Pointe Shoes, Pen Ink, and Rosin

Meet the Roommates

        "Name?" asked the woman working at the registration desk.
        "Savannah Blackwell."
        "Alright. Savannah Blackwell, dance focus?" asked the woman. She was given a nod. "Ah you're a returning student. Can I see your old ID please?" 
        Savannah followed through.
        "Perfect," the woman chirped. "Here are your keys and your schedule on paper. Your room number is provided there."
Savannah thanked her and lugged her baggage out the door. She walked to her building and went up two floors. Then she arrived at 268, her home for the next few months. After sliding in the key and opening the door, she was greeted by a gust of rock music and a girl with purple hair, dancing wildly on the bed.
       Savannah was initially shocked but she did her best to mask it with forced laughter.
         "Oh! Hi!" yelled the girl over the beat of the drums.
         "Hi!" yelled Savannah, now giggling. "I love your hair! I wish I could have purple hair."
          "What's stopping you?"
         "They won't let me dance with purple hair."
        "Oh you're a dancer?"
         Purple hair turned down the music.
        "Yeah. I'm Savannah. And I'm your roommate apparently?"
        "Guess so. I'm Dallas," she grabbed a pack of Oreos from her dresser and offered to Savannah, who politely declined. "It's my first year here. My focus is creative writing." Dallas grinned.
        This introduction concluded with the continuation of Dallas's bed jumping jam session, now aided by Oreos, and Savannah unpacking her belongings.
•••
        Henry stopped at the desk and waited for the woman to attend to him.
        "Just a minute, dear," she shuffled some papers and turned in her chair. "What's your name, please?"
       "I'm Henry Karomanov."
         "Karomanov.  I have you here. You're studying cello and you're in what grade?"
       "Grade?" He froze for a second and scanned his brain for everything his mother had taught him about the American grading system before he left. "Oh! 9th grade."
        The rest of his registration business was shortly taken care of. She gave him his keys and schedule and he walked down the concrete path.
        When he arrived at his room, he entered and saw two other boys. One was on the couch, captivated by a video game, and the other one was eating a bowl of ice cream.
        "Hey. I'm Henry," he waited for them to turn around.
The boy with the ice cream turned to him, stared, and said, "Are you Australian?"
        "Yes I am."
        "Amrit! This dude's Australian! I'm Jackson. This is Amrit," said the ice cream boy.
        Amrit turned around.
        "Yo, I'm here for acting."
        "I'm Henry and I'm studying the cello here."
        "Oh that's sick. I'm a ballet boy," said Jackson. "You can go ahead and unpack stuff. Orientation's at 3:00, don't forget."
•••
"Welcome, everyone! Welcome to a brand new year at DAAPA!" announced Ms. Hallenbeck, DAAPA's principal. The crowd of 11-17 year olds erupted into applause and cheer. "Ladies and gentlemen, this year, as most of you know, we are adding an arts focus. I am so excited to introduce creative writing!" More cheers and applause. "Please, anyone who has the honor of being part of DAAPA's first class of creative writers, join me on stage so we can get a picture of you all."
         Dallas squeezed her way through the crowd and hopped on stage. She spotted Savannah in the crowd waved, like she would to a proud mother. Savannah smiled and waved back.
        "Here we are! The first ever, class of students studying creative writing at The Damium Academy of Arts and Performing Arts! Give them a cheer!"