Prima Ballerina *Jelena Ballerina Series* (Part 1)

Introduction

Selena's P.O.V.

The hair that falls from my now loose bun aggravates me, yet sends pride within myself. I promptly enter the studio at 7 a.m. and now it is 8 p.m. Most girls my age would be out at one of the college frat parties drinking until they end up drunk and in someone's bed. As for me, ever since the age of 2, ballet has been my life.

Dedication, sweat, and blood run off of me. One of the plugged-in fans on the dance floor brushes cold air onto me, and I feel a sense of relief. Now lying on my back, I stare up at the ceiling. In the private rehearsal room, there is a mural painted on the ceiling. In the center of the mural, on stage is a delicate dancer with a tiara on her head. She is in the process of completing a fouetté. But this isn't just any fouetté, it is one of the 32 fouettés from Swan Lake.

Before my mother passed away, the last thing she said with her weak voice to me, in the hospital was, "Selena, one day you will be the star of Swan Lake. I see the sparkle in your eye. You have it in you sweetheart; I know you can do this." Two days later, my mother passed away, and this was when I was the age of 6.

At this time, every other girl my age was off doing cheerleading and Girl Scouts. But was I going to give in to peer pressure? Giving in wasn't an option and far from tempting. The only thing that I had on my mind was pointing my toes.

When I realize that I'm too lost in thought to point my toes, I quickly fix my problem. Stress enters my ankles and I close my eyes. "One day Swan Lake, one day," I murmur to myself. With that, I sit up and begin my stretches that will cool me down. On relevé, I take a deep breathe in, making sure to inhale the scent of my lovely ballet perfume. (AKA my sweat)

To begin my cool down routine, I complete three pirouettes then take a proud stance. Four pliés, then four demi-pliés. After a short exhale, I slowly descend into center splits. While closing my eyes, I let out tiny breaths. Only a few more stretches, then a quick bow and out the private rehearsal room I go. Always, ever since they let me use this room at any time of day, I take my sweet time to complete my ending stretches.

In the room next to me, I can hear the little girls tapping their tap shoes to random rhythms and cheering at the top of their lungs. This was my signal that I took a little too much time relishing the moment. My body leans forward, so my chest is to my knee. In a fast manner, I begin to unlace the bow of my pointe shoe.

"Miss Selena!!!!!" one of the girls trills.

"Begin your warm-ups, I will be there in two minutes," I yell back.

After I remove my pointe shoe, I break my splits then remove my other pointe shoe. It wasn't my intention to become a ballet/tap teacher for girls at the age of 6, but the owner of our prestigious studio made a deal with me. If I was to teach the girls, I was allowed the back private rehearsal room at any time to my likings, along with two free classes a week. Normally I take 15 classes a week; our deal helped ease part of the payment.

My father still complains about the price of classes, but he never misses a show and he is never a day late on tuition. Nicely, I wrap the ribbon around my pointe shoes. Once I ensure that it is secure, I begin across the smooth wooden floor, still on relevé over to my dance bag. Placing them in my bag, I then reach for my tap shoes. Yes, teaching the class consumed ballet time, but at least I am still dancing. Plus ballet was involved halfway through the class.

I take out my tap shoes then begin to put them on. All of a sudden, the door opens causing me to jump. My tap shoes fall and I find my heart racing for some odd reason. 'It must be one of the girls,' I assure myself. Once my breathing returns to my normal routine, I pick up my tap shoes from the glossy wooden floor.