Cory ran downstairs. The ancient Electrolux was in the very back of the hall closet under a curtain of coats and ballet costumes, which Cory impatiently swept aside. The machine weighed a ton. Tugging on it made the muscles of her back burn. Just as she pulled it out, a waterfall of gossamer tutus and other ballet flotsam rained down on her head. She shoved and kicked them back inside the closet, plugged in the vacuum, and started pushing it toward the stairs. Suddenly, the machine’s steady drone ceased, choked, and shut off. Cory turned over the nozzle and saw a pink pointe shoe in its maw, the ribbons hopelessly sucked in and wrapped around the beater brushes.
“Hey!” Jessica yelped from the front doorway. “What’s going on?”
Jess dropped an enormous dance bag on a nearby chair and dashed across the living room to rescue the dangling shoe. The ribbons were torn and the whole thing was covered with some black, greasy stuff.
“What are you doing?” Jess pulled the shoe free. “These are my best pointe shoes and now they’re ruined.”
“Don’t leave your junk all over the place then,” Cory shot back.
Jessica snatched up the shoe’s mate from the floor and slung her gym bag over her shoulder, the weight of it pulling her tiny frame to one side.
“Sor-ry,” Cory said.
Jess looked down at the ruined toe shoe, flung it against the wall, and trudged upstairs.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish