Free On Pointe by Lorie Ann Grover Page A

keep searching.
    Entertainment.
    My stomach flips.
    I open the section.
    â€œCity Ballet Selected.”
    My hands sweat and stick
    to the newsprint.
    I scan down the list.
    Rosella.
    Elton.
    Margot.
    Ellen.
    Devin.
    Nathan.
    Tommy.
    I recognize names of other kids in my class.
    Of course they’d almost all make it.
    The conservatory is the best instruction
    in western Washington.
    Back to the list.
    No Clare.
    I rub the list of last names starting with M.
    Mine doesn’t appear.
    The ink smears.
    I let out a big shaky breath.
    The picture is of that girl
    on the floor crying.
    I feel a chill
    and turn the page to see the rest of the report.
    â€œNo. No!”
    There’s a photo of everyone gathered around
    the posted list.
    And one girl in the background is running
    to the dressing room.
    One girl holding her stomach.
    Me.
    Grandpa’s still inside.
    I cram the section of the paper
    into the trashcan
    and cover it with other bits of garbage.
    Damp, cold coffee grounds,
    limp tea bags,
    tomato slime,
    wadded tissues.
    I put the lid back on,
    and the metal rattles
    like my bones are shaking.
    I drag my hands on the grass
    till all the ick comes off.
    No one is going to see that picture.
    Except
    the rest of the city.
    â€œClare!”
    Mom jumps out of the car
    before Dad completely stops.
    She rushes over to me.
    I set Mija aside
    and get up too quickly from the swing.
    My eyes see spots and I fight the dizziness.
    She pulls me close in a hug
    and my head clears.
    â€œOh, sweetheart. Are you okay?
    How are you feeling?
    Are you alright?”
    â€œYeah,” I answer.
    â€œThere’s my girl!” Dad steps up,
    and it’s a group hug.
    At least this way
    I don’t have to look them
    in the face.
    And Dad didn’t say,
    â€œThere’s
    my failure.”
    â€œThere, now.” Dad gets me settled
    on the swing.
    It’s so good to see him.
    We haven’t talked on the phone lately.
    He drapes the blanket over my legs.
    Mom hovers behind him.
    I can’t see anything but her little feet
    because he’s so tall.
    Why did I end up like him?
    Why?
    He squeezes my shoulder.
    â€œAre you comfortable, Clare?”
    â€œYeah.” I smile
    and clench my teeth
    to keep
    my bubbling anger
    in.
    It’s not his fault
    I’m huge.
    Really, it’s not.
    Besides,
    he’s my dad!
    â€œI’m sorry you guys
    had to leave your convention early.”
    â€œClare. Don’t even bother to think about it,”
    says Mom.
    â€œNot another thought.”
    â€œExactly,” Dad agrees. “You
    are what’s important to us.”
    Grandpa brings out biscotti
    and fresh coffee on the teacart.
    Mom pulls her chair closer to the swing.
    â€œNow, are you sure she’s okay, Dad?
    Is that what the doctor said?”
    â€œIf she keeps drinking, she’ll be fine.”
    Grandpa passes a cup to my father.
    He takes a sip. “Well, she looks great to me.”
    I smile and drain my water bottle.
    â€œLet me get you more.
    I’ll be right back.” Mom hurries inside.
    The storm door bangs behind her.
    Dad shakes his head.
    â€œShe’s really wound up, Clare.”
    â€œThat’s Mom.”
    â€œTrue.”
    Grandpa crunches the dry biscotti.
    Little crumbs tumble down his shirt front.
    He doesn’t brush them off.
    â€œHere you go,” says Mom.
    She stands over me until I drink.
    â€œEverything, every little thing,
    is going to be fine now,” she says.
    â€œInside,” Mom announces. “I don’t want you
    getting chilled.”
    â€œBut it will keep getting warmer
    till 2:00,
    the hottest hour of summer.”
    â€œShe’s right, Martha,” says Dad.
    â€œYes, she is.” Grandpa pours himself more coffee.
    â€œWell, I heard a storm may blow in,
    so it may not warm up at all,” Mom argues.
    I roll my eyes at Grandpa.
    He shrugs.
    â€œInside, Clare,” she says,
    putting an arm around me
    and