Pain Killer

Chapter 1: Cici

Glitter sticks to my fingers. No amount of tissue wiping removes it. It sparkle beautifully prearranged on my cheeks, but now there is some on my forehead, in my hair, on the front of my leotard and I'm pretty sure I have some in my mouth.

"Aren't they beautiful?" In the mirror, beside my reflection, I see Dawn with her face buried in a bouquet of carnations. She takes an over-exaggerated snort of them. "Oh! They smell so good. My daddy knows me so well." She turns from her friend to look my way and catches me watching. Grabbing my lipstick from the dressing table, I act nonchalant.

"Cici." She always says my name so sharply like a fork scraping along a plate. "Did your family give you any flowers?"

I smear unnecessary lipstick on. Dawn knows the answer to her own question, so I ignore her. Her friend giggles.

"Well, I guess people only give flowers to those they are proud of."

This time I glance at her in the mirror. A smirk dresses her face.

I know I shouldn't say anything. Being the new kid so many times has taught me that well. But I don't know what it is about Dawn. She irks me. Her immature comments don't usually bother me. I'm bigger than that. It doesn't even matter that she turned the entire ballet class against me. I'm better by myself anyways. It's just her. I can't stand her. The way she carries herself like a model ready to be displayed. Maybe it's the fact that her parents give her everything her black heart wants.

Smacking my lips and then letting them go with a pop, I say, "I don't need vegetation to tell me that I'm the best."

A soft 'oh' from the other girls drift throughout the dressing room. I flick my eyes to the reflection of Dawn in my mirror. Her smirk has dropped to a scowl. Again she knows the truth. I am the best dancer in the class. There is no denying that. I have the solo tonight, not her. Even with Dawn practicing extra to get the solo, Mrs. Pacini still gave it to me.

Dawn has no reply. Instead, she resumes whispering to her friend.

"Five minutes till curtain." Mrs. Pacini stands in the doorway. Her face is flushed and she fans herself with a program. Every recital we have, she over exerts herself. Anyone who sees her would think she was about to go on stage.

Slowly, she moves through the room, complementing the girls on their makeup and hair. When she reaches me, she places a hand on my shoulder and leans in. "A friend from the NBC is here. I didn't expect him to come. He told me that if he sees any of my girls have potential he'll send an agent to the next recital. I don't want to put too much pressure on you, but this could be the first stepping stone for you to get recruited, Cici."

My heart starts pounding in my chest, and I love it. The adrenalin that courses through me feels good. I feel alive. People say pain reminds us that we are alive. Rush of adrenalin does this for me since pain is a rarity for me.

"I'm ready." I give her a smile.

"I knew you would be. I have complete faith in you." Mrs. Pacini leaves the dressing room fanning herself the entire way.

I smile at myself in the mirror. This is my chance. To fulfill my dream and finally become independent. With a chance to be hired by the National Ballet of Canada, even for one performance, I'll have a chance at really making myself known. I'll be a professional ballerina. No more extra shifts at Second Cup.

My mind is buzzing so it takes me a least a minute before I notice the glares that Dawn is giving me. Did she over hear Mrs. Pacini? She's probably still mad at my comment about her stupid flowers.

A man with a headset knocks on the already open door. "Show time girls. Everyone upstairs. Curtain in two."

Everyone scrambles for the door. I wait until everyone is out before I make my exit. The stairs are congested as I expect. They all tried to go up at the same time. Even though I stay back a bit, someone steps on my foot. Finally, there is movement and I'm able to jog up behind everyone. As I ascend, I look at my feet. Whoever stepped on my foot left a black splotch on my slipper. I over exaggerate my steps and try to wipe the spot with my hand. I'm too concentrated on ridding it, when I face plant into the person in front of me. Flinging my head back, my slipper slides off the edge of the stair.