Stella Skye Swift!

I Know Places

It's November, and my mom is getting ready to go to Tokyo for her last two tour shows next week. I've been desperately trying to convince her to let me come, but she's vetoed each time.

"Stella, you can't come to Tokyo, Japan, with me. You'd be missing way too much dance and school. And besides, it's Japan. That's not in the US," says my mom.

"I know. Besides, you let me go to London and stuff! Mom, it's the final two shows of your whole tour! I've been to almost every show!" I say.

"Stella, we talked about this months ago. The only international shows you were going to were Manchester and London. Tokyo was originally a yes, but it's been up for debate since after Nashville.
Besides, could you really miss a week of dance?" says my mom.

"Yeah, I could miss a week of dance! My Nutcracker and winter recital is this weekend. Next week will be normal classes since it's the week of Thanksgiving, and many people will be gone. Besides, I have a few things that I want a Japanese version of," I say.

"Okay, okay. You can come. And what things would those be?" says my mom. "A poster of you, a poster of Aunt Selena, a poster of Ed Sheeran, the Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix book in Japanese, and maybe a few trinkets," I say. "That's a good list, missy," says my mom. "Yeah! I've been working on it for a long time," I say.

My mom laughs, and we talk for a while. A good chunk of the convo was about my Nutcracker and recital details. Of course, the other big topic was Tokyo and all the issues that come with it like time differences, schedule, when we're leaving, packing, what routines I'll be doing, etc.

It's Friday night, and I'm super excited for Tokyo next week, the final