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“As if you had anything to do with it.” His mom rolled her eyes.
“Actually, I did,” his dad pointed out. “It’s the guy who decides the gender.”
Pres cleared his throat because Delilah was listening intently. And he absolutely didn’t want to have that kind of discussion with her right now.
“Gray Hartson,” his mom said to his dad. “You hush right up.”
His dad grinned, like he was enjoying the banter.
It was cool that Pres’ dad could walk along the streets unbothered. Anywhere else in the US and fans would surround him, even after all these years post retirement from making music and touring. Gray Hartson had been a big fucking deal in music back in the day.
But somehow he looked more at home walking down the street hand in hand with his wife than he ever had with a guitar up on stage.
“Gotta go,” Pres said, winking at his parents. “Be good. Don’t get up to anything I wouldn’t.”
His mom rolled her eyes, but you could tell by the way she looked at him that she loved him fiercely. The way she loved all three of her boys. Presley and Marley had come first – Presley beating his twin by an hour – and then Hendrix a couple of years later.
“Oh, you didn’t forget that Dad and I are out-of-town tonight?” his mom asked.
“Yep. I got it.” He nodded. “Have a good time.”
“You won’t forget to pick up Delilah from dance class, will you?” she added, glancing at her granddaughter.
Pres lifted a brow. “Only if she gets her spelling words wrong.”
“Daddy!” Delilah protested. “You can’t leave me at dance all night.”
“Okay kid.” He smiled at her because she was so easy to tease. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there. When have I ever let you down?”
“Okay, that’s it for dancing this afternoon. Let’s all come sit in a circle and wait for our parents to pick us up.” Cassie Simons clapped her hands together, smiling at the troop of little girls all dressed in pink leotards and pale white tights, their tiny feet shining in satin ballet shoes with elastic sewn across the top to keep them from falling off.
She was in a leotard too, but hers was black, with a pair of sheer tights. Her feet were encased in soft ballet shoes. Her long thick hair was twisted neatly into a bun, revealing her heart-shaped face.
This age was her favorite class to teach, she decided, because watching them try so hard to follow her instructions while being giddy that they get to dress up, was a blast.
A few parents had already arrived and were standing against the walls, where they’d watched the last dance of the class – a fun one where Cassie had played the piano and told them to pretend to be birds migrating. Like the dying swan but happier.
Much happier, because they all kept giggling which made her smile.
“Okay, gang,” Cassie said, sitting in the middle of the circle with the clipboard full of names she’d been given. “If your parents are here, point them out to me.”
Before the words were out of her mouth she knew she’d made a mistake, because ten six-year-old girls started shouting excitedly at once.
“Okay!” she called out. “Let’s start again. I’ll say your name and you’ll tell me if your parents are here. Let’s start with Angelina Smith.”
Within fifteen minutes all but one of her students had been picked up. Some parents had lingered to introduce themselves to the new teacher at the Forsythe School of Dance, others had asked her questions about how she thought their child was doing and whether she saw any potential in them.
And she’d had to answer honestly. It was too soon and they should be enjoying themselves for now. There was more than enough time for the pain of being over rehearsed and shouted at while your feet bled from being stuffed into pointes when they were older.
She knew that from experience.
“Delilah, isn’t it?” she asked the one girl remaining. She was sitting in the corner of the room, holding a giraffe. She was a cute kid. She’d danced enthusiastically for the entire class, and it was clear she had a natural rhythm, as her ponytail swayed from side to side.
Delilah nodded, suddenly shy, and Cassie’s heart clenched, because she knew what it felt like to be forgotten.
“Don’t worry, your…” Cassie looked at her sheet, “dad will be here soon. Maybe you can help me clean up while we wait? I could really use your help.”
She gave the little girl a warm smile.
