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As the girls filed noisily into the dance room, the teacher shouted:

“Get in here you girls, and quick with it!”

There was an answering silence and then a scuffle of feet scraping polished wooden floorboards. We all took their place at the bar and looked up at the teacher expectantly. She wore a dull blue leotard with a very badly done up bun. Her face was a mixture of anger, severity and nastiness. Not a wrinkle of sympathy or softness.

As predicted, she lectured us on the movements we had been supposed to practice (*ahem*) and asked for a demonstration. Of course no one stepped forward so she picked randomly (yeah right), and it, of course, landed on me.

I walked forward, knowing in advance that this would end up really badly and started trying to dance. But of course, I lost my balance and fell. Typical me. I heard snickers from behind but felt too dizzy to even look up. Although I did feel my cheeks grow red hot.

I felt someone pull me up roughly. It was Ms Davill, our mean dance teacher.

“YOU IDIOT GIRL! Can’t you be more careful! You just tore one of your laces and you don’t even worry! You also fall on my feet and don’t say sorry! You need some manners young lady! Have you even looked at yourself?” she scoffed, and she ranted on during who knows how long.

I felt like crying, but I held back my tears knowing that it would only make thing worse.

By the end of the lesson, my legs felt like jelly, and my arms like marshmallow. As I ran out the door, tears gushed down my cheeks, and stayed there until I wiped then off, not wanting anyone to see them.

 

As I reached the front door with my hand to grasp open the handle, I dropped my dance bag on the floor. Tough luck. But I picked it up anyhow.

I stomped into the living room and found my mum doing the dish-washer.

“I AM NEVER, EVER, EVER GOING TO DANCE AGAIN IN MY WHOLE STUPID LIFE!” I yelled, hoping to catch the house holds’ attention. My mum stared at me, visibly shocked.

“-Honey, what happened?

-What happened? I’ll tell you what happened! That stupid dance teacher (I spat the words out as disgustingly as I could) laughed at me and said I would be a dance failure for the rest of my life! That’s what happened!” But I didn’t wait for an answer. I stormed upstairs to my room and locked the door.

Then I threw my dance bag across the room. But that wasn’t enough. It deserved worse. So I grabbed it, tore it open, and took flung my clothes, one by one, out the window into the garden. I was about to throw my shoes too, when something caught my attention. I stopped, grabbed the shoes and held it up to my face.

In one of the shoes shone a single, golden feather. It quivered in time with my breathing. I slipped it out and studied it closely. I suddenly felt happy. Peaceful even. “Hmm… strange that such a thing would end up in my dance shoe.”

I grabbed a tissue and wrapped it carefully around the feather, which I then gently put on the dresser.

As soon as it lost contact with my skin, I flung myself on my bed and cried my eyes out. After a while, I forced myself to get up to do my homework. Most of it was maths. Ugh.

When I was finally done, I dug out my favourite book, “Lucky Jim” and started reading it again for the millionth time. Strange thing was, I never got bored of it.

Someone knocked on my door.

“Come in!” I shouted across the room, just in case it was my nearly deaf grand-father. He was over for the holidays.

It turned out to be my mum.

The handle moved but didn’t open.

“Umm, sweetheart? I think you locked the door?” she said nervously.

Oops. Oh well. So I got up and opened the door. There stood my mum waiting anxiously.

“It’s, umm, dinner honey. Pasta and bacon. Your favou-” she broke off mid-sentence, seeing the miserable look on my face. “Look sugar. Everyone has their bad days, and today was one of yours. Hey, I’ve had plenty of bad days! The teacher probably only over-reacted. Don’t worry about it dear.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Well, er, you’d better hurry up or your food will get cold.” She quickly hurried out, sensing that it was not a good idea.

I waited until she was gone, and reluctantly headed towards the kitchen where I ate my meal in silence.

In bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I started counting sheep, and got to seventy-two, when I remembered about that golden feather I had found. I silently got up and unwrapped it from the tissue. I lay back in bed, placed it carefully beside me and somehow fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

When I woke up in the morning, I found the feather lying next to me on my bed. I picked it up, and, still holding it, headed downstairs. I opened the front door as quietly as possible to collect my dance paraphernalia. I wasn’t sure why. Back in my room, something made me put them on, and I started dancing like I had never danced before. It was a very strange sensation. Like wow strange. It felt like I had at last been released from my prison of boredom.

I didn’t even notice when my mum knocked loudly on my door several times. So she opened the door and watched me dance for quite a while, breathless.

“Well, she said, I see someone has something to do during her free time!” And ranted on during who knows how long.

And I did practice, free time or no free time. I danced day and night for two weeks. My dance teacher was amazed as were my family and friends.

But one day, after dance class, Ms Davill (who had grown extremely nice to me) took me apart.

“I now see that you have real talent. I think you should sign up at the International Dance School.” I stared at her incredulously. She had to be kidding me. There was no other possibility.

“-R-really? Oh, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not that good.

-Not that good?, she repeated dis-believing. You can do moves that most dance teachers wouldn’t even dream of in their wildest fantasies! So do you mind if I sign you up?”

Two weeks later, she announced me that I was auditioning in two months time. So I practised for what seemed like an eternity, until the night before the audition. I would go to Los Angeles, which wasn’t too far from Phoenix (where I lived).

 

When we got there, it was packed with tourists so we had to wait half an hour before even getting a taxi, let alone arriving at the auditioning place which took another hour and a quarter.

I walked into the big, gleaming hall, and turned to say good-bye to my mum who was crying like a waterfall. I asked her what was the matter and she said she was just proud that I was here. She gave me a big hug which I returned gratefully. I needed hugs to calm me down, I was so stressed.

In the changing room, most girls didn’t know each other so we kept to our corners.

Our names were being called out one by one. I wondered when my turn would come. With my luck, they had forgotten to write my name down. But suddenly, I heard my name being called: “Dana Dillon please!”.

I walked onto stage slowly, conscious that everyone’s eyes were on my blushing face. Then “Coppélia”, the music I had chosen, started, and I danced to it. It lasted fourteen minutes, but it felt like two hours. By the end, I wasn’t even tired. I noticed that they were all looking extremely excited. One of the judges said:

“You will get your results in a few days. You may leave now.”

So I left, feeling like my performance might not be a disaster after all.

 

It turned out it had gone great, and I had been accepted at the International Dance School. Better still, I was nominated the Best Dancer Award after five years.

I am now a very happy middle-aged woman. I teach dance in a respectful ,manner, and ask of my pupils to do just as much. I wish you the best of luck.

 

THE END

tags: dana, dance, feather, quivering, respect