Toe to Toe (On Pointe Book 1) Penelope Freed (funny books to read .TXT) 📖

been planning all sorts of fun things to do as big sisters. I’m not sure which one of us was more disappointed.

We tiptoe into my room and close the door. “What kind of dance do you want to make up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to make up a dance anymore.” Olivia flops on my bed and pulls a book out from under her.

“Give me that!” I squeak. “That’s my diary, you’re not allowed to read it!”

Olivia rolls over onto her stomach, a gleam in her eye. “Oooooooooo, does it have anything juicy in it?” She grins and starts to open the cover, moving in slow motion. I’m frozen and just stand there, staring at her.

“Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms. “I just got it, I haven’t really written anything in it yet.” Sometimes, if I give in right away Olivia gets bored and stops doing whatever thing I just told her not to do.

“Hmmmmm,” she starts reading, stopping to waggle her eyebrows at me over the edge of the book. “Gasp!” Yes, she really says gasp, like the drama queen she is. “Tyler Stanley?” Oh no. I was hoping she wouldn’t get to that part. “You think Tyler is cute!” Olivia giggles and starts making kissing noises. “Hannah and Tyler, sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” she sings at me like a lunatic.

“Ugh!” I flop down on the bed next to her. “I know, it’s dumb. I just think he’s cute. He looks kinda like Ross Lynch. I know he’ll never like me back, okay? I just like looking at him.” I sound so dumb.

“Ah, Banana, you never know! And he does look like Ross Lynch. Maybe you guys will be like Austin and Ally, except with dance instead of singing,” Olivia says, handing me back my diary which I immediately stuff inside my bedside table.

“Um, I don’t think Tyler can dance,” I say, dead serious.

“Oh my god, I bet he totally can not dance at all,” Olivia deadpans back and we collapse against each other laughing at the thought of our awkward sixth grade selves dancing with a boy, let alone Tyler Stanley.

I wake with a start as Mom pulls the car to a stop. My mouth is dry and gross and my neck is sore from sleeping in the car. “Almost there Hannah. I’m going to drop you off at the venue, then I’ll go check in okay? Ms. Parker is already here, she called about fifteen minutes ago. Go find her and I’ll be back when classes are over, okay?”

We pull into the parking lot of a high school. I look up at the grey, stone building and take a deep breath. A dozen girls and a few guys are scattered around the entrance to the theater, some chatting, some stretching. You can tell they’re all dancers since the girls almost all have their hair up in a bun and are wearing warm up suits, the colored embroidery on the back identifying which studio they’re from. My black warm up pants and jacket with the simple white “Camarillo School of Classical Ballet” logo embroidered on the back is packed in my dance bag for later. I recognize some of the logos on the backs of their jackets from previous competitions. I think one of the girls with a black and red jacket was at the auditions last weekend, her face looks vaguely familiar. YIGP is a prestigious competition, so most of the dancers here are from pre-professional ballet schools all over Southern California and even Arizona and Nevada.

As my mom pulls up to the curb I lean back and grab my dance bag. “Should I leave everything in the car?” I ask.

“Do you have a leotard and tights in your dance bag?” I nod my head, of course I do. “Then leave the rest, I’ll take it to our room. You don’t need any of it, right?”

“Nope. Thanks Mom. Love you!” I lean over to let her kiss my cheek before I hop out of the car. I can see Ms. Parker talking to some other parents from the studio, so I head that direction.

When I get close, I stop just next to Ms. Parker and wait, bouncing my knee nervously, while she finishes up her conversation with the mom who was talking to her. She gives me a smile and gently lays her hand on my shoulder. My knee stills and I take a deep breath. As the mom starts walking away, Ms. Parker pulls me in for a hug.

“Hi sweetie, I’m glad you’re here. You feel okay for tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so. Should I go change?”

“Sure, if you want to. You have about forty-five minutes before the class starts over there,” she points to a building just next to the theater. “The classes are in the studio there, they have the bathrooms in there open for you guys. Why don’t you go change and come back here so we can make a plan for tonight?”

After a quick nod, I take off for the studio building where there’s a locker room with benches and a long mirror wall. I quickly change my clothes and throw my warm up suit on. I have leg warmers on underneath the pants, a ballet skirt hanging over it and a long sleeve shirt under the jacket. I park myself in front of the long wall of mirrors to do my hair.

I brush my thick red hair until there are no tangles, then I flip my head over and gather it up into a high ponytail, making sure to comb out any bumps or stray hairs. Once my ponytail is secure I divide it in two, then start twisting one half tight. Once it’s twisted I start wrapping it around my ponytail, pinning it in with large hairpins as I go.

“Oooo, I love a good cinnamon roll bun,” someone says, startling me. “Hi!” A tiny little dancer waves at me in the mirror.

“Hey,” I say, eyeing her in the mirror