Toe to Toe (On Pointe Book 1) by Penelope Freed (read with me TXT) 📕

baking sheet before sticking them in the oven to cook. Aiden is still sniffling back tears but at least he isn’t screaming anymore. Marie is sitting patiently on the floor by my feet sucking on her fist and drooling everywhere.

“Come on monsters, let’s go watch tv,” I swing her back up onto my hip, narrowly avoiding the string of drool that’s hanging from her chin. So gross. I grab a tissue on my way to the living room and wipe off her face before I plop her on the floor at my feet with her toys. “What are we watching Aiden?”

“Pirates!!!!” He yells, running in circles around the room, tears forgotten. I flip the tv on and find the show he wants before I pull out my phone.

Tyler: Hey beautiful, how’s the monsters?

Me: Loud. Annoying. Weirdly wet. Pick an adjective.

Tyler: Need some company?

Me: Can’t, my dad and Martha will kill you if you’re here without them knowing. And me, they’ll kill me too. I’m too pretty to die.

I fluff my hair, purse my lips and take a selfie of myself laying on the couch. Then I angle my phone to include the drool monster on the ground and Aiden running amok in the background and take another. I post the good one to my Insta, but send both to Tyler. Perception vs. reality is a real bitch. I toss my phone aside and pretend to pay attention to the monsters.

“Ouch!” I cry when my hair is suddenly yanked from my head. “Son of a…” I stop myself before finishing that thought out loud. Marie has a handful of my hair in her wet, chubby fist and she’s using it to pull herself up to standing. I guess I’m washing my hair tonight.

“Come on, baby girl,” I pull her up to sit on my chest on the couch. She squawks and wiggles around, her chubby legs straddling my stomach. Her brown curly hair and eyes are exactly the same as Aiden’s. They both look just like Martha, except that Marie and I have my dad’s nose.

We pass the time with Marie bouncing up and down on me, Aiden chattering away about whatever this pirate is up to and me praying no one loses an eye and the dino nuggets cook quickly.

When my dad and Martha walk in the door two hours later, the monsters are fed, bathed, in pajamas and sleepily watching Finding Nemo on the couch. I even loaded the dishwasher, like the angel I am. “Thanks, pumpkin,” my dad says, dropping a kiss on my head.

“Thanks,” Martha mouths to me as she gently picks up the almost asleep Marie. I smile, because I know this just bought me at least a couple weeks before they ask again. My dad picks up a grumbling Aiden and follows Martha up the stairs. I watch them go, running my fingers through my hair, feeling the familiar burn of jealousy in my chest. I absently pull at the tangles Marie made, letting the pain tugging at my scalp replace the pain in my chest.

It’s not fair. That should be Mom walking up the stairs, not Martha. My mom, not their mom.

With a sigh, I roll off the couch and tiptoe up to my room so I can shower the food and drool off me before I go to bed. All I want to do is sleep in tomorrow, but nine am ballet class calls. I skipped on Monday and tonight, so I absolutely can’t miss class tomorrow. Ms. Parker will give me another one of her patented guilt trips and Hannah will look at me with those disappointed eyes and make passive-aggressive comments about what I missed in class earlier this week.

Excuse me if I decided to try something new and made a commitment to the cheer squad. They’re all so big on following through on your commitments and blah, blah, blah. Well, look at me, I committed to something and I’m following through. They just don’t like it because I didn’t commit to ballet. Well, guess what? I didn’t want to commit to six days a week of ballet this year, I wanted to be a normal high schooler.

I check my phone when I finish my shower. My Insta post from earlier has over a hundred likes and comments already, sweet. And then there’s this gem of a text.

Hannah: are you coming to class tomorrow? Ms. Parker wants us to stay for an extra 30 mins to work on Sleeping Beauty since we couldn’t run through it earlier this week. Also, entry fees for YIGP are due tomorrow. She asked if you were coming and I said I didn’t know.

For fucks sake, Hannah. You’re not my personal assistant, why do you keep letting people assume you know my life? I shake my head and toss the phone on my bed. I’m not even going to answer her.

Chapter 3 Hannah

One by one the girls in my class slink into the studio, curling into our sweats and hoodies as we slowly get our shoes on and start stretching before class. Ballet class at nine o’clock in the morning is hard, no matter how much you love dancing. Even Ms. Parker can be a little grumpy on Saturday mornings before she’s finished her coffee. Still, Saturdays are my favorite—the one day a week that feels like old times, the day everyone is guaranteed to be in class.

I like to get there early to help with the baby class that starts half an hour before ours, it always puts me in a good mood for my own class after. The babies are so cute in their tiny tutus and itty bitty ballet shoes. I’ve become a pro at tying the strings on those little shoes. Olivia and I were that small when we started dancing together, our moms signed us up for class almost before we could walk. No surprise there, since that’s where they met as kids.

Lisa joined the studio when her family moved