like to wear them. Sometimes my hands get cold.â
Was that normal? Summer wondered. But she decided not to push Sophy for more details. âWatch out, Michael Jackson.â
âMichael who?â
âLong story, and itâs not important. Weâre here.â After she parked in the shaded parking garage, Summer watched Sophy gather her things. âYou really donât know anything about my getting locked in the potting shed?â
Sophyâs face clouded. âI know Audraâs been pretty mad. She really liked our old nanny and she said she was going to make our mom fire you. But she didnât tell me anything else.â
Little girls with Hello Kitty bags and bright backpacks were streaming by, headed for a low building with floor-to-ceiling windows. In the doorway a woman in black leggings and a black sweater stood ramrod straight, nodding stiffly to each of the entering students.
Summer squared her shoulders. Now or never. âLetâs do it.â
Sophyâs teacher stopped them at the door, and her eyes narrowed as she looked at Sophyâs gloves. âHave you practiced your pliés this week, Sophy?â
âYes, Madame. Twenty minutes every day. More on Saturday.â
The woman studied Summer. âThis is your new governess?â
Summer smiled and held out one hand, which the dance instructor touched in a perfunctory motion. âAnd you, Madame, have you much dance experience?â
âNot here on the West Coast,â Summer lied calmly. âYou probably have a different way of doing things, so Iâd better watch at first.â
âNo watching. Sophy will require a partner.â The womanâs tone was cold and brisk. âWithout a partner she may not participate. This was stated clearly when the summer began.â
Summer put a hand on the girlâs shoulder. âNo problem. I can handle whatever is required.â
âIn that case, show your governess where to change, Sophy. And I require that you both be prompt or you will be asked to leave.â
Â
Thirty small bodies stood nervously at attention before the long wooden bar. Summer ignored her embarrassment and the pain in her cramped toes, lining up with the other mothers and trying to understand the staccato orders that came in French and accented English.
â
Glissez,
Tiffany. Shoulders back, and head straight, if you please.
Do not giggle,
Fiona.â As she patrolled the room, the ballet instructor tapped her charges with a wooden ruler, straightening an arm or correcting the bend of an elbow.
âAnd one and two. Like swans, if you please. Not like gorillas.â
A giggle slipped out somewhere amid the line of pink leotards. With a sinking heart, Summer realized it had come from Sophy.
âIt amuses you, Sophy OâConnor?
Bien,
you will come to the middle of the room and demonstrate your pliés for all of us. Perhaps that will amuse us, too. And you will remove your gloves first.â
Sophyâs face flushed fiery red as she peeled off the pink gloves and set them on the bar at the wall.
âYour partner will also join you, to count the beats.â
Summer walked out onto the dance floor, resisting an urge to tug at her leotard. âCount when I nod,â Sophy whispered. âOne to ten.â
Summer smiled at Sophy, offering moral support, but the girlâs face was tense with concentration.
At Sophyâs nod, Summer began her count, feeling a surge of pride as Caraâs daughter moved into a series of perfectly graceful dips. At least they seemed perfect to Summer, who had never been graceful or patient or popular as a girlâand still wasnât.
After the last move, Summer smiled broadly. âGreat job.â
But the instructor had different ideas. She pursed her thin lips, pointing at Sophy. âClumsy lines. Crooked back. You will turn no heads with such flat feet, Sophy. From now on you will increase your daily
Learning to Kill: Stories