Galaxies away

Dancing is an art, not a sport

"Give the girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world." Marilyn Monroe

I'm not sure what I dislike more. Waking up at 7 o'clock in the morning by your screaming roommates or realizing a couple of minutes too late that they are raiding your closet.

It's way too early for this shit.

I slowly rolled over and onto my back, a whine slipping out when I tried to shift my left arm only to realize that I couldn't feel nor move it. Pins and needles swiftly taking over the appendage.

This is what you get for having poor circulation.

The three girls didn't seem to notice my slowly regaining consciousness, instead, trying to figure out which one of my dresses made their chest look bigger and butt stand out. Honestly, is this what 13 and 14-year-olds do nowadays?

Lucy, the oldest out of the trio, seemed to quickly come to the realization that most of my dresses were made to fit me and disappeared down the hall to steal someone else's clothing, Reagan and Tatiana following behind like puppies. They did this every time our foster mom mentioned the possibility of adoption. Most of the girls here still have hopes that one day a rich couple will come waltzing in with blinding smiles and take them away from this place. I knew the hardships of being in the foster system. I knew what to expect and what not to expect. No family wanted an already grown kid with mental problems...

They wanted a baby that would giggle every time you poked their stomach or hold your finger in their tiny, squishy, baby hands. Most couples wanted to see the first step, hear the first word... It's hard to connect to someone who has already had their fair share of hardships and wishes nothing more than to just be left alone. That's why I've never partaken in the ritual of dressing nice for our guests.

I mean, I had the clothing, I just never saw a point in dressing all nice for someone who is not going to give you a second glance. Actually, I had more than enough clothing, all of which fit me snug. A lot of the outfits I had had to be resized at some point due to my unproportionate body. There was always something wrong with the size. Either the chest area wasn't large enough or the dress didn't reach a length long enough to be comfortable.

Like, seriously people! How hard could it be to make a cute dress for a 5'6 Korean girl living in the US?

I sluggishly crawled off of my uncomfortable mattress, the damn sheets tangling around my ankle and nearly giving an early death to this 16-year-old girl. Most of the children were already up and moving. Some downstairs, peaking through the blinds curiously, others still trying to find an outfit worthy of the man coming over.

Mrs. Thomas, our mom, had let it slip that it was an older gentleman with a lot of money in his pocket. Enough to convince the adoption agency that there was no need to check his living space or check in on the kid afterward because they were going back to Korea with him. It all just seemed so suspicious.

I slipped into the bathroom, thanking the gods above that it was empty and to my astonishment spotless. You would be surprised how gross this bathroom got sometimes. With a twist of a knob, the shower came to life, my entire body reacting like a cat when I felt the cold water hit my warm skin.

The building was old so in order to get even close to warm water you had to wait. I normally took this time to brush my teeth and get my clothing ready, the oversized pink sweater, black leggings and undergarments neatly folded on top of the counter.

I didn't plan on meeting this man.

Alongside my clothing were my ballet shoes. The once pink fabric had faded a long time ago from overuse. As I stepped into the semi-warm shower, memories rushed to my head. Every step and fall I had in those damn things... I was terrible at ballet when I first got transferred here. All I cared about were my studies and what college I was going to leave for. I would have never thought that this painful art would become a huge part of who I am. But not just ballet, dance in general and music. I knew that it wasn't something I could make into a career but that didn't mean that I couldn't enjoy it in my spare time.

Mrs. Thomas didn't just run this home but the dance hall next door. She made it mandatory that every girl she took in had to learn or leave. She was ruthless, Picking at every single mistake you made in her studio. But as much as I wanted to hate her, I couldn't. Somewhere in the back of my chaotic mind, I knew that she wasn't doing it to be cruel. She was doing it because she saw potential. I'd actually be worried if she didn't critique or nit-pick because that would mean that she wasn't taking us seriously. Mrs. Thomas was many things but uncommitted was not one of them. She trained us to be the best.

I slipped out of the shower, quickly drying and getting dressed. Out of habit, I pulled my newly dyed red hair into a ponytail, the tips gently brushing against the small of my back. A pair of hazel eyes met me in the mirror, the green overpowering the shades of brown, a light splatter of freckles decorated the bridge of my nose and cheeks. The small bits of acne I did have seemed to blend in with the stars that covered my face. I wasn't overly attractive but I also wasn't plain. I was just...me and that was okay.

Most of the kids were off doing their own thing when I left the house, my eyes focused on the ground trying my damndest not to step on a sticker burr. Those things hurt worse than kicking your pinkie toe against any hard object. I jumped over the last patch of grass, a small part of me feeling slightly smug over the fact that I managed to evade all threats. The studio doors which were normally locked swung open with a single push. I had a feeling that mom knew about my plans. She always was the mind reader out of her and her husband.

I dropped onto the clean floor and started stretching, going over which moves I needed to work a bit harder and which ones I had started to get lazy with.

It's safe to say that I'm knowledgeable in most dance styles. Both of our foster parents were professional dancers at some point and seemed quite pleased when the kids took an interest. I just so happened to be one of them. They were quick to notice how I sucked information in like a sponge and signed me up for other things like piano and violin lessons. I've done so much in these last three years and I loved every second of it. Dancing just... made me feel so in control.

When I am on stage, I feel like one of those stars in the sky. Blinding everyone in the audience but also so captivating that you don't want to look away. You can't look away. Some little girl was going to look at me one day and see someone they wanted to be when they grow up. I'm happy with who I am right now but I know that I can do so much more.

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How was that? I was super nervous about finally starting this book and didn't want to move too quickly. I want ya'll to connect to the character who has yet to be named. I swear that she is going to be a total badass later on, it'll just take her a while to get there. 

Also, how did you like the tiny picture I added. It took forever to get the positions right and I hope to make these a regular thing for each chapter. They will give you a small bit of info about what the OC enjoys doing. For this one it was ballet.