One. Two. Three.

     Rosalie counted her steps slowly one by one, placing one foot in front of the other heel to toe with arms open to the sides. She swung her left foot around and spun herself in a pirouette, though losing her footing and stumbling a bit.

     "Don't try to rush it," her instructor told her with a few heavy claps. "And try not to be so stiff."

     Rosalie nodded, cheeks burning with frustration as she avoided meeting the eyes of her classmates. From the corner of her eye she could see two of the girls in their pale pink tutus whispering to one another and giggling over something- one of them glancing over to her. Rosalie met her gaze and held it steadily, the pretty blue-eyed girl giving Rosalie an odd look and turning her head away. Rosalie inhaled deeply and lifted her chin, making her way back to the mirrored wall of the dance studio and resting back against the balance bar, tapping her foot lightly.

     Cassidy could see the discontent in her sister's face as she sat at the opposite side of the room among the old padded wood chairs, coats bundled on her lap. As much as she wanted to offer words of encouragement the instructor discouraged visitors from speaking to students during the lesson and Rosalie had yet to look up at her for to offer so much as a thumbs-up. She shifted in her seat and tried not to let her stare linger too long on the few other parents sitting near her. The man sitting nearest to her smelled strongly of cigarettes and bounced his leg constantly with his arms crossed over his chest, a glower etched into his features. Cassidy couldn't help but notice the stains in the knees of his jeans and the pocket of his flannel and wondered dimly which child was his.

     Her attention was directed to the students as the instructor dismissed them and she rose to her feet as Rosalie begrudgingly made her way to her.

     "I think you did a good job," Cassidy whispered, giving Rosalie her red coat.

     "Then you weren't looking," Rosalie replied sharply, slipping the coat on and heading for the door.

     Cassidy stood there for a moment before following her, pulling her own coat over her shoulders and bracing herself against the brisk autumn air.

     "It's okay to mess up a little bit, Rosie," Cassidy said as she caught up to her.

     "It's not okay," Rosalie huffed, hastening her pace down the concrete walkway. "All the other girls can do it already. I know they make fun of me."

     "I don't think they do."

     "I know they do! They keep looking at me! Especially Madison!" Rosalie stopped to face Cassidy. "She thinks she's better than everyone and she can do whatever she wants! Miss Crawford says that we can't move on until everyone gets it and Madison says it's just me holding everyone back!"

     "We can practice at home if you want. I can help you. I did ballet, too, when I was your age," Cassidy said.

     "No. That's okay. Thank you, Cassie," Rosalie said, deflating a little. "I'll figure it out myself." She slipped her hand into Cassidy's and held it tight as she let Cassidy guide her across the street. "Did Mommy help you with ballet?"

     "A little. She mostly just watched and said 'brava!' even when I fell. I'm not sure she could actually see me anymore." Cassidy slowed her stride as she spotted a trio of teenage girls walking down the sidewalk towards them laughing and carrying on, recognizing one of them from her middle school though taller now with cheap lipstick and 3 dollar eye shadow.

     She imagined the girl stopping to say "Cassidy Dolan, is that you? Where did you go after middle school?" with that pretending-to-be-friendly smile plastered on her perfectly plastic face, arched eyebrows raised expectantly but she didn't stop. The girls walked by as if Cassidy and Rosalie were never there and Cassidy felt both relieved and irked.

     As they approached the gate to the house Cassidy saw Mr. Dolan sitting on the rickety porch swing with the rake on his lap though the yard still littered with leaves.

     "What are you doing, Dad?" Cassidy asked, letting Rosalie rush ahead of her into the house.

     "Ah... wondering if my back is ready for yardwork. Maybe the lawn looks better this way. It's not autumn without the leaves," he said with a sniff, scratching his cheek.

     "Sounds like an excuse," Cassidy said, rocking on her heels a bit as she observed the cloudy evening weather.

     He smiled at her tiredly. "Why make myself suffer if I don't have to?"

     Cassidy looked back at him. "Do you want me to do it? I don't mind. It's getting dark."

     "No, it's alright. I'll... muster the strength soon enough. How was practice?"

     "I wouldn't ask her about it."

     "That good, hm?"

     "She says the girls make fun of her because she can't do it right."

     "I suppose our family isn't known for impeccable balance. I told her she can quit if she wants to but she turned me down." Mr. Dolan propped the end of the rake against the floor, pressing his weight against it as if it were a staff. "She's as stubborn as her mother."

     "Is Angelica in the house?" Cassidy asked, changing the subject after a brief awkward pause.

     "No, she's gone home already. We have the house to ourselves."

     "Does that mean..?"

     "Yes, I will take care of it tonight and I'll empty all the air fresheners while I'm at it."

     "That's a bit much, isn't it?" Cassidy asked, adjusting her footing.

     "Would you rather spend the night smelling the rancid stink of number 14 or just choke a little on 'eau de Piney Fresh'?"

     "I'll think it over," Cassidy said, opening the door.

     "Do you mind waking me up around 4 tomorrow morning?" Mr. Dolan said before she entered. "I have another delivery before work."

     "I can do that," Cassidy replied. "Do you need me to sleep with Rosie?"

     "No, I doubt it'd wake her up this time. This one will be more properly sedated."

     Cassidy nodded and went inside, shutting the door behind her. She hung her coat on the rack beside the door and headed upstairs to her room with its decorative pink flowery wallpaper that surpassed her in age and sat on the bed, the old metal springs creaking in protest. Curling her legs up against herself, she turned on her small brass lamp and reached into her nightstand drawer, removing a leather bound notebook and a mechanical pencil.

     She flipped to the 2nd page, locating 14 on the list and jotting down the name "Paul" in small and neat lettering and moved the pencil down a line, making a new note.

     "Number 15."