“Blair.” Serious voice. “I can’t understand you, sweetie. Slow down. Take a breath.”

Jade kept babbling about some feather earrings. But I was watching my mom’s face. It crumpled.

“Oh, sweetie. Oh, my girl. Okay. You know what? It’s okay. We’ll be there in five minutes. Sit tight.” She threw her phone back in her purse. “Girls, come on. We need to pick up your sister.”

“Already?” asked Jade. “I thought we were gonna get lunch.”

“Jade. God. Something’s wrong, obviously,” I said.

She rolled her eyes, slamming the feather earrings back on the counter. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t get the memo that the world was revolving around Sugar Plum Fairy again.”

“Girls, I cannot handle a fight right now,” snapped Mom. “I just can’t. So shut it and follow me.”

Back at the theater, we found Blair shaking and crying, as she told my mom in whispers what had happened. One of the women with Joffrey was there with her. She had white skin, blue hair, and sad eyes, looking at my sister, who was unraveling like an old sweater.

Sorry, she told my mom. They can’t allow redos. Maybe next year. Maybe with a little more training.

Blair was like a car without enough gas. She couldn’t point her toes, she couldn’t leap in the air, she couldn’t move like a flower petal. She was tired and gray, like the snow on the ground. She had fainted halfway through the class. The Joffrey people had almost called an ambulance.

The whole car ride back to Moose Junction, my dad listened to the basketball game on the radio and Blair leaned against the window and pulled her sweatshirt hood over her face. Her shoulders shook, and when we stopped for lunch, she didn’t get anything and Mom didn’t push her.

All the maybe-just-maybe excitement was gone. Our fears had been confirmed. It had been complete and utter defeat. There would be no Joffrey Trainee Program for Blair. She wouldn’t be dancing with a professional company. She wouldn’t be living in New York City. She wouldn’t be doing anything at all.

Anna Rexia was rubbing Blair’s back and singing to her while the rest of us plugged our ears and closed our eyes.

In the weeks after her failed audition, Mom and Dad tried hard to get Blair to think about next year.

“Sweetie, you can major in dance almost anywhere these days,” Mom reminded her as they sat in the living room, surrounded by college brochures. Mom had put out a bowl of chips but Blair hadn’t touched a single one “Even UW has a dance major.”

“Great,” she groaned. “I can major in dance at a Big Ten school while the kids at Joffrey and Julliard have actual careers. I can shake my butt at basketball games and minor in business and wind up selling insurance. Wow, what a life. How lucky am I.”

“Chicago, then. Columbia College has a ballet program. . . .”

“Yeah, for losers who can’t get in anywhere real!” She started tearing up. Blair was constantly crying these days, like the leaky faucet in Spruce, our oldest cabin. The house being five degrees colder than usual or Obi getting hair on her bed could set her off. We tiptoed around her like we were ballerinas ourselves.