Stella was shipped off to a boarding school for troubled kids after her foster parents died. For the next seven years, that is where she's been, but she's back, and things are not the same as they were before.
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I'm in the school changing room, slipping into sweatpants and a sports shirt before lacing up my new pointe shoes. I had to order online, only because they don't sell ones that match my skin tone in stores.
And don't get me started on the sizing.
Once I was done, I grabbed my belongings and walked out with my bag hanging off my shoulder.
"Why did it take you like an eternity to get ready?" Teresa said.
"I took 5 minutes," I said with hooded eyes, then setting my bag down next to Teresa on the benches. We were given permission to use this end of the gym, and I'm taking all the practice that I can get.
Out of the kindness of Teresa's heart, she came to help me, or, in other words, she wanted to skip class, but I'm not complaining either way.
"So, what are you trying to work on?" Teresa asked.
"I need to work on my jumps. Odette is supposed to be this delicate and sad swan, yet every time I jump, I look more like something's trying to possess me. So just try to catch me before I fall."
"You can count on me," Teresa said with a thumbs up and a sparkling white smile. "Why do I get the feeling that she's just gonna sit there?" I started to sloppily move through the steps, giving her a vague idea of what it's supposed to look like until I get to the jumps. She gets me to do a proper jump, and I feel myself stumble in the process.
"Do that again," Teresa asked, her elbows resting on her knee. I repeated the jump, still having the same problem. Teresa got up and walked over to me.
"I think your problem is that you need to make sure the working knee isn't veering out or in. You need to keep an eye on your landings, or you're gonna break that leg." I stood there, a bit stunned. I didn't think she would have good advice, especially because she doesn't do ballet. "Oh, and you need to fix your posture," Teresa said, putting a hand on my back and stomach and straightening it slightly. "Ok, now jump again." She said standing back a bit. I did as she said, jumping and keeping what she said in mind. "Better?" She asked me.
"Yeah, a lot better, thanks." I said, giving her a slight smile, a stark contrast to her glowing one. We both heard the sound of the gym doors opening on the other end of the gym. Laughter, basketballs bouncing off the gym floor, and the sound of trap music entered the gym, or, in other words, the sound of teenage boys.
We both looked over at them and saw Kyle; thankfully, him and his entourage didn't notice us so we took full advantage of that. I'm going right back to practicing with the loud background noise of teenage boys. I'm about 10 minutes in, and I feel a lot better about the set. It took some time, but my body adjusted properly to the physical therapy, the practice, and my new diet. I feel a lot better about my performance and also not completely breaking my back.
An added bonus is that I've been a lot more active recently. I'm less exhausted and tired, and my body feels almost normal again, but in the back of my head, a little voice tells me that my body will never be the same, and I will never dance like I used to again. Before I could dwell on that thought anymore, out of the corner of my eye, I saw somebody approaching Teresa and me.
