Chapter 3
A loud buzzing sound filled my ears. Then 3 consecutive beeps. I rolled over and looked at my alarm clock, it read 5:15. I momentarily wondered why I'd been crazy enough to set my alarm clock so early in the morning. Oh yeah, time to do 2 hours of practice before I go to school. I'm lucky enough that last year my dad installed a barre on the left side of my room.I put my hair into a messy bun and I put on my leotard, tights, pointe shoes and pale pink wraparound skirt. I selected my practice playlist on my iPod. The slow haunting sounds of an old Russian concerto spread across my room. It felt as though the music crept up my bed, under my duvet, through my dresser drawers and into my mirror. I shivered and began to dance the new piece Mme. Noelle taught us. I imagined her voice, "Jane, you cannot merely do the steps of the dance, but you must feel it. Let the passion overtake you. Dance with passion!"
I did a grand jété, followed by many consecutive pirouettes. Finally, I heard the bow cascading slowly on the violin. With in a measure or so it was done. Exhausted and panting, I reached for a glass of water and sat down to stretch. I stretched until I heard my dad call "Jane, honey! Breafast is ready!" I removed my skirt and threw on a pair of sweats. The smell of apple chai pancakes wafted upstairs, yum!
I ran down the steps and into our kitchen. My dad slid two apple chai pancakes, a glass of milk and a bowl of cherries and grapes.
"Honey, you look beat." My dad said.
"Well I've been up since quarter after 5 practicing. I better look beat!" I exclaimed.
"Jane, don't be too hard on your body."
"Dad relax, I'm 14 years old now!"
"I know I know" My dad said.
He slid some toast with blackberry jam towards me.
