I actually laughed because I thought she was joking.
“You’ve been waiting for this.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“I’m not good enough yet.”
That stopped me.
Tessa had never been arrogant about dancing, but she had always been determined. This was the same girl who repeated the same movement fifty times in our kitchen because she hated getting it wrong.
“Did your teacher say you weren’t ready?”
“No.”
“Then why do you think that?”
Her jaw tightened.
“Can you not do this?”
“Do what?”
“Turn everything into a discussion.”
Then she carried her dinner upstairs.
I told Graham that something was wrong.
He wasn’t convinced.
“She’s sixteen,” he said. “Sixteen-year-olds stop telling their parents everything.”
“This isn’t everything. It’s ballet.”
“She might just be under pressure.”
I wanted to believe that.
A few evenings later, Colin pulled into our driveway while I was outside bringing in a package.
