F Stands For Forever #JustWriteItChallenge

Prologue

Hey guys, teen fiction is my true passion along side scifi so if you could vote and/or give me some feedback in the comments that would be so awesome of you. Just want to know how far I am in my writing. Gonna stop rambling now.... enjoy :)

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Eleven Years Ago….

***Anika***

No one told me that it would be this hard when I signed up for it. I thought I’d come and wear the pretty little white tutu getup my mom bought me from Paris and do a couple of spins and jumps like I practiced every single day faithfully for a month, but it was nothing like that. Nothing like I had imagined at all.

When I walked into the studio all of the girls trying out were already there. I was the last one to arrive. They stared at me like they were vultures and I was carrion. My stomach gurgled a couple of times like I was going to throw up. Why did they look at me like that?

“Okay girls, lets warm up,” the ballet instructor told us. All of the girls turned their heads back to the instructor like I didn’t exist and lined up before the railing against the mirrored wall. The girls began to stretch, some doing pointed looks when they’re able to put a leg above their heads, as if I couldn’t do the same. I showed them I was just as good as them, but once the warm up was done, that’s where hell began.

Word after word was thrown at us by the instructor, and it seemed like I was the only one who didn’t know what they meant. I’m only seven, how would I know French? I tried to watch the girls and the instructor very carefully so I wouldn’t look so stupid, but my arms and legs just weren’t as graceful. Not as beautiful as theirs. But I never gave up. I was determined throughout the whole thing hoping that maybe she might have some sympathy and pick me. I’m a fast learner. I can so those moves in time.

When everything was done I was winded and soar. My name was the only one not called and my feet hurt so much I couldn’t even walk to the limo that was waiting outside for me.

And on my way out do you know what she told me? “Maybe dancing just isn’t you talent Niki, but better luck next time, okay?” And then she patted me on the back while telling another girl how great her turns where and how she just can’t wait to see her next week.

I wanted to run away or cry or maybe even both, but I was so stunned and angry that I didn’t do either. At least not in front of everyone, including the women who had just crushed my dreams. I wanted to prove her wrong and walked away with my head and shoulders up, back straight.

She was going to eat those words if it was the last thing I did.

Joe, the limo driver met me at my door and held it open for me. I cringed my way into the soft leather-seated interior with tight lips, refusing to let a single squeak of pain escape escape. But it was no use in hiding it from him; Joe knows me better than my own parents do. So on the way home he stopped at the little ice cream stand that is always on the sidewalk next to the Roosevelt Community Park, rain or shine. Seriously, this guy never takes a day off.

I sat on one of the park benches with my French vanilla-lemon double scoop waffle cone, sulking over the day’s unfortunate turnout when a short, yellow eyed Mulatto girl walked up to me and said, “I thought you might need these.” She proffered a caramel-colored hand in my direction and opened it to reveal a few white napkins.