Sundae My Prince Will Come Page 4

  He stepped through the swinging doors, leaving me in stunned silence. The instant he was gone, the kitchen took on an empty, bland feeling. Great. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted, and now I wished I hadn’t.

  For the next half hour, I tried to keep busy, starting a new batch of Goldichocs and restocking all of the jars of dried toppings.

  When I went out front, I noticed the change in the atmosphere. The customers who’d been grousing about the long wait were now laughing and chatting happily. Lanz was scooping ice cream like a pro, as if he’d done it a thousand times before, and Mom looked so relieved that even she seemed cheery. Lanz was joking with the customers, charming them even as he explained that we’d run out of their favorite flavor.

  “Why not try something fresh and new?” he coaxed one little girl. “A Mad Hatter Mango to match that blonde hair?” With another he teased, “Watch out for Pinocchio’s Pistachio. It will make your nose sprout like a tree!”

  It seemed impossible for anyone to dislike him. Except, possibly, me.

  Finally, there was nothing left for me to do but grab an ice cream scoop and join Mom and Lanz behind the counter.

  “The rush is dying down,” I said to Mom as I drizzled hot fudge over the banana split order she’d just handed me.

  “Finally.” Mom rang up the banana split for one of the last customers. “Thank goodness Lanz works so quickly.”

  He held up his scoop. “And no customers were injured in the scooping of this ice cream.”

  Mom laughed, and my heart sank. Great. Lanz had charmed Mom, too.

  As Mom began wiping off a few of the tables, Lanz stepped to my side.

  “So. Now do you approve?” he asked.

  “Of what?” I dropped my eyes.

  “Of me working here?”

  “He impressed me so much today,” Mom chimed in, “that I told Lanz he’s welcome to help anytime.”

  “You don’t need my approval.” I tried to turn away, but his gaze stopped me.

  “But I do,” he said quietly, so only I could hear. His expression grew thoughtful. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make it so, but I feel that you find me … unbearable?”

  “No—”

  “Per favore.” He held up a hand. “It is simple. If you don’t want me here, I won’t come.”

  I didn’t want him here, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t agree, I’d lose my chance at dancing.

  I shrugged, pretending that it made no difference to me one way or the other. “Work here. Whatever. It’s fine by me.”

  “Molto bene! And tomorrow, I will bring all fresh ingredients. And we will make new ice cream. So delicious! You’ll see.”

  I nodded, then made my escape into the kitchen. What was I getting myself into? Dance, I reminded myself. I’m doing this for dance. Dance was everything. And Lanz? I would get used to having Lanz around, and soon I’d forget that he’d ever had this strange, intoxicating effect on me.

  “Let me get this straight.” Tilly leaned against her locker, twisting one of her braids around her finger. “You still have a shot at dancing, and you have someone to help your mom out at Once upon a Scoop. And you’re unhappy?” She raised one eyebrow doubtfully.

  “You make it sound ridiculous.” I stifled a yawn. I’d barely slept last night, my mind whirring over the predicament I found myself in. “And I’m not unhappy. It’s just … the whole working with Lanz thing.”

  “What’s wrong with Mr. Congeniality?” She smoothed out her KEEP CALM AND LET AN ENVIRONMENTALIST HANDLE IT tee.

  I balked. “You don’t even know him. What if it’s a disaster?”

  “Why would it be?” She gave me a quizzical look.

  “I—I’m not sure we’ll get along,” I said helplessly.

  “He’s befriended the entire student body in under two days. Plus, he seems to be taking his new job seriously.”

  “Yeah right.” I scoffed, thinking of how little he seemed to take anything seriously.

  “Well. Andres and I ran into him on Main Street last night. He was looking for the Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop. Checking out the competition, he said.” She paused to let this sink in. The Marina Springs Ice Cream Shop was Once upon a Scoop’s biggest competitor. Last year, the shop had beaten us for the town-voted honor of “Best Ice Cream in Marina Springs.” Mr. Sneeves had been grouchier than usual after we lost the title. “So maybe he really is as good at ice cream as he says he is,” Tilly said. When I could only shrug, she added, “What does Ethan say about it?”

