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Annabelle
Ilove dancing. I love all types of dancing.
I love the way the perfect leap in a ballet can bring a tear to your eye.
I love to hear the perfectly tinny sound ten people tapping in sync can make.
I love to feel the beautiful sensuality of a burlesque routine.
I love to see the power and control in a seductive lap dance.
I love it all.
I’ve even learned to love teaching. Not as much as performing, but there’s something rewarding about watching students I’ve taught dance a routine I’ve choreographed. Although a bigger piece of me than I’m willing to admit feels like it died with my parents when I had to give up my first dream, I’m learning to embrace my new one. Giving up the dream was better than trying to chase down the magic I was lucky enough to capture once. At least I can say I went out on top.
I needed to make a choice, and I chose a new dream.
A different dream I could learn to love.
A dream that keeps my brother safe.
A dream that gave birth to Hart & Soul Academy of Dance.
One day, maybe I’ll capture that magic again. But I’m not holding my breath.
What doesn’t feel magical is bookkeeping. Balancing a checkbook sucks, and taxes are the devil. They need to be done, but I hate them. One of these days, I’ll spring for an office manager or bookkeeper, but unfortunately for me, that day is not today.
The studio is doing well enough, but I’m still pinching every penny. My parents had life insurance policies, but they barely covered their funerals. There’s no mortgage on the house we live in, which gives me a little breathing room, but the taxes are expensive. There’s a trust for my brother, but it covers his private school and not much else. Unfortunately, I’m constantly trying to come up with creative accounting to cover his social skills classes, his ABA therapy, and any of his extra activities.
All this means I’ll be pinching my pennies for a little while longer.
The bells over the front door chime, letting me know someone has just entered the building. A quick glance at the security screen hanging on the wall shows me it’s Nattie walking through the studio. I’ve got another twenty minutes before our toddlers’ ballet class starts. Parents should be bringing their baby ballerinas in shortly. But for now, we’re completely alone.
“Natalie Grace Sinclair,” I yell through the open office door. “Get your butt back here. I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
The young woman who walks through my door has grown so much in the year that I’ve known her. She was eighteen when she stopped in my studio last fall, searching for something. I don’t think even she was sure what that something was. Maybe it was a way back to the love she used to have for ballet. Maybe it was to figure out who she wanted to be. She found part of what she was searching for in my studio. But she wasn’t the only one who got something out of our relationship. She also provided me with something I didn’t know I desperately needed. She brought Tommy and me into her circle of friends, giving me a closer group of friends than I’d ever had in my life. She made us part of her family. They treat us like one of their own, and I’ll love her forever for giving us that.
Today, however, I’m going to kick her little ass.
Metaphorically speaking.
After I’d had a little time to process my phone call with Declan, I called Sabrina to discuss the dress code for the fundraiser and Nat was with her.
So, Nattie’s probably got an idea of what’s coming.
The tiny blonde pops her head in my door. She hates being compared to Tinker Bell, but she’s seriously only five foot two on a good day and constantly surrounded by football giants, making her appear even tinier. With her blonde hair piled high in her ballet bun and her leotard and skirt on, she’s the picture of a mischievous fairy. Luckily for me, I’ve got our Tink beat by about five inches, but she’s got me beat by a solid cup size.
You win some, you lose some.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Belles?”
I close my MacBook and give her my best evil queen glare. “Nattie, what the hell? You didn’t think to tell me you gave Declan my number? Or, I don’t know,... give me some kind of warning that he was going to call?”
She walks into my office and throws her dance bag on the dove gray couch that sits against the wall before dropping dramatically down next to it. “What’s the big deal? It’s just Declan. I was supposed to text it to him yesterday, but Brady came home, and it...” She glances away, a blush tinging her cheeks.
“Nattie... focus. I’m trying to yell at you.”
“Yeah, well, you’re doing a crap job of it.” She hops up off the couch like a jumping bean and crosses to the door. “I’ve got to stretch before the baby ballerinas get here. What time is Tommy getting dropped off from social skills? Brady said he’d stop by to do his homework with him.”
