Overture (Ambler Elite #1) ★

6. A Voice of Reason

Thursdays I only had a two hour technique class—it was my lightest day at Ambler. But sitting in the house made me stir-crazy, especially because all I could think about was the all-cast rehearsal on Saturday. I couldn't imagine all of us in the same room while Mrs. Princeton forced us to workshop our performance pieces. It already spelled out instant tragedy.

I sat on my barstool working on homework for a good hour and a half, trying to ignore Mom in the kitchen trying to make chocolate chip cookies. Here's the thing: my mother does not bake. She doesn't even cook. She can toast bread and boil mac and cheese, and that's about it. We leave all the dinner preparation in the family to Dad.

But today, Mom had somehow gotten the idea that yes, she could bake chocolate chip cookies. It was either her trying to get in the head of her latest book character or her practicing her mother version of feminism ("yes, I can do everything Dad can do.") Either way, she'd already burnt two batches and I wasn't keen on watching her mess up a third. The kitchen had that weird, smoky, hazy smell and the smoke alarm was going off any minute.

Bad baking + stress about rehearsals + inability to focus on homework meant one thing.

"Mom, I'm taking Mila for a walk!" I called, hopping down from my stool. My fluffy white Pomeranian skittered across the kitchen floor toward me, stubby tail wagging, her nails clicking on the floor. She knew exactly what "walk" meant.

"All right. Be back in time to try my cookies before dance!"

Yeah, no chance. I pulled on sneakers and opened the front door, just in time to hear the smoke alarm wailing.

Mila and I made our way down my sloping driveway onto the sidewalk across the street. She was a tiny dog but her legs moved faster than a centipede's, and she had no trouble keeping up with me as I lengthened my strides. She was full of energy, bouncing beside me, looking up at me every few minutes with her tongue lolling.

We had a usual walking route: a pretty small circle around our neighborhood. But the garbage truck was out today and Mila hated those, so we took a right on a different road and set of in a different direction. I stuffed earbuds in and cranked up the volume—finally, I could focus on something besides dance.

Except I couldn't, because Riley Meyer-Love was walking towards me on the sidewalk, his equally tiny dog straining on its leash to meet Mila.

Great. Just what I needed. I couldn't tell if I was happy or annoyed to see him, but it definitely didn't alleviate any stress.

"Hey, Ever!" he called, closing the distance between us. Not good not good. I half expected Paige to jump out of the bushes and startle us. Surprise.

"Hey." The dogs collided, wriggling and sniffing each other excitedly. I rocked from foot to foot, wondering if it was my turn to say something else.

"So," he said finally, crouching. "Is this your dog?"

"Yeah. This is Mila." Mila was positively joyous to see him, putting her paws up on his knees. At least on of us was.

Riley pet Mila for a little while before he stood back up. "Where're you walking? Silas and I could keep you company. I think he has a little crush on Mila."

Bad excuse. Silas and Mila were now on opposite sides of the sidewalk—Silas pawed a leaf and jumped back when it danced in the breeze.

"Sure," I said anyway. He fell into step beside me and I took out my other earbud. "You don't have Nutcracker rehearsals today?"

"Not on Thursdays. Just technique at seven."

We turned a corner, stopping to let a minivan pass us before we crossed the street. I kept an extra tight grip on Mila's leash as she debated running after it.