Dancing in Red Shoes Will Kill You Read Online Free Page B

it than most. Too bad. He’s really good looking.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said, secretly shouting hurray inside.
    â€œThat’s okay,” Joey said. “I’ve got to focus on getting into a ballet company this year anyway. He’d just be a distraction.”
    I put my head back on the leopard print headrest and for a few minutes forgot about the next day’s auditions. I was definitely ready for a distraction like Gray Foster.

Chapter 3
    W e were almost at the end of English lit when my name came booming over the PA system. “Ms. Halstrom, could you please send Kayla Callaway to the guidance office?”
    Immediately everyone’s eyes turned my way as an undercurrent of curious looks rippled across the classroom. A couple of voices from the back sang an exaggerated “Ooooh.”
    I looked at Ms. Halstrom, hoping she could provide a clue as to why, for the first time in my entire sixteen years, I was being called to see a guidance counselor. If it were senior year, it would be different; she’d want to talk about college. But at Farts everyone knew the guidancecounselors were so overworked that, if you were called in during any other year, you had to be either dyslexic or on drugs. To my knowledge, I wasn’t either.
    Ms. Halstrom looked back at me with curiosity and surprise. I could tell she was already making up some scenario in her head. English teachers like to find all kinds of hidden meaning in things.
    But all she said was, “You’d better take your backpack. We’re almost ready to change classes.”
    Halfway to the guidance counselor, I began to get excited. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I started fantasizing about what she could possibly want to tell me. Maybe there was a dance scholarship she wanted to recommend. Or maybe there was some award that I’d been nominated for and didn’t know about. Auditions for Cinderella were that afternoon. But I knew it couldn’t have anything to do with getting a part because the dance department always handled that.
    The guidance office was bigger than I’d expected it to be. I had to stop at a front desk and give my name before I was directed to another, smaller office. Inside a heavy-set woman stood and introduced herself as Ms. Marone. Behind her head—which reeked of way too much hair spray—a huge poster displaying a waterfall and a rainbow read: IF YOU CAN DREAM IT , YOU CAN ACHIEVE IT . I hoped her advice wasn’t as clichéd as her taste in posters.
    She pointed to a chair across from her desk. “Sit down,” she said as if she were a doctor ready to give some depressing news about my test results.
    She sat behind her dark wooden desk and folded her hands on a green blotter. “Kayla, do you know why I called you in here?”
    I was pretty sure the dumb look on my face told the answer, but I managed to vocalize an “Umm, no.”
    â€œYou have no idea?”
    I could tell by her tone of voice and the guessing game that there was no scholarship or award. I tried to think of the answer she was looking for. “Well, my grades are good. I’m keeping up with the advanced ballet class. I haven’t joined many clubs, I know, but the dance program is pretty demanding….” I knew I was rambling, but she sat there, silent, looking at me like I was some sort of lab rat.
    She looked down at a piece of paper and nodded. “Yes, your grades are good. And I see you’re doing well in the dance program, but…”
    I didn’t like the sound of that “but.” I stared at the jar of Jolly Ranchers on her desk, watching the light shine through the bright colors.
    â€œWould you like one?” Ms. Marone said.
    I looked up, startled. “Uh, no thanks.”
    Ms. Marone nodded and gave me a knowing look.What was that supposed to mean? Did she think I had false teeth?
    She folded her hands again. “You know, you have