Page 135 of Just Like Home

She narrowed her gaze. “I’ve been handling these boys for weeks by myself, Coach.”

“Fine,” he said. “I’m making up reasons to come see you. Sue me.”

She started down the hallway. “All right, but I can’t promise I’m not going to make you get up and dance.”

He stopped, and his expression turned.

She laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ll save that for later.”

They walked into the noisy studio, a bit more chaotic than normal. She drew in a deep breath, shot Cole awish me lucklook, and called their rehearsal to order. Cole might’ve seen the team dance a few weeks ago, but now, after hours of rehearsals, they’d nearly perfected their number. She couldn’t lie—she was proud of them.

“Why don’t we show your coach what you’ve been working on?” she said above the din of their laughter.

“Why don’t you and Coach show us whatyou’vebeen working on?” Dunbar called out.

The other guys responded a lot like her friends might’ve—with obnoxious teasing, and she felt her cheeks turn pink.

“Or are those dances private?” Hotchke added.

Cole’s pointed look shut him right up, and Charlotte tried to compose herself. Was it obvious she was flustered?

“All right,” she said. “Let’s take it from the top. The performance is tomorrow, so give it all you’ve got.”

“If we do it without any mistakes, will you and Coach show us your dance?” Whitey called out.

“Coach and I aren’t dancing,” she said. “He’s dancing with his niece, and I’m dancing a solo.”

“But you know the dance,” Asher said. “You made it up.”

That was true. And while normally she wouldn’t turn down a chance to be in Cole’s arms, she couldn’t imagine he’d agree to these terms.

She glanced at him and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Coach?”

“What are the odds they’ll win this bet?” he asked.

“Slim,” she said. “Whitey has two left feet.”

The boys reacted loudly at her joke, and she winked at Whitey, who shook his head.

“It’s on, Miss Page.” He removed his hat, then put it back on backward.

She grinned. “Show us what you’ve got.”

She started the music and the boys turned serious. They’d amped up the personality, and two of them had even inserted some breakdancing moves she had not approved.

The song ended, and they hit their final pose.

Whitey slammed his hands on the floor and shouted, “Take that, Coach.”

The whole group erupted in laughter, but before Charlotte could tell them if they’d won the bet or not, Brinley stormed in from the hallway. The beautiful, young blonde had everyone’s attention.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But Charlotte, you have to see this.” She handed her phone to Charlotte. On the screen was an article by a critic named Maude Delancey, a woman who’d always been kind to Charlotte.

Until now.

The headline read “Prima Ballerina Abandons the Company That Made Her a Star.” Charlotte skimmed the article, enough to get the gist. Maude, and apparently many others, were upset with the way Charlotte had left the ballet. She’d been too abrupt, and her departure was like a slap in the face to all the people who’d supported her throughout her long career. It sent the message that she was ungrateful, spoiled even, and nobody at the ballet had come to her defense.

Now we learn from a small-town newspaper’s website that the former principal dancer of the Chicago City Ballet will don her pointe shoes once again. But this performance is only a step higher than an elementary school talent show, the kind thrown together by the math teacher.

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