Tears were beginning to form in her stockings, jagged zigzags that looked like fault lines.
"Great, just great," she muttered, trying not to think of the scolding she'd no doubt receive from her mother when she got home later. Her dance instructor's sharp voice suddenly cut through her reveries.
“Vanessa, ballerinas are supposed to be delicate in their movements, not stomp around like elephants!”
The other girls, those heavenly creatures in their petal-colored leotards, snickered in a very unladylike way. Vanessa sighed.
Yes, it was a waste of time to be enrolled in this class at Ballet Etudes, but her mother had insisted: "It will look good on your college application."
Vanessa was eight and had no plans to go to college. Not if getting in involved jumping around in a tutu and wearing non-breathable stockings that itched every time she moved.
Finally, mercifully, their instructor decided her students had been tortured enough, and she glided over to turn off the stereo.
Vanessa resisted the urge to squeal with delight. This was her favorite part of class, the only part she liked: the FREE dance!
“OK, girls, that’s enough practice. Enjoy yourselves. Let loose. Let’s see some creativity!”
And creativity is exactly what Vanessa gave them. She spun around and around and around, growing more dizzy, more ecstatic, with each passing turn.
She was so wrapped up in her movements, eyes firmly closed, that she didn’t notice the other girls stop and stare at her, unconcealed envy in their eyes.