Starting Over

Chapter one

Chamomile.
I smell chamomile.

I sit up from my bed, and find the scent coming from a mug filled with tea I didn't finish last night. My hair forms a fuzzy blonde halo around my head. I yawn, my eyes tired. Yesterday was Friday.. it's Saturday!
Miraculously cured from my earlier state, I jump out of bed. I strip off my baggy pjs and grab my ballet outfit from my drawer, pulling my tights and leotard on, and pulling baggy jeans and a t shirt over them. I take a seat in front of my vanity and carefully tie my hair in a bun, how I was taught by my mother in third grade.
I finish my look of with a tint of peach lip gloss and mascara.

In the corner of my closet, awaits my ballet bag, a pinkish colour matching my leotard and slippers. It's embroidered with a rose in the middle that I like to run my fingers over. I peek inside to check everything's there. I find my leg warmers, arm warmers, tutu, and slippers.
Good, still there. I scoop the bag up and hop downstairs.

'Hi, mom, Marcus!' I chirp, taking a seat at the breakfast table.
'Someone's bright this morning,' she smiles weakly. Mom look tired, but she hides it and makes an effort. She's been very tired lately, it worries me.
'Where's dad?' I ask, though I already know the answer. At work. As always.
'At work,' my little brother Marcus says, his mouth full with Cheerios.
'Don't talk with your mouth open, Marcus, honey.' Mom reminds him.

I look at the clock, longingly. There's still thirty minutes until ballet.
'Mom, cmon let's go!' I plead.
'Finish your breakfast,'
I shove my mouth with the cereal, and look up at her.
'That's not what I meant.' She laughs. 'Alright, go get in the car, I'll be right out.'

I hurry Marcus out the front door, like every Saturday.
'Shotgun!' I call, which finally gets him sprinting behind me.
I plant my rear end onto the passenger seat, teasingly.
'You were passenger seat last time!' He groans.
I stick my tongue out at him. 'I'm just faster.'
'No!' He, hops into the backseat.
Mom comes out and locks the door behind her.
In my eyes her walk pace, is simply too slow.
'Hurry up!' I call, poking my head out the window.
She jogs up to the car. I buckle my seatbelt, after seeing mom do it, and I hear the click of Marcus's seatbelt behind me. The car starts rolling down the driveway.
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The car parks in the Cartwell dance studio. Beside our car, is a white minivan, my best friends car. I open the door and climb out, grabbing my bag and waving to mom and Marcus. At the same time, Naomi does, and walks up beside me.
'Heyyyy,' she says, in the goofy way she is.
'Hi!' I reply.
Today she's wearing bands in her chocolate brown Afro, and a striped headband. She's wearing a watermelon spaghetti strapped crop top and pale blue skinny jeans over her leotard and tights. Her dark skin glows in the spring heat. I envy her confidence in look.

'Ready for dress fitting?' She squeals.
'Yes!' I smile.
The truth is, I couldn't wait for dress fitting. Every year I love it. Miss Alice has already shown us the beautiful mint coloured leotard and a huge white tutu, dotted with graceful pearl dots. I couldn't wait.

We skip to the building and enter the big doors, to the dressing room. As we enter the dressing room, crowds of girls talk, or get dressed. The dressing room is somewhat of a grand room. The wallpaper is a golden silver, and the walls are covered with large mirrors. Its an old building, built in 1950s. Most of the girls mothers used to come here- and grandmothers for that matter.

I pull open my locker, and take off my T-shirt and pants, to then tuck them in the locker. Out of my bag I reach for my tutu, and pull it up around my waist, then pull my slippers on. I put the bag in the locker and close it.

I feel a rush of excitement through me, as I always feel before ballet. I practice my positions, until Miss Alice comes in to collect us. Naomi smiles at me, as she pulls on her slippers. The door opens, and reveals Miss Alice, but surprisingly not Miss Ora, who's our dress fitter. A lot of the other girls look surprised too, but shrug it off. We follow her into the studio, a more modern room, and step into our spots for the dance routine.

'Hello girls,' she smiles.
'Hello Miss Alice.' A chorus of girls pipes.
Miss Alice is the best dance instructor I've had out of five. She's extremely passionate about dance and loves her job and her students equally, so much she invited us girls to be her junior bridesmaids at her wedding.

'Let's start with our warmup.' She twists the ring on her finger- she does that when she's nervous. Implanted on her face is almost a feeling of.. dread. 'Everyone to the bar.'
We run gracefully to the bar and take a spot. I take a spot near the front, already in first position. I feel a glare burn at the back of my head. It can only be one person, Mckenna. My enemy. My rival. I look at her out of the corner of my eye, to see her firm set face, black bobbed hair, and slanted green eyes glaring at me. For what reason, I'm not sure, but it's usual. I give her a look, before looking at the front again.

Dance goes by in a flash, and we are spared with five more minutes. Usually in circumstances like this, we'd leave early, But Miss Alice stops us before we leave.

'Girls-' She hesitates. She sighs. 'The studio has been having... well.. financial problems lately-'

Financial problems. Like the one that made my dad's old work with good hours shut down, causing him to have to work at a place with unfair hours. I shiver at the word.

'As you know, It's an old building. Hard to keep furnished.'

I don't like where this is going.

'Cartwell dance studio has decided to close down.' Her lip trembles and her voice goes shaky, which is unusual of Miss Alice since she's always trying to keep our spirits up, by doing so with hers. I feel tears run down, and my eyes turn puffy, maybe because it's closing, maybe because we were so close to the recital, maybe because of the look on Miss Alice's face, maybe because my life has officially shut down.

Behind me, Mckenna even looks a little caught off guard. And too my right, Naomi, bears the dull look in her usually bright shiny eyes, like how they looked when her mother died.

Up front, Miss Alice holds out her arms and starts sobbing. Us girls, run up front and tuck ourselves in Miss Alice's embrace. Maybe because we'll miss her, maybe because we need comfort, maybe because we can't hold ourselves up without her, or maybe because we need something to hang onto.