Dancing Shoes

        As I walked out of the school with my keys swaying on my fingertips, I staggered in disbelief when I opened the car door and slid into the car. Now in the driver's seat, I gripped the steering wheel harder and harder until I realized that there was somewhere I needed to be right now. Though I didn’t trust myself to drive just yet, I slowly put my car into gear and backed out of the driveway. Finally deciding that I was trying the impossible, I turn into a random parking lot. The weird rush is still in my bloodstream, and I look at myself in the rear-view mirror. And I can't help but let my mind go overdrive toward the inevitable, knowing that I'll most likely be late if I keep staying here. But I'm not in the condition to drive right now, so I just sit there and let the images that is my life, flood into my mind.

******************************************************

        I smile as I walk into the back of the stage and drop my stuff on the floor beside the horde of similar items and stalk toward the restroom to change into a T-shirt and shorts. There, a bunch of other girls are also changing and I greet every single one of them, happy to be seeing them after the long day of school. We wait for each other to finish and walk to the dance room, a square building with an interior of mirrors and horizontal bars, and started stretching.

        "All right, girls, nice to see you guys again after Spring Break, though we had practice almost everyday anyway," Dina said. "So I know the day’s been rough, being the first day back after and all, but I wouldn't be a good coach if I just let y'all sit here and do nothing now, would I? We'll be starting in five minutes. Finish stretching ASAP!"

        The next morning, after I walk into first period and sit down, Dave turns toward me and ask me something I tried to avoid for a month.

        "Did you check your score yet? It's out y'know. I checked during zero period."

       As much as I want to resist looking at the bane of my existence, my desperate need to know the outcome of the months I spent in torture wins the battle and I take his phone from him. I log onto the Collegeboard website and realize my hands are shaking from nervousness. I stare at them for a few seconds before proceeding to look at the score.

                        Critical Reading: 740

                        Math: 720

                        Writing: 710            

        I die a little on the inside. 

        This doesn't add up to 2300. 

        "Dude! That's a freakin' good score!”

        But not good enough.

        So I still have to take it again.

        So during the math lesson, I zone out and think about all the things I need to get together in my life, which takes me back to the day I realized I didn’t really like the people I hung out with, the people with the highest ranks in school, the ones destined to be the top 5% of graduates, the people I’ve been a part of my whole life.

        How will they look at me? I can't give them more reason to not include me.

        But that thought makes me sick too, because back when I still thought like them, back when I believed I really was one of them, when I finally believed I could be one of them, it backfires on me. I received an award as Freshman Salutatorian, and the moment my name was called, my then best friend’s face instantly contorted, though her hands were clapping. After that informal ceremony, someone else, who was my friend, dragged me with her to the counselors, demanding why I was the one who got the award, when we both know that her GPA is higher than mine. I enthusiastically nod along because she's right. Then on the next day of school, another girl in my group of friends started crying because she wasn't invited to the ceremony at all. Yet she worked harder than I ever did, and she didn't hesitate to tell anyone who asked. 

        I don’t want to be like that.

       Even when I’m home, my mom badgers me about my grades and I can't help but question when I should tell her my SAT score. 

        Yet more money going down the drain, she would say.

        Needing to clear my mind, I make the way to the back of the school theater again to change into my T-shirt and shorts when school finally ends. The moment the music starts, the motions start to flow together as the other dance captain and I finish teaching our segments of the choreography. I was able to do everything perfectly, and I didn't even have to think hard about it. 

        After rehearsal, the girls huddle together to talk and wait for their rides. As I sit there amongst them, a feeling of belonging takes me and I can't help but be glad I joined the dance team sophomore year, despite protests. All of this as what helped me rid myself of that two-dimensional life. I smile with bliss as Kayla leans toward me.

        "You know, I was gonna tell you later at my house, but there's an audition coming up for Cookies in a few weeks," she said with a grin and I look at her, wondering where she’s going with this. "And I signed you up with me."

        "You what!?" 

        I look at her like she's crazy because though she is the dance team's co-captain, sometimes I don’t know what she’s thinking. But my outburst catches the remaining girls' attention and they realize what’s going on.

        I swear all of their eyes lit up at the same time and they uniformly squealed, "OMG, you should totally do it Kenna!"

        I look at them all with love in my eyes because their eyes were just so genuine. I look at them and really consider it before shooting it down because, well, school always comes first. If I joined a professional Hip-Hop dance group, I won't have time for staying in the top 2%. But I sheepishly tell them thanks and decide that this was the time to go home and walk toward my car. 

*********************************************

        A vibrate causes me to go back to reality and I realize it's my mom calling, so I answer the phone, and my sweaty fingers almost made me miss the call.

        The first thing my mother asks me for is my SAT score, and I tell her my score.

        Then I tell her about my choreography, and I tell her about my girls, and how I don’t want dance to just be an afterschool thing, and I break down. 

       She asks me why I'm crying, and I tell her about Freshman year and about losing my place and about my best friend Kayla. She still doesn't understand why I'm crying, but I don't think I can tell her that I don't want to be just that smart girl anymore, that I want to be a dancer, and much more. I can't tell my mom, who's been with me throughout my entire life, giving me advice on how not to end up with the wrong guy, to keep in mind that education is the way to success, and told me through her actions how much she loved me, that I couldn't live how she wants me to, because it just wasn't me.

        And I don't tell her any of that because I realize that it won't only break her heart, but mine too. 

        So I make a compromise with myself and tell her about Cookies and how I'm going to try out for it just to see how it goes. I tell her it's a dance group and she says that it's okay to try out for it but actually making the team is a whole other story. I tell her that we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

        Almost immediately after the call with my mom, I pick up another phone call from an important girl in my life.

        "So, are you coming or not? Cuz if you don't get here within ten minutes, I'll start the movie myself and hide all the chips. You're late and I think this is already a very generous offer," Kayla says into the phone. 

        I smile into the phone at this girl who forcefully entwined her life with mine at the beginning of sophomore year. I don't know why, but my heart swells in that moment and I know that I can drive again. 

        So I say into the phone, "Sorry for ditching you at school earlier, since I was supposed to take you with me.”

        “It’s fine. Did your mom say something?”

        I pause a little before deciding, “Yeah, but prepare your dancing shoes. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”