Read Allegra for Free Online Page B

Legs.”
    Dad has come down the stairs and is sitting on the bottom step. “Can I join you?”
    â€œWhat do you want to do?”
    â€œWe’ll jam. You play whatever you like, and I’ll join in.”
    I have a flashback to a time when I was much younger and had to practice the piano every evening. I didn’t like coming down to the studio alone, so Mom always sat close by, reading on the old couch. Once I’d mastered a piece, she’d accompany me on the harp. If Dad was home, he’d pick up an instrument too, and we’d all play together.
    I nod at my dad and let my hands decide what to play next. They choose a dreamy Satie piece, “Gymnopédie No. 1 .” I don’t think I’ve played it in years. A moment later, the soulful sound of a wooden flute has joined in, filling in the blanks, and the music floats around the room, so much richer with the addition of another instrument. I finish the song, and a flute note lingers after the final piano chord. I love the mood we’ve created together. He puts his hand on my shoulder and smiles down at me. “We make beautiful music together.”
    I laugh, and the melancholy spell is broken. Mom calls down the stairs that dinner is ready.
    Both of them try to keep the conversation light while we eat, and then Mom rushes away to get ready for her evening performance. I clear the table and leave Dad with the dishes so that I can get ready for dance. The tension from earlier is almost gone.
    â€œWill you be home later?” I ask him as I head out the door.
    â€œI will,” he says. “Maybe we can jam some more.”
    â€œMaybe,” I reply, and I smile to myself. We’re finally finding a way to connect.

    I break the speed limit on my way home, looking forward to hanging out with my dad and playing music. The drone of the TV is loud when I step into the house. I slip out of my jacket and wonder if I should shower before we get started. I decide against it; I’m too excited about getting back down to the studio.
    I find Dad lying on the couch, fast asleep. He’s snoring softly, more like purring. His face looks older when he’s asleep, the creases deeper. I consider waking him but don’t. I have homework to do anyway. I gently lay a light blanket over him and head down the hall.

F ive
    When the last bell of the day rings, I shove my dance shoes into my pack and pull shorts and a T-shirt over my dance leotard. I head back out to the music portable. The afternoon is hot, and I worked up a serious sweat in my modern-dance class. Ms. Dekker is just as particular about modern as she is about ballet. I swear we repeated the same routine across the floor twenty-five times, and I still couldn’t please her. “Hit it harder, Allegra! Sharper lines! Tuck your bum under.” I hope Mr. Rocchelli doesn’t get too close to me. I feel like a furnace, and I’m not sure how well my deodorant is holding up in this heat. I take another long swallow of water before I enter the portable.
    He smiles when he sees me. “Been dancing, Allegra?”
    â€œHow can you tell?” I wipe away a drop of sweat that is prickling at my hairline.
    â€œHow many hours of dance do you do a week?”
    I think about it, calculating the hours in my head. Before I can come up with the answer, he says, “Never mind. If you can’t figure it out, it must be a lot. I look forward to seeing you perform in the spring gala.”
    The Deer Lake Spring Gala. In the past few days I’ve discovered that it’s the annual event every class works toward for the entire year. It’s a charity fundraiser; all the dance, music and theater classes perform, and students’ art is sold at a silent auction. I gather the hype is huge in the weeks leading up to it.
    â€œSo, come and have a seat,” he says, pulling a chair up beside his desk.
    I take it and watch while he pulls a folder out of the file