“Your mom was beautiful,” I said softly. “And you look just like her in this picture. Same smile.”
Her fingers tightened on the frame.
“You know what I think? I think she’d want you to keep smiling like that. I think she’d want you to remember the happy parts, not just the sad ones.” I paused, weighing my next words carefully. “How about we do something fun? Something that might help you feel closer to those happy memories?”
Lily’s eyes finally lifted to meet mine, and the hope I saw there mixed with fear nearly broke me.
“Do you trust me?”
She nodded once, small and hesitant.
“Then let’s go on an adventure.”
Getting Lily out of the penthouse without alerting Mrs. Pearson to where we were actually going required some creative truth-telling which Gianna helped me with. I mentioned fresh air and a change of scenery, which wasn’t technically a lie. I just left out the part about the ballet studio.
This was reckless, probably crossed fifteen professional boundaries, and would definitely get me fired if Hector found out. But consequences could wait.
Delia’s dance space occupied the first floor of an old building in Brooklyn, and the place smelled like wood polish. Music drifted everywhere, something classical and beautiful that made my heart beat faster.
Delia stood in the middle of the studio wearing a wrap skirt over her leggings, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun. When she saw us, her whole face transformed into a smile that could light up a city block.
“You must be Lily.” She bent over to Lily’s level, her movements graceful even when casual. “Sarah’s told me so much about you. She says you’re one of the bravest people she knows.”
Lily’s gaze dropped to the floor, but her cheeks flushed pink.
“I have to agree with her,” Delia said, her voice warm and easy. “It takes a lot of courage to come to a place like this, especially when it might bring up big feelings. But you know what? Big feelings just mean we have big hearts, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She stood and gestured around the studio with its wall of mirrors and its wooden barre running along one side. “This is a safe space for dancing, which means you can move however you want—or not move at all.” There’s no right or wrong here. Just music and room to be yourself.”
Lily looked up at me, and I saw the question in her eyes.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” I promised. “Not going anywhere.”
Delia walked to the sound system and pressed a button, and soft piano music filled the space.
“How about we start with something simple?” Delia moved to the center of the room and raised her arms in a graceful arc above her head. “This is called first position. See how my arms make a circle?”
She demonstrated the movement again, slower this time, and I watched Lily watch her.
“Want to try?” Delia’s smile held no pressure, just an invitation that Lily could accept or refuse.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Lily stood frozen while the music played and the world waited.
Then her arms lifted—hesitant, shaking—forming that same circle above her head. Her form wasn’t perfect, and her arms trembled from the effort, but she was doing it. She was dancing.
“Beautiful,” Delia breathed. “Absolutely beautiful. Now let’s add a little movement. Just rise up on your toes like you’re trying to reach something high above you.”
Lily’s feet lifted, and she wobbled slightly before finding her balance. Her face showed fierce concentration, and then something changed in her expression. The fear melted away, replaced by something that looked almost like joy.
Delia guided her through basic positions, her voice steady and encouraging, and Lily followed. Each movement got a little smoother, a little more confident. She was remembering, I realized, not learning. Her body knew these steps even if her mind had tried to forget them.
The music swelled, and Lily moved with it. She spun once, arms out, and her smile grew wider. The studio lights caught the tears on her cheeks, and I realized she was crying while she danced.
My own eyes burned. When the music ended, Lily stood in the center of the studio breathing hard, and she looked more alive than I’d seen her in months. Delia walked over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You were wonderful,” she said simply. “A natural dancer if I ever saw one.”
I crossed the studio and pulled Lily into a hug, not caring about professional boundaries or appropriate behavior. She melted into me, her small body shaking with sobs.
