Allegra Read Online Free Page A

anything. I’m too dumbfounded at the direction this conversation is going.
    â€œI should have told you yesterday that you wouldn’t have to redo all the work you’ve already done.”
    I find my voice. “Yeah, you should have.”
    He just nods.
    â€œSo all I have to do is write this exam and pass it, and I’m done with your class?”
    â€œNot quite.”
    I look at him, waiting.
    He takes back the file with the exam. “You’ll be done with Music Theory 11-12. But you won’t be done with my class.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œLike I told you yesterday, Allegra, this is not a dance school. If you pass the exam, I have another project in mind, one I think will challenge you to actually apply all the music theory you know. You may even want to call on your knowledge of dance.”
    â€œWhy won’t you just let me sign up for another class?” I know I’m whining, but I don’t care.
    â€œI’ve read your file, Allegra. I know that both your parents are musicians. That’s why I said Pass in your round of the two-truths-and-a-lie game. I believe you do have a sound background in music. That said, I am committed to the philosophy of this school. We are about all the arts. I want you to push yourself in more areas than just dance. Believe me, it will help you bring even more to the dance studio.” He pauses and leans forward. “You have to trust me on this one, Allegra.”
    For the first time all morning, I meet his gaze and stare back at him. I feel a sense of defeat.
    â€œYour other option would be to take drama, I guess. Or painting.”
    There’s not a chance I’m doing that.
    â€œWell?” he asks when I don’t respond.
    I sigh. “How soon can I write the exam?” I nod at the file.
    â€œAttagirl!” he says, beaming.
    Despite myself, I notice how nice he looks when he smiles. “Whatever,” I say.

T hree
    Ms. Dekker teaches all of my dance and movement classes. She’s the one the girl from my English class told me about. During my first ballet class, I can feel her eyes assessing me during barre. I try to ignore her and focus on the exercises, but she keeps hollering out instructions. “Shoulders down, Allegra! Stretch your feet! Pull up, chest bones to the ceiling! Ribs closed, soft neck!” I try to do everything she says, but there are too many things to think about at once. When I’m thinking about my arms, I forget to point my toes, and when I’m worrying about my legs, my posture sags.
    With a click of Ms. Dekker’s remote, the music stops and our exercise comes to an abrupt halt.
    â€œAllegra,” she scolds, “I see that you’ve picked up some bad habits along the way. Where have you been studying up until now?”
    â€œTurning Pointe,” I tell her.
    â€œWell, the teachers at Turning Pointe should be ashamed of themselves,” she says. “Your feet are terrible and your turnout needs a lot of work.”
    I stretch out my leg to do a grande rond de jambe and she bounds right over to where I’m working. Bending down, she grabs my inner thigh and rotates it upward.
    â€œThere,” she says, standing up and assessing my new position. “That is proper technique.”
    It feels all wrong. My développé is overcrossed, and the way she’s twisted my leg makes my hip feel out of place. “Are you sure?” I ask. “It doesn’t feel right this way.”
    â€œI’m sure,” she says. “And I expect to see you use your turnout from your hips from now on, not forced from the knees.”
    In the mirror, I make eye contact with the girl from English class. She tilts her head, eyebrows raised in a question. I nod and decide that I might not avoid her in English after all.

    Mom and Dad swing around to look at me when I enter the living room. I’ve just arrived home from school, and they