I watch the water droplets roll slowly down the passenger window on my way to dance Wednesday. It was the worst weather to march in this morning.
The upperclassmen are frustrated and annoyed with the sophomores, but fortunately they’re mature enough not to harass us or give the cold shoulder. We’re jeopardizing the trip they worked hard for, and they have a right to be angry. We’re getting off light— things could have been much worse today.
But they"re far from good.
"You"re quiet, sweetie," Mom comments as she drives towards the studio. "Anything wrong?"
I shrug. "I"m tired."
Ballet competition rehearsal is the last place I want to be, even with Madame Solierre agreeing to my changes.
Get back in the game. Remember what"s at stake. Ballet school. Your confidence. Dancing happy — w
