“How was class?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn?”
“Just stuff.”
I assumed she was tired.
Advanced ballet was physically demanding, and she was balancing lessons with schoolwork.
Then the studio emailed information about spring recital auditions.
I was excited.
Audrey had talked for years about performing on a proper stage.
At dinner, I asked what piece she planned to audition with.
Her fork stopped moving.
“I’m not auditioning.”
I looked at her.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready.”
“Did your instructor say that?”
She shrugged.
“Can we not talk about ballet
tonight?”
I was surprised.
But I didn’t want to pressure her.
“All right, sweetheart.”
Over the following two weeks, things became worse.
Audrey seemed irritated whenever I mentioned dancing.
When I offered to help her buy new ballet shoes, she snapped.
“Mom, can you stop trying to fix everything?”
I stared at her.
“I was only offering.”
“I know.”
“Is something bothering you?”
“No.”
Then she went upstairs.
