she slammed her bedroom door so hard the picture frames in the hallway rattled.
I stood outside her door and said, “I’m sorry, honey,” without even knowing what I was apologizing for.
The following Thursday evening, I was dragging the trash cans out to the curb when Derek’s silver SUV pulled into our driveway.
Audrey wasn’t getting out of the car.
She was standing outside the driver’s side, leaning in through his open window. Gripping his jacket sleeve in her fist.
“But you promised you’d talk to her,” I heard her say. Her voice was cracking. “You promised.”
“Audrey,” Derek said. “Not now.”
He looked up and saw me standing at the end of the driveway with the trash can.
Audrey turned. She saw me too. She let go of his sleeve like it had burned her and hurried past me into the house without a word.
“Everything okay?” I called.
“Oh, nothing,” Derek said, flashing that easy smile. “She’s just upset we didn’t stop at the drive-thru.”
“She’s got dinner waiting inside.”
“Then everybody wins,” he said.
And he backed out of the driveway before I could ask him anything else.
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