"Genevieve! Get a move on!"
Heels clack on the floor above me as I pause mid plié. "Now?" I yell.
"No, move on means don’t move at all."
I make a face and rise. What’s with the sass, Mom? It was a dumb question, but I have to be gently pulled from my ballet world, not violently snatched.
Using the mirror behind the barre, I finger comb my curls and twist the chestnut strands into a fat, tight bun for ballet rehearsal. Sidestepping Mom’s dumbbells, I run up the basement stairs, and find her at the counter working the blender.
Jade Larsen turns heads, and it’s time she pass that down to me. I still come off as a cute, little girl which is not the statement I’m aiming for as a sophomore at Southerland High School. My district’s high school is grades ten through twelve, so it’ll be my
