Angel Falls (Angel Falls Series, #1), Babette Jongh [books for 6 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

from the front of the store, not the clearance rack—and curvy denim jeans. Shiny pedicured toenails peeped from the open toe of stacked espadrilles.

“I know we’re a little early. Amy was so excited about her first day of ballet, she wouldn’t take a nap.”

“Girl after my own heart.” I dredged up a fake smile, then stood and gave Melody a hug. Best friends were more important than boyfriends. We’d both been raised on that wisdom. It must be right, because here we were, still close.

Just not as close as before.

Melody patted my back. “I know you’re still disappointed. But I’m glad you decided to take over for Ms. Daphne instead of going back to New York. Now you’ll have a new career, still doing what you love.”

I lifted a shoulder and let it drop. Teaching little girls to dance isn’t the same thing as being a prima ballerina. But it wasn’t like I had a choice, and the timing had been perfect. I was lucky Ms. Daphne had decided to retire when she did, after twenty years of teaching ballet in her converted garage. Lucky I had months back home to find a suitable studio space I could renovate in time for fall semester. Lucky, lucky me.

Melody stepped back. “What you need is some retail therapy. This Saturday, I’m taking you to the mall. I’ll treat you to an appointment with Valerie.” Melody plucked a long strand of hair off my leotard. “She can add highlights, make it blond again.”

The sunny hair I’d had as a child had darkened to not-quite-blond. “I can’t. I have to—” but I couldn’t think of anything I had to do.

Melody pounced on my hesitation. “I’ll even stop at every yard sale along the way. Please say yes. You’ll love Valerie. She’ll make you look like a movie star.”

“I’m sure looking like a movie star will improve my mood.” Not that I cared all that much; I kept my hair in a bun most of the time anyway. But I knew better than to argue with Melody. She looked like a cream puff, all soft curves and sweet smiles, but she had a backbone of titanium. She was determined to reclaim best-friend status. If I refused to let her, everyone would know I still had a thing for Ben after all these years. “Your car or mine?”

She looked sideways at me with salon-shaped eyebrows raised. “Are you serious? I wouldn’t travel more than walking distance to anywhere in that old hag.”

“Hey, don’t talk about Dame Margot like that. She’s a classic.” But I didn’t take Melody’s rejection personally. The 1980’s hatchback rattletrap I had inherited from my ex-apartment-mate was like a giant, messy purse. Traded for my furniture and named after the famous ballerina I had idolized in childhood, the old car had been sitting in a garage for over a decade. Margot had to be towed home, where my dad finally got her running again, after he finished fussing at me for trading my worldly possessions for a clunker.

Melody’s SUV was newer, cleaner, and more comfortable, and the drive to the mall took a whole hour. “Okay. You drive, I’ll buy lunch.”

Just as well, since Margot had developed a tendency to overheat—hot flashes, probably—and the highway outside Angel Falls wasn’t the best place to have car trouble. It undulated along the river like a mean black snake, twisting and turning through tiny bridges, cut-through hills, and built-up blacktop with no place to pull over.

Melody started inching toward the door. “I’ll make your appointment with Valerie when I get home.”

Amy hugged Melody’s legs. “Bye, Mommy. See you after ballet.”

“Bye, Sweetie.” Melody took Amy’s face in her hands and kissed her little pursed lips. “Dance pretty for Aunt Casey.”

“I will.” Dismissing her mom and me for a better deal, Amy skipped to Lizzie’s ottoman and draped herself across my exceptionally tolerant dog.

I walked Melody out, then stood on the landing and greeted the parents arriving with their preschoolers. At the bottom of the long flight, a little girl started up, hitching herself up the steep stairs one slow step at a time. Danielle Carlton, by herself, no parent to hold her hand or make sure she made it safely into the studio.

“Dani, wait.” I slid a wedge under the entry door and galloped down the stairs, passing a few parents bringing their kids up. “Y’all go on inside,” I said. “I’ll be there in a second.”

I knew Dani’s mother. I knew she could read. But she clearly hadn’t read the note I mailed to the parents who didn’t bother to come to orientation. If she had, she wouldn’t have sent Dani up these stairs instead of bringing her into the studio. I hoisted Dani onto my hip and started back up.

“Miss Casey.” Dani wrapped her arms around my neck. “My mommy has a new baby growing in her tummy.”

“She does?” She already had more kids than she could handle in this little package I was carrying. “I’m sure you’ll be a great big sister.”

“Did you know babies grow inside their mommy’s tummy?”

“Yes, I did.” In the studio, my other students gathered around Lizzie’s bed, their ballet bags strewn around her like roses at a ballerina’s feet after a performance. I ushered a few lingering parents out the door and thanked God for Lizzie. Without her, I’d have had at least one crying child who didn’t want her mother to leave.

I put Dani down and took her hand. “Time to get started. Let’s hold hands and make a circle.”

We made the circle with a minimum of pulling, and no one fell down on purpose or tugged hard enough to pull anyone else down. “Criss-cross applesauce,” I instructed, showing them what I meant. Everyone sat cross-legged in the circle for beginning exercises.

“Babies grow in their mommy’s tummy,” Dani yodeled to her classmates. “Guess how they get out.”

“How do they get in there?” Amy’s voice was a hushed whisper of awe, disbelief, and a hint of horror.

Lord, help me.