“I brought something from home.” I’d hidden a box of rice and leftovers in the fridge.

“Smart,” Nina said. “I should do that more. It’s hard planning ahead like that with the little guy at home.”

I stared at her. “You have a child?” Nina appeared so young.

She smiled. “Here, look.” She came around behind the desk, pulled out her cell phone and started showing me photos. “That’s Sammy.” There were pictures of Nina making funny faces with an adorable toddler who had her thick-lashed eyes. None of them included anyone who looked like he might be the father. I still couldn’t believe she was a mother. She didn’t look like any other mom I’d ever seen.

“He’s wonderful,” Nina said. Her eyes lingered on my stocking feet. I often removed my heels behind the desk when no one else could see. I’d been flexing and pointing my feet automatically because the shoes hurt so much, but now I stilled them. Would she notice how old and worn my one pair of pumps was?

Nina flipped her hair out of her jacket. “Sure you don’t want anything?”

“Yeah.”

“You should come out with us sometime. Leave that desk behind.”

Warmth rushed through me. I nodded, then looked away as the phone rang.

That afternoon, I stepped into the teachers’ room to find Estella huddled by the fire escape at the back, crying. Simone had her arms wrapped around her.

“What do you want?” Simone’s lip curled.

“Estella has a phone call,” I said. “It’s from her competition student. He said he couldn’t get through on her cell.”

Estella ran a tissue underneath her smeared mascara, powdered her face quickly and then stepped out.

—

Later that week, I was handing Nina a mug of coffee when my fingers slipped and I spilled it. It didn’t burn me but splashed across my orange shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” Nina said, dabbing at me with a paper towel.

“It’s not your fault. I did this to myself.” We tried wetting the stains. They didn’t budge. I rubbed at them with all my strength. What would happen when the others saw me? “I can’t go through the whole day like this.”

“Come with me,” Nina said, and led me to the teachers’ room. She pulled a light cotton cardigan out of her locker. “I use this to warm up before rehearsal.”

When I slipped off my wet shirt, I caught a shift in Nina’s face, a widening of her eyes. I quickly changed into her cardigan and buttoned it up all the way, conscious of my worn T-shirt underneath. It even had tiny holes in it. I hadn’t intended for it to be seen by anyone. Even though she was a bit shorter than me, her cardigan fit me fairly well.

Nina didn’t say anything about my clothing and just gave me her usual smile. “I like that on you.”

—

The biting October rain cascaded over the small yellow and green canopy of Zan’s cart. It hit the back of the plastic poncho Zan was wearing and poured off of her in a constant stream. When I could, I tried to stop by her cart before I left for the studio. Despite the weather, several customers stood in line, huddled underneath their black umbrellas. I watched her as I waited for my turn.

She wore fingerless gloves, which she used even during the bitter New York blizzards. If her entire hands were covered, she couldn’t get her work done quickly enough. She brushed oil on the rounded indentations of the hot egg cake molds, then ladled in the pale golden batter she kept in a large plastic tub. Deftly, she flipped the molds as the batter started to set. When the cakes were crispy, she eased them out with a fork onto a scratched steel pan. Then she jabbed at the egg cakes with tongs to separate them and counted them with lightning speed one by one into waxed paper bags. One dollar for twenty egg cakes. Then it was on to the next customer and she would do it all again.

When I finally stood in front of her, I said, “Hey, you want me to take over for you so you can take a break?”

She smiled. “Thanks, Charlie, but I’m all right.” Zan and I had this interchange every time. She always refused whatever I offered. I didn’t know how she managed to use the bathroom or eat lunch.

“Do you want my umbrella?”

“I don’t have a hand free to hold it but it’s nice of you.”

I glanced behind me. There were only three other customers in line. I stepped around her and held my umbrella over her. “I’ll wait until you’re done with the others.”

“You’re a pal.” Zan turned her attention to the next man in line. I looked around. The fried tofu cart was a few yards away from us. The man who ran it dumped more tofu into the hot oil as I watched. The smell of grease mingled with the damp musk of Zan’s wet clothing. Her cart was sandwiched between the fried-tofu guy and the steamed-food lady. That cart offered rice noodle rolls, pig skin, fish balls, beef tripe and lo mein. It worked out, since people would get their lunch from the steamed-food cart, then come to Zan for egg cakes for dessert.

As Zan was serving a well-dressed woman, a man in a rain poncho stuck his head in and hissed to Zan’s customer, “Chanel, Gucci! Just like the real thing!”

“Get out of here!” Zan snapped.

Finally, there were no more customers.

Zan said, “How’s the new job?”

“I’m barely managing not to get fired.”

She chuckled. “So what else is new?” She looked up, and for a moment, she met my eyes. “The important thing is, are you happy?”

I blinked as a horn blared and a passing car splashed us both. “I am. I love it there. It’s a whole world in itself. I can’t believe I’m free of the noodle shop. I feel like I’m going to mess up, get fired and wind up doing dishes again.”

“Well, I was pretty impressed with you in that tai chi class. I never knew you could move like that.”

“That’s just a bunch of exercises. Anyone could learn. How’s it going with your learner’s permit?”

“I need to be really ready.”

“What are you waiting for? You know that written test inside out.”

“Come on, I was never that good at tests and it’s so expensive. I’m allowed to retake it for free but if I flunk the first time, it’ll just seem like a bad sign. And you always said the driving thing was a dumb idea.”

“I guess I’m figuring out that if I can stumble along in a dance studio, you can pass that test.”

Zan grinned. “Maybe.”

“Lisa has the chance to take the Hunter test. You know, one of those special schools for gifted kids.”

“Wow.” Zan stirred her batter, not meeting my eyes. “You ever mind?”

I knew what she meant. “Not really. Sometimes. We can’t all be special.”

Rain poured off of her rickety metal cart as an elderly woman approached. Zan gave my arm a quick squeeze, then turned to help her next customer.

—

It was Monday again. All of the staff sat on the folding chairs in a circle in the smaller ballroom. Estella wasn’t there. There wasn’t even an empty chair for her.

Adrienne started to pace. “I think we already know what has happened and I want to make clear what our company policy is. There is to be absolutely no fraternizing with the students. It’s in all of your contracts. Are we clear on what that means?”

I tried to remember what my contract had said. I’d barely read it before signing since all of the tiny print had seemed to swim before my eyes.

Mateo put his hands together in a wicked gesture. “No doing the nasty.”

“Thank you for that visual clarification, Mateo.” Adrienne continued speaking, “I’ve been in this business for many years. I know how it goes. We love our students. Our students love us. We dance with them, we teach them, we care for them.”

Dominic stood up and took over as if they’d rehearsed it. “Some students will fall in love with you, especially the ones who are single and alone. This is normal. Maybe you will even fall in love with some of your students. However. We. Do. Not. Screw. The. Students.”

He paused to let us take this in. “It creates an unsafe atmosphere here in the studio if the teachers start dating the students. Our students deserve better than that. They come to be taught in a professional way. Yes, ballroom dancing has to do with fun, romance and sensuality. That is a part of its power. We are here to teach them to harness that energy. However, there is a line we must not cross. The staff at Avery Studios may not become romantically involved with the students. Absolutely all staff, no exceptions.” He turned to look at me.