“Hello? Hello?” And then I realize that Atara’s crying
Isit on my bed and survey the room through slitted eyes.
Step one to Operation Tackle Tornado: assess the damage. I do a 360 with my eyes, taking in the pile of tutus on the floor, the bags of ribbons and slippers piled behind the door, the chair hidden by upsheren wardrobe options, the nightstand littered with chocolate wrappers and plastic cups, and the unmade bed I am perched on.
Aha.
I have my work cut out for me. I grin, remembering how on the first day of high school, Perel from math class asked me if I was super neat because I did ballet. Um, hi, misconception, how are you?
But Ma, on the other hand, is very neat. And she has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that if I don’t get my room clean, she is canceling all future ballet classes. And dinner. I think she was joking about that last one. I hope.
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