  My irritation burbled fresh. “Not much of anything.” I’d called Ethan last night, hoping I’d feel better after talking with him. But he’d been distant and distracted. All I’d heard were monotone “uh-huhs” and “mmms” from the other end of the line.

  “Ethan?” I’d blurted. “Are you even listening?”

  “Oh sure!” he’d said quickly. “Of course I am!” I’d heard clanging and rattling in the background.

  “You are not! You’re working on your invention.” Normally, I would’ve laughed it off. It was one of the things I’d found cute about him—the absentmindedness combined with intense focus. Last night, though, I’d found it annoying.

  He’d sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, but I think I finally had a breakthrough on the sensors in the wiring. If I don’t work on it now, I might forget—”

  I’d swallowed, a stab of hurt streaking through me. Ethan was a sweet guy. Logic said I should remember that, but it was tough to be logical when I felt so out of sorts. Shouldn’t a girlfriend in distress trump schoolwork? “It’s okay,” I forced myself to say. “Go back to your work.”

  “Thanks. We can talk tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I’d said. Then I’d tried to ignore my frustration, without success.

  Now, I took some of it out on my locker, slamming it shut while Tilly’s eyes widened.

  “Hold up. You’re mad at Ethan, too?” Tilly asked. “You two never fight.”

  “We’re not fighting,” I said glumly. “Only, I needed him to listen last night, and he was … well, he was Ethan.”

  “No surprise there.” Tilly snorted. “You wouldn’t be going out with him if he weren’t Ethan.”

  I gave a small smile. “That’s true.”

  “Malie! There you are.” Lanz’s voice called from behind me, and I turned to see him breezing down the hallway in cargo shorts and a rumpled white shirt. His hair was disheveled, like he’d rolled out of bed mere moments before, and he was eating a chocolate croissant. I wanted to look away but couldn’t.

  “You must come to the conservatory after school,” Lanz said, stopping in front of me. “I talked to Mama, and she’s agreed to watch you dance.”

  My heart leapt. “Really? Wow. I … didn’t expect you to ask so fast.”

  “Of course. I didn’t want you to miss any more dance than you had to. And … I worried that you’d change your mind about me working at the parlor.” He winked. “I know it pains you.”

  “Wha—no, it doesn’t!” I lied as Tilly’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.

  “Don’t worry about Mal, Lanz.” Tilly patted his shoulder. “It’s just that she doesn’t enjoy anything about ice cream anymore. Maybe you can change her mind.”

  The bell rang then.

  “So I will meet you at the conservatory after school?” Lanz asked.

  “I’ll have to grab my ballet stuff from home first, but I’ll be there,” I replied, my pulse a drum in my ears. Forget my confusion over Lanz. This was my shot, and I wasn’t about to blow it.

  “Are you ready?” Lanz asked as we stood outside the conservatory.

  I swallowed. “To meet your mom, who used to dance with Teatro alla Scala, one of the best dance companies in the world? Sure. Why not?” I choked out a laugh. “It’s not the least bit intimidating.”

  The sidewalk was bustling with sunburned tourists. They all seemed so relaxed and happy, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire future was dep
endent on the next few minutes. (Or at least, that’s what it felt like.) I had my dance bag in a stranglehold, and I couldn’t seem to make my feet take another step.

  “Don’t worry,” Lanz said earnestly. He put his hand on the door, then paused. “Only … if you are terrible, you may want to duck.”

  “Duck? Why?”

  “To avoid getting hit in the head with a pointe shoe.” He shrugged. “She throws them sometimes, but only in disgust.”

  I felt my face pale, but then I caught the glint of amusement in his eyes. “No, no. I’m not falling for it this time.” I shook a finger at him. “You’re joking, right?” I was finally starting to figure him out.

  He didn’t answer, but only held the door open for me, bowing slightly as he did. “After you.”

  “You have to be joking,” I said as we stepped inside. We walked from the hallway into the familiar studio, with its long mirror and wooden barre.

  “Miss Analu.” The silken but imperious voice belonged to a black-haired woman whose facial features resembled Lanz’s in everything but her smile. Whereas Lanz’s smile was so easily given and casual, Signora Benucci’s was like her movements, poised and exacting. She stood in front of the mirror, her hair piled on top of her head in a bun. She held a single pointe shoe in her right hand, which she tapped against the palm of her left. Was it for throwing? My heart tripled its pace. “We have only a few minutes before the afternoon classes begin,” she continued in her thick Italian accent. Her English was perfect. “Time is of the essence.”

  “Yes! I’ll be quick.” I hurriedly slipped my yoga pants off and slid into my ballet shoes. I glanced at Lanz, who nodded toward the pointe shoe in his mother’s hand, then grinned.

  “I’ll wait outside, yes?” Lanz said.

  He’d asked me, but his mother was the one who answered with a clipped “Sì,” followed by a string of more Italian that I couldn’t make any sense of, but sounded like it might’ve been a scolding. Oh no, I thought. Maybe she’s already decided I’m a waste of her time.

  If that was the case, Lanz showed no sign of it. He just nodded good-naturedly and gave me a thumbs-up before leaving.

  “My son tells me you can dance.” Signora Benucci touched her phone’s screen, and the familiar overture to Swan Lake flowed from the room’s speakers. She swept her arm out as way of invitation. “Show me.”

  For a second, every shred of confidence left me. Then, as the music swelled, my body quieted my mind, and I began to dance. This was the part I loved—when my limbs acted on their own, moving as an extension of the music. My spine seemed to stretch and lengthen as I moved from fourth position into a series of pirouettes, then segued into an arabesque.

  I forgot Signora Benucci was watching. I forgot where I was. When I was. The music consumed me, and I molded to its form.

  “Thank you, Miss Analu!” The loudness of Signora Benucci’s voice meant that this was the second, or maybe even third, time she’d tried to get my attention.

  “Sorry,” I blurted, sweeping my right foot in an arc across the floor. My nervousness returned full force. “I get lost in the dancing sometimes.”

  “It should consume you.” She gave a single, knowing nod. “As George Balanchine once said, ‘I don’t want people who want to dance, I want people who have to dance.’ ” She tapped the pointe shoe against her palm. “Tell me, Miss Analu. Which type of person do you believe you are?”

  “I don’t believe,” I responded without a second’s hesitation. “I know. I have to dance. And I will.” I sucked in a breath, then continued, “I was planning on auditioning for Cinderella. I don’t know if that’s still possible, but … that’s not all. I want to dance in a company someday and—”

  “Those are big dreams, Miss Analu. There will always be others more advanced than you. Better than you.”

  I nodded. “I want to dance at my best. Misty Copeland didn’t start ballet until she was thirteen, and she was dancing professionally two years later. It can happen.”

  Signora Benucci’s eyes penetrated mine, as if she were the human equivalent of a lie detector. “And if I don’t take you on as a private student? What will you do then?”

  “Find another way.”

  She gazed at me for a few more seconds.

  “Yes. I will teach you,” she said, and relief swept over me. “Your technique is coarser than I would like, but you have promising form, and you move with a passione I don’t see often. And if you progress, I will see what I can do about the Cinderella audition.” She lifted a finger of warning. “That is not a promise. Only a chance. You will be here every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoon when school ends. Three p.m.?”

  My heart soared. “Yes!” I gushed. “I will. Thank you so much, Signora Benucci! You won’t be sorry!”

  Her lips lifted in an elegant smile. “Thank you for helping Lanz with his English.”

  “What?” I said blankly, nearly forgetting about the promise I’d made to Lanz. I caught my mistake just in time, rushing on with, “Oh! Right! Yes, no problem. I’m happy to help.”

  She glanced at the watch on her slender wrist. “My other students are arriving shortly. So … tomorrow at three?”

  “I’ll be here,” I said as I quickly changed from my ballet slippers to my street shoes. I left the studio, my entire body bursting with joy.

  Lanz met me outside the dance school. Before he could say a word, I threw my arms around him, gushing, “She’s going to help me! Chee-hu!”

  It took about two seconds for me to realize I was hugging Lanz Benucci in the middle of Main Street. His arms tightened around me, and his laughter in my hair made the skin on the back of my neck tingle. Warmth flooded my body before embarrassment made me pull away, blushing like mad.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “I don’t mind. You should smile like that more often. Happiness brings out the amber in your eyes.”

  “What amber?” I scoffed. “My eyes are brown.”

  Lanz shook his head. “They have an amber rim. Like a halo. It’s bellissima. Beautiful.”

  My heart fluttered, and I dropped my gaze, tongue-tied. No one had ever noticed that about my eyes before. Not me. Not Ethan. Ethan …

  “I have to text Ethan!” I cried. “And Tilly! They wanted to know how it went.” I pulled out my phone to text them, but then when I saw the time, I groaned. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve got to get over to Once upon a Scoop.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Lanz said. “Last night, I made a list of recipes. And—” He picked up a small cooler that had been sitting by the door. “I have some special ingredients.” He gestured to the windows high above the conservatory. “I grabbed them from our apartment while you were dancing for my mother.”

  I didn’t have time to ask Lanz what was in the cooler, or to try to dissuade him from coming. I was too grateful to him, and too stressed about the time. I nodded, and off we ran toward the ice cream parlor.

  Lanz and I stepped inside the kitchen of Once upon a Scoop to find the counters strewn with spilled sprinkles, toffee crumbles, and chocolate chips. And Mom in the middle of it all.

  “Malie, where have you been?” Mom hissed, her eyes flashing. “Mr. Sneeves is here.”

  She pushed open the door toward the eating area a crack, and I could see Mr. Sneeves’s familiar bald head and gray suit as he went from table to table, asking customers how the ice cream was and if the service was satisfactory.

  “Five minutes after he showed up, I accidentally knocked over a bunch of containers.” Mom brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “I haven’t had a chance to clean them up yet because the line’s been nonstop. People are complaining to Mr. Sneeves about the long waits. And the soft-serve machine has been acting up.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I know I’m late, but you’ll understand when I tell you what happened.” I nearly laughed with excitement. I’d wanted to tell her about Lanz’s idea last night, but the second we’d gotten back to o
ur apartment, she’d started paying bills and her mood went steadily downhill from there. Her mood didn’t seem much better right now, but maybe she’d be relieved that I’d found a solution to the dance problem that wouldn’t cost us anything. “See,” I pushed on, “I stopped at the conservatory and—”

  “What?” Mom frowned. “You knew I expected you right after school and you wasted your time there doing … what? Saying hi to your dance friends?”

  “Mrs. Analu.” Lanz stepped to my side. “I can explain—”

  “Thank you, Lanz, but I don’t need you to make excuses for Malie.” She sighed. “What I need is for my daughter to accept her responsibilities. Not force them on her friends.”

  Mom walked through the door into the front area, and I followed her, not believing what I’d just heard.

  “That’s so unfair!” My voice was rising, and several customers looked up from their sundaes. “I’ve never—”

  Mr. Sneeves cleared his throat. “Mrs. Analu, please,” he told Mom, his tone quiet but stern. “Whatever family drama this is, the customers do not need to be a party to it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sneeves. It won’t happen again.” Mom turned to me. “Malie, can you please prepare a vanilla soft-serve cone for the next customer?”

  I marched over to the soft-serve machine, trembling with pent-up anger. Mom hadn’t even given me the chance to explain!

  When I depressed the soft-serve handle, a whine rose up from the machine’s depths. I ignored it, only wanting to be done with this order as quickly as possible. Suddenly, smoke began pouring from the back of the machine. Its whining rose to a shriek.

  “Mom!” I cried, and she flew to my side, unplugging the soft-serve machine and fanning away the smoke. A collective groan rose up from the customers.

  “Don’t worry, folks.” Mr. Sneeves’s voice rose silky smooth over the complaining. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes certainly weren’t. “This is just a small malfunction. We’ll have it fixed in no time. And in the interim, I’m happy to offer two free scoops for everyone.”