Barred by Ballet

Chapter 1: First Position

It was a routine Saturday morning that I had all but memorised every move to a "T". I was so skilled that I could have literally counted the seconds of my breath if I tried hard enough.

But fairly, I knew the number of steps it would take me to get from the bedroom to the dance studio which happened to be ten footsteps toward the thirty step staircase, twenty tiptoes towards the front door upon making a right turn, fifteen paces down the pathway and one large jeté into the dance studio.

Yeah the studio is basically right outside of my house. You see, my mother has this serious issue with tardiness hence I am obliged to reach class five minutes earlier to set up the studio.

As a fifteen year old teenager, no let me rephrase that-: As the fifteen year old daughter of a dance mistress, I have endless duties on a Saturday.

Apart from the regular clean-your-room, wash-the-dishes, take-out-trash chores - I have additional responsibilities. In other words, tutor the children, practice advanced pointé, attend ballet and modern classes, rehearse classical piano.

And if you thought that was hectic, well prepare yourself for the endless and most frustrating weekend homework from school, extra pointé classes for the advancement of my technique (or so my mother claims), and playing fruit ninja! Yes I love fruit ninja. Don't you? I do need to maintain my sanity as a teenager.

But that leaves negative zero time for boys, a social life and personal beautification time. Hence I created: "Ballet Blog - The life of a miserable teenage dancer", which is updated in the early hours of the morning.

Meanwhile, I had just completed polishing the floors (i.e. sweeping) and wiping the dust and germs off of the barres when I heard rattling car engines approaching in the distance. "It must be the munch-kin-pep crew arriving!" I thought to myself. I quickly stashed the cleaning agents in the storage room, dusted my leotard and printed a I'm-a-happy-ballerina face for the children.

"Hey there! Is this Slovaki's Dance Academy?" a young male voice questioned. It took me a few moments before I responded because I was checking out his cute dimples as he spoke.

"Um ... err, Yeah! Slovaki's Dance." I mumbled. Epic failure! I'm never nervous! So why am I screwing up now? Is it because he's handsome? Or maybe it's his dazzling grey eyes. I've never seen grey eyes up close before. Wow! It matched his curly liquorice-black hair perfectly. Come to think of it I hadn't met any cute teenage guys up close before. Only dance dads and their offspring, so eww! This could be my chance. I instinctively pictured myself as one of those Japanese chibi characters, balling up my fists and yelling Chance-su!

"Okay, so you're the teacher for this class right?" he inquired.

"MmmHmm, Yeah, yeah. I'm the teach." I responded. The teach? Like what the hell is wrong with me. No chance-su! Epic failure twice in a row - this could be promising.

"Okay great! I'm Dylan Peters and you must be Miss Genevieve Slovaki. We spoke over the phone yesterday. I was expecting you to be older but I guess the phone has a funny way of playing with people's voices."

"Haha!" a little voice snarled. She was gripping Dylan's hands tightly. I almost didn't see her there but I'd have to say she was pretty cute though.

"Hello? Can I come in now? I'm not getting any younger and you're both wasting my precious time. I'd rather be focusing my energies on something more productive." She rooted. I take back the cute compliment, even though I hadn't said it out loud.

"Oh sorry, come in! Rest your dance bag on the shelf over there and you can grab a dance mat and warm up until the others arrive." I replied. She furiously loosened her grip from Dylan's hand, rolled her eyes and strutted her way into the studio.

"That's my sister, Keiri. She's nice when you get to know her." He protested.

I chuckled. I'm sure she is, I thought to myself.

"Well it was nice meeting you Miss Slovaki, or shall I call you Genevieve?"

"Well that would be completely absurd now wouldn't it, Mia?" My mother intruded.

Kill me now! What have I ever done to the universe? I gazed toward the sky and pleaded to the Universe:

Dear universe, I recycle - sometimes - but I'd never mash an ant, once they aren't in my way, and I don't swat flies. I just pump up their energy with a little electric shock! But I have to admit I do kill the mosquitoes. I'm sorry. I haven't found their purpose in life rather than making my skin itch and giving me unnecessary rashes. I mean I already have puberty to deal with.

"Mia darling, whatever are you gazing at? ... I'm sorry Mister..."

"Uh, Dylan ... Dylan Peters." He took his hand out of his pocket and thrust it toward mom inviting her to shake his hand, a common enough gesture. Right? Wrong! My mother glanced at his hand, tilted her head and gave a sarcastic smile. Mom equals germ-a-phobic. I have yet to wonder how she made me, which isn't exactly a pretty sight come to think of it.

"Mister Peters, yes? Class commences at two thirty. See to it that you're here on time. We'll discuss the finances at the end of class." She said. "Oh and Mia, I do believe that class you're supposed to be teaching has begun." She scornfully reminded me.

I promise to stop killing mosquitoes. Okay universe!

My mother walked Dylan to the exit and I began to go through my preparation ritual for the munch-kins. Which goes a little like this: -

One: I was once six years old so I completely understand their weird yet annoying behaviour.

Two: The class will be over in sixty minutes, so no need to get angry and throw tantrums.

Three: Smile, Smile, Smile because the sun shines upon me.

You know the third one sounded a bit lame and since I met Dylan, I think I might have a new number three.

Three (revised): Smile Smile Smile because it will soon be two thirty and Dylan will smile at me. Yay!

Still lame but it'll work for now.

"Hey!" Keiri yelled. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching us?"

"Oh my gosh! I'm totally sorry!" I shot out of my trance, straightened my posture and held the barre. "Okay everyone. To the barre! Second position. Plié".

~

After such a hectic day I excitedly logged on to my Mac PC to update my latest blog post and inform my readers of the wonderful day I just lived through or at least the wonderful moment.

Mia Mishchiva

A blissful day filled with rosy red apples and fluffy whipped cream melted before my very eyes. The sweet savoury scents enriched my sorrowful soul with slow tingling sensations. The butterflies began fluttering with great intensity; stampeding their way into the circumference of my heart. Entrancing my mind and reconstructing my heartbeat. I'm in LOVE!

I hit the post button and started to swivel in my chair.

Dylan, Dylly, D-man! Those eyes...that hair. Sexy dimples. Cute smile. Aye dios mio! Muy muy caliente! It's like smelling that strong aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns. Yum.

I mulled over the thoughts and replayed the scenario of Dylan and I so many times in various ways that I was actually beginning to forget the difference between reality and my daydreams.

That night I gazed upon my illuminating starry night light painting on the ceiling and I pictured myself doing pirouettes with Dylan, slowly falling asleep.