Free I Forgot to Tell You by Charis Marsh

homestayed with him. He didn’t want anyone in his homestay to be doing badly.
    Finally Mr. Yu snapped and yelled, “Stop!” across the room to George. George took his hands off the piano keys, raising his palms up in the classic gesture of surrender. As the last notes died away, Mr. Yu turned to Mao. “Why you no improve? Why you not better?”
    Mao was quiet, confused.
    Mr. Yu shook his head disgustedly. “If you not improve, why I teach? For fun? You still the same as when you come to Academy. Same mistakes.” He looked at her. The whole class was watching them, some concerned, some entertained, some bored. “When you come to Canada from Japan?”
    â€œWhen?” Mao asked, making sure of the question, nervousness making her English weak.
    â€œYes, when! What, you deaf, too?”
    Mao shook her head.
    â€œDo it again.” Mao tried again, but made the same hip shift. Her muscles weren’t strong enough to make it around smoothly. Mr. Yu expelled a breath of air, disgusted. “Get out.”
    Mao looked at him, confused.
    Mr. Yu pointed at the door. “There door. Out. You don’t listen, don’t improve, go out, have fun. Go.”
    Mao stayed at the barre , not moving.
    Mr. Yu glared at her. “Why you not go? Go!”
    Mao didn’t move.
    â€œOkay, you no listen to me? Fine. I leave.” He walked toward the door, and at the doorway he turned around, staring at the class. “Class finished. Thank Mao.” He walked out the door.
    Everyone stared at Mao, who looked like she was going to cry.
    â€œUh —” Andrew spoke up. Everyone turned to look at him. He turned to George. “Can I have some frappe music, George?” he asked.
    George nodded and played a few chords. “That good for you, Andy?”
    â€œPerfect.” Andrew turned toward the barre and began directing a frappe exercise. “And one, two, three … and one, two three. Rise, fondue , out — pirouette ! To the side. And one, two, three …”
    Taylor looked over at Mao, standing in front of her. She was marking the exercise, watching Andrew carefully, and looked much calmer. Taylor began to learn the exercise.
    After class, Taylor went downstairs to change into her uniform. As she came out of the stall, she saw Mao standing next to her locker, fumbling with the lock. She looked like she’d been crying. Taylor paused, waiting to see if she was all right. Mao looked up and saw her. “Oh! Taylor. I’m sorry for ruining class.”
    â€œYou didn’t ruin class, Mao,” Taylor assured her. “I’m glad Andrew taught us. It was fun. Are you okay?”
    Mao nodded, and quickly became very interested in searching for something in her locker, so Taylor left her and went upstairs.
    Mr. Demidovski was sitting in the hallway watching a younger class practise, as he did occasionally. He had a small smile on his face, and kept glancing proudly over the lobby, like a king surveying his kingdom. “Taylor,” he said, nodding at her. “How are youuuu?”
    â€œGood,” Taylor said, smiling. “How are you, Mr. Demidovski?”
    â€œLook,” Mr. Demidovski said, pointing through the open door to the studio. “See Michael, see Chloe — they are getting much better.”
    Taylor nodded, biting her lip as she watched. They weren’t really that much younger than her, Michael was twelve and Chloe was eleven, and watching younger people that were better than she was at their age always made her feel a little sick. Mr. Demidovski lightly grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. She leaned in. “Mr. Demidovski want you to learn Swanhilda,” he whispered. He let her go and said in a normal voice, “Yes?”
    Taylor nodded, very quickly. She was confused. Did this mean that he might be considering having her dance Swanhilda? That couldn’t be true.
    â€œShush,” Mr. Demidovski said,