Page 15 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

“And don’t forget to spot,” she reminded me.

She nodded at me, and I turned my head back to the mirror, taking a deep breath to remember her notes before I attempted one last turn.

I turned, completing not one, but two perfectpirouettes, landing in a cleanplié.

A wide grin appeared on my face, and I looked at Miss Rebekah for approval. She gave me a tiny smile, which was a tremendous compliment since she was usually so very serious.

“I’ll see you next class,” she said before walking gracefully back over to my mom.

They finished their conversation, and my mom said, “Thank you,” to Miss Rebekah, so I walked back over to my dance bag. I changed out of my ballet shoes and pulled my sweats on over my leotard and tights before sliding my warm boots onto my feet.

Standing up, I grabbed my dance bag off the floor and walked to where my mom waited for me next to the door to the studio. I was nervous for a moment since they had been talking for so long. I was still not sure what it was about, but her soft smile and the small gleam of pride in her eyes reassured me I most likely was not in trouble.

She was quiet as we loaded ourselves into the car, so I stayed quiet, too, as I buckled myself into the backseat. She sat there for a moment, the car running but not moving, before she turned to look me straight in the eye with a smile.

“Miss Rebekah is very impressed with the growth you have made in such a short amount of time,” she told me. “She said she would never have known you had only been taking lessons for a year. She would like you to enroll in at least one more ballet class, and she also mentioned the possibility of private lessons to help you reach your full potential. She thinks you have the natural ability to go very far in the ballet world.”

My jaw dropped open at what she said, and I tried to form words to respond to her, but my tongue and my voice could not cooperate with my brain. Instead, I released a series of incoherent sputters.

“But…she…that’s…” My mind moved faster than my mouth, and I could not get out whatever my brain was trying to say.

Mom’s hand reached to the backseat and rested on my knee, her eyes softening as she took in my reaction.

“If you’re worrying about the cost, don’t. Your father and I want to do this for you. We want to see you succeed, and we’re happy you’ve found something you are passionate about, something that you obviously work very hard for.”

My gaze lowered, and tears pricked at the back of my eyes. I blinked, not wanting Mom to see. I may have been letting my walls down more and more, but I still had a tendency to revert to my old, closed-off ways when I felt vulnerable. Like I did at that moment.

Mom squeezed my leg, then turned back to the wheel and put the car in gear so she could drive us home.

I wiped at the tear that ran down my cheek then pulled out my letters again so I could reread Wesley’s and add a postscript to the one I wrote to him. I also wanted to look at his picture again, if I was honest.

There was something about his eyes and his smile that drew me in when I looked at the photo for the first time—a connection I could feel even through a photograph. Maybe it was because of our letters, but something deep within me, a feeling or a presence I couldn’t even begin to understand or explain, told me it was something bigger, something more.

“What did your friend say?” Mom asked me from the driver’s seat.

I looked up at her from where I had been jotting down my last words, and I smiled. “He told me about his family, mostly. And his friends. They all seem to be very close.” I gave a soft sigh, lowering my eyes for a moment so she wouldn’t see my sadness. “He sent me his picture as well.”

Mom perked up in her seat at that. “Ooh, let me see?”

I waited until she stopped at a red light and then handed her the photo.

“Oh, he is a handsome young man, isn’t he?” I blushed at her words, turning my head to the side and pressing my hands to my cheeks to hide the pink I knew was there. “So strong and serious looking already at his age,” she added, examining his photo still.

Even with my embarrassment, I couldn’t deny the truth of what she was saying. I might have been only nine years old, but I could still tell Wesley was more mature-looking than most twelve-year-olds I had seen, and he would undoubtedly grow to be more handsome as he got older. He told me his photo was silly, but all I saw was a young man with serious but caring brown eyes and a sincere, honest smile.

“Are you ready to mail your reply? I can swing by the post office before we head home?” Mom asked, and I nodded, then stuffed, sealed, and placed a stamp on the envelope I was sending to Wesley.

We pulled into the post office parking lot, and my mom drove up to the outdoor mailbox, opening my window so I could drop the letter into the slot. My heart fluttered a bit as I watched the purple envelope fall into the dark of the mailbox, my anticipation and excitement to hear from Wesley again racing through me.

We might have only known each other a short while, and we didn’t know if we would ever get to meet each other in person, but I already considered him one of my best friends. I could only hope he felt the same about me.

CHAPTER 7

DearWesley,

Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. I will never tell anyone about how the great Wesley Stone was awaiting a letter from a girl. No, I will take that secret with me to my grave. No one will ever know that you are actually a nice person who cares about poor little me.

I have to say, as much as I’ve always wanted to have a large family with siblings who are close to me, I think I could live without all the annoying and teasing you described in your letter. So, you can keep your brother and sister and best friends over there with you in California. I will stay here, by myself, without anyone to ever annoy me or tease me. I will have peace and quiet, and you will have noise and chaos.

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