Allegra by Shelley Hrdlitschka Page B

wanted a masterpiece, I should have added, ‘Within reason.’ I don’t want you getting bent out of shape over this.”
    Now I get it. It was my Beethoven remark. I laugh. “No worries. I’ll just write an average masterpiece.”
    He smiles at my joke. “It’s just that, well, I know how seriously you take your dancing. I don’t want you getting an ulcer or anything.”
    I roll my eyes. “No ulcers, I promise.”
    I sense him watching me as I leave the room, and I like it, but I know that’s stupid. What is going on with me?

    I find Spencer and the girls lounging on the steps in the multipurpose room.
    â€œAre you hot? Your cheeks are flushed,” Talia comments.
    I put my hand to my face. My skin is warm.
    â€œWhere have you been?” Spencer asks, moving over to make room for me beside him. He’s sitting a level higher than the girls.
    â€œIn the sound room, with Mr. Rocchelli,” I tell him. “It does get warm in there.”
    â€œReeeally,” Talia says, dragging out the word. She studies my face. “Do you still think he’s a goof ?”
    I feel my cheeks burn even more, recalling my comment a week or so ago. “No, not really,” I admit. “He’s pretty cool.”
    â€œAnd hot ,” Talia adds. “Don’t you think?”
    â€œVery funny,” I say, but I’m remembering how I felt when his hand squeezed my arm. I pull my sandwich out of my pack and change the subject. “Have you studied for the history quiz?” I ask her.
    She doesn’t answer and keeps smiling, a sly smile as if she knows something, which she doesn’t. She gives Spencer’s leg a little punch. “I think you’ve got competition, buddy,” she says.
    Sophie laughs and Molly says, “Woo hoo!”
    â€œShut up, Talia,” I say, a little more harshly than I intended. I take a swig of water. I can’t look at Spencer, but I can feel him watching me.
    â€œHey, I’m just kidding, Allegra,” Talia says more softly.
    I nod and keep eating.
    â€œSeriously,” she says, putting her hand on my leg. “I’m always goofing around. Nobody takes me seriously.”
    â€œNobody,” Molly agrees, and Sophie nods.
    I shrug, and the bell rings. We all collect our things.
    â€œAre we okay?” Talia asks quietly.
    â€œYeah, of course.” But I can’t meet her eyes.
    She hesitates before joining Sophie and Molly, who have walked on ahead.
    I know I’m overreacting, but I can’t seem to help it. I also know that her comment wouldn’t have bugged me so much if Spencer hadn’t been sitting there, and…well, if there wasn’t some truth to it. I feel my cheeks start to burn again.
    I catch up to Spencer, who is pushing through the door that leads into the courtyard. He holds it open for me. We walk across the courtyard together and through the doors on the other side. I can’t think of a thing to say.
    â€œCan I call you tonight?” he asks, stopping at the door to the art room.
    â€œSure,” I say, feeling my heart speed up a little. “I’ll be home from dance class by nine thirty.”
    He smiles and squeezes my arm before slipping into the art room. That’s two arm squeezes in one lunch hour, and I can’t help but notice that I don’t have the same response to this one as I did to Mr. Rocchelli’s.

E ight
    I find Dad in the music studio when I get home from dance class. He’s wearing headphones and strumming his guitar, keeping time to whatever it is he’s listening to. He doesn’t hear me come down the stairs. His brow is creased, and he’s either concentrating deeply on the music or angry about something.
    He looks up and smiles when I plunk myself on the couch. He pulls off the headphones. “Hey,” he says. “How’s it going?”
    â€œIt’s going good,” I tell him.