Page 120 of Dancing in the Dark

“Borrow?” I shake my head. “No, baby. You can keep it.”

She swings emotional eyes up to mine. “Really?”

“Definitely. I think if I tried to squeeze into it now, it would for sure give me a wedgie.” Grinning, I gently tap her cheek, then I straighten my legs and take her hand. I need to go back to my bag, and I refuse to leave her by the ledge all alone. “So my gift to you, sweet Mia Moo, is a gift to me, too.”

“Cos you get to see your happy memory leotard dance again?”

“Exactly.” Stopping in front of our things, I release her hand and peel my yoga pants down to reveal my leotard. Crisp black. Anti-wedgie material. The best kind. Dropping them by the bag and tugging my top off, I scoop my phone and a small Bluetooth speaker from the duffel and quickly sync them both.

I fuss for a moment, select a song, turn the speaker up high enough so we can hear it well, but not so loud it’ll make hearing each other difficult, then setting the pair on the ground, I look down at my sneakers and make a quirky face. “I look a bit silly, huh?”

“A little bit,” she giggles. Standing on one foot and poking the other forward, she shows off her flats. “Do you have some like these, Fifi? I don’t fink you could fit into mine, but if you could, I would let you borrow them.”

“Of course you would. Because you’re the sweetest, kindest, most selfless little girl I’ve ever met in my life.” Pulling the flap of my bag open, I take out my pointe shoes and revel in Mia’s gleeful gasp. “You’re not up to pointes yet, are you? You’re still a little young.”

“Maybe soon.” She stumbles closer and strokes the dangling ribbons. “These were yours, Fifi? From when you were a kid?”

“Nah. From now.” I tuck both under my arm and wrap my hand around hers.

“But you said you don’t dance on a stage anymore.” Walking beside me, she trusts me to lead her anywhere. Even without watching where she’s going. Even when all her attention is focused solely on what she thinks might’ve been a lie I told. “You said, Fifi. Why would you have those when you don’t even dance on a stage anymore?”

“Well…” I bring her to the furthest corner of the George Stanley building, where the world opens out in front of us and magic doesn’t feel quite so difficult to grab on to. “I don’t dance on regular stages anymore, and I don’t tell people that I dance.”

“Why not?”

“If no one knows, then there’s no pressure. And if no one watches, then no one can tell me I’m doing it badly.” I draw her to a stop and set my shoes on the building’s edge for safekeeping. Just for a moment. Then I turn and extend my hands. “Can I pick you up for a second?”

Eagerly, she jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around my hips, her cheek to my cheek.

“This is my stage now.” I gesture toward the city spread out in front of us. “And that’s my audience. But guess what?”

Her voice crackles as she asks, “What?”

“Look around.” I give her a second to do exactly that. “We’re on a stage… and it’s dark. And our audience,” I point at all the beautiful houses up on the hills, their interiors lit up so they become stars in the distance. “Our audience is in the light, baby, and we’re in the dark.”

“That’s what I wished for,” she whispers shakily. “Cos I don’t fink I hate dance yet, Fifi. But I hated it when my mom telled me I didn’t do it right. I hated it when I tried to tell Miss Debbie I didn’t feel well, but she was too busy to listen.” She blinks moisture into her eyes. “I hated it when I asked you to come watch me, but then you didn’t even get to see me dance.”

“This is my gift to you, baby.” I turn a slow circle and bury my cheek against the side of her neck. “This can be your stage, but only if you want it to be. And there’s your audience.” I stare out at the stars in the sky. The stars on the hill. “But only if you want them to watch.”

“This is a really good gift,” she sniffles. “I don’t feel sick in my tummy on this stage.”

Same, baby. Same. “No one knows we’re up here,” I whisper. “No one will see you dance. And maybe, after a while, kinda like I did tonight, you might invite someone else, so then you still get to be on the dark stage, but you can create brand new happy memories in my happy memory leotard.”

“This is already a happy memory for me.” She pulls back and squishes my face between her palms. “Can you put your pointe shoes on now, Fifi? I want to see. But also…” Less enthusiastic now, her brows pinch. “Do you fink they’ll hurt your feet? Cos I don’t want to mix a bad memory with a good memory.”

“They won’t hurt my feet.” I carefully lower and set her down, then I turn and sit on my butt, popping my sneakers off and unraveling the ribbons on my pointes. “I come up here more often than anyone knows.” I lower my voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Even after I stopped working for Aunty Minka.”

“You sneaked up?” She giggles, stopping in front of me so the toes of her flats touch the toes of mine. “Does Aunty Minka never get mad?”

“Well…” I shrug. “She never got mad before, but I’ve been super busy this last month, which means this is the first time I’ve come up since she got all those fancy new computers installed.” I draw the ribbons around my left ankle and thrill in the anticipation of dancing… for Mia.

Not for my mother. Not for the trophies or the Miss Debbies of the world. Not even for me.

For a sweet five-year-old who loves to dance. But it’s being ruined by the people she should be able to rely on.

“Do you want to see my jeté, Fifi?” Impatient, the way five-year-olds are, she moves back half a dozen paces and lifts her arms to the sky. “I could show you.”

“I would love to see it. But only if you want to share that with me. I can show you mine, too, if you like.”