She runs toward me, and I crouch instinctively to catch her before she knocks the breath out of both of us.
“Guess what!”
“Ooh, what?” I ask, brushing her hair back from her forehead.
“Mrs. Patel says we’re allowed to bring something for show-and-tell next week, and I’m bringing the pebble.”
“The special one?”
“Yes. The shiny one.” She lowers her voice as though it’s classified information. “Cora said it just looks like a normal rock, but it’s not.”
“It’s definitely not.”
“I know.” She grabs my hand and starts tugging me toward the gate. “Also, we’re learning a new dance today, and Miss Talia said we have to listen to the music with our whole bodies.”
“That sounds intense.”
“It is.” She nods gravely. “I’ve been practicing listening with my elbows.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “How are your elbows feeling about it?”
“Mm, okay, I think!” She beams up at me, and I open the car door for her to climb in, still narrating something about pliés and how some kid called Olivia keeps telling her she points her toes like “this” when they’re supposed to be like “this.”
Dance class is across town in a low brick building that smells faintly of hairspray and disinfectant. I’ve only been told the basics by Evan on what to expect, and the lobby is already filling when we walk in.
A cluster of mothers stands near the noticeboard in pristine activewear and their hair pulled into glossy ponytails. Their heads turn, and their eyes skim over me in a way that’s practiced and quick.
One of them tilts her head slightly. “You must be the new arrangement.”
Heat prickles faintly at the back of my neck, but I keep my smile in place. “Penny.”
Her gaze drops briefly to Elle’s hand in mine, then back up again. “It’s lovely that families can find hired help so quickly these days.”
There’s something in her tone that’s careful enough to pass for polite, so I don’t bite—but I want to.
“It is,” I say mildly, letting my eyes trail over her manicured nails, perfect hair, and designer handbag. “And it makes such a difference when the focus stays on the child.”
She hums with pursed lips, then turns back to the woman beside her.
“Penny.” Elle tugs on my fingers. “Can you please help me with my ballet slippers?”
“Of course.”
I kneel in front of her, fingers working at the straps and ribbons while the room buzzes around us.
“You okay?” I murmur quietly.
She nods. “That was Olivia’s mom… and Olivia said my sandwich looked like a bird today.”
“Wrong-pointing-toes Olivia?”
Elle nods.
“Well,” I say softly, “that’s because it was supposed to look like a bird.”
“She said penguins are for babies.”
I keep my hands steady, fastening the second set of ribbons.
