Free On Pointe by Lorie Ann Grover Page B

pulling me up.
    Life with Mom
    is back.
    She stares at the snarls
    in my hair.
    â€œThis is a rat’s nest.”
    â€œI know.” I flinch.
    â€œI’m sorry. It’s going to hurt, honey.”
    â€œThat’s okay.”
    I watch her in the dresser mirror.
    She’s biting her lip,
    and her forehead is bunched
    into tight little lines
    between her eyebrows.
    She tugs the brush
    through my hair.
    â€œYour grandpa told us
    about the audition.”
    I close my eyes.
    She brushes some more.
    â€œI’m sorry, Clare.
    Let’s talk about it.
    Get it out into the open.”
    â€œNo,” I whisper.
    She hits a huge knot.
    I squeeze the tears in.
    She’s not touching me.
    I look.
    Mom’s staring at my dance bag
    peeking out from under the dresser.
    A ribbon is under my foot.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mom.”
    She puts her cheek
    on the top of my head
    and cries.
    â€œWe tried so hard,” she says.
    â€œMom, can we talk about it later?
    I need to rest.”
    â€œBut don’t you want to discuss
    exactly what happened?
    Who did what,
    and how it felt to audition?
    What everyone else said and did?
    Your time in the hospital?”
    I lift an eyebrow.
    â€œAll right, I can wait.
    We have time.
    And you are regaining your strength.”
    She sets the brush down
    and wipes her eyes
    on the back of her hand.
    â€œWe can talk later. Plenty of time.
    Plenty.” She tries to smile.
    I climb back into my unmade bed.
    She pulls the covers up.
    â€œThere. You rest now.
    Get some deep relaxing rest.”
    â€œOkay.”
    She drops the blinds.
    â€œHear that rain?
    I knew it was going to blow in.
    That air was very cool—”
    She shuts the door and cuts herself off.
    â€œWhat will we do now?”
    my mom asks.
    â€œThere’s not anything for us
    to do, Martha.”
    Dad’s voice is a little harsh.
    I lean against the bathroom door
    and listen to them talk
    in the living room.
    â€œIt’s just that we’ve worked so long.
    So hard.
    So many lessons.
    The hours and hours we’ve invested.
    Clare has such potential, Dwight.”
    â€œAnd Clare has potential
    for other areas.
    Give it a rest, Martha.
    For once in her life.”
    I flush the toilet
    and go back to my room.
    I work on my hair.
    Slowly
    I untangle every single knot.
    By myself.
    The brush runs smoothly
    from the roots
    to the ends.
    I weave a clean, tight braid
    and toss it over my shoulder.
    After Grandpa gets back from church,
    we sit down to dinner.
    He helps himself to more bratwurst.
    â€œThis meal is lovely, Martha.”
    â€œThank you, Dad. I’m glad you like it.”
    â€œI do too, dear,” my dad says.
    Mom smiles
    but picks at her sauerkraut.
    I actually
    don’t have to think about calories
    or fat.
    I can smash my face
    into the bowl of mashed potatoes
    if I want
    and suck up the whole thing.
    â€œHave you heard from Rosella, Clare?”
    Mom asks.
    I chew my bouncy bratwurst
    longer than I need to.
    â€œUm. No. I think she’s probably busy
    and stuff.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?
    You’ve always been such good friends.
    Didn’t you call and tell her about
    your trip to the hospital?”
    â€œNo.” I scoop a big bite of sauerkraut.
    It shocks my mouth,
    and I squint.
    â€œBut I don’t understand, Clare.”
    Mom sets down her fork.
    I swallow the sour lump.
    â€œMom, she made it into the company.
    She’s not going to want to be friends
    since I didn’t.”
    â€œOh, Rosella wouldn’t act like that.
    She’s a dear.
    You’ve known each other since preschool.
    Maybe you are the one
    who needs a little time
    to deal with everything.”
    â€œLet’s all take a little time,” says Dad.
    A picture of Dia comes to mind.
    And I hear Rosella’s voice saying, “Pathetic.”
    I don’t need time.
    It’s not me who has the issue.
    I curl up on the couch.
    â€œWant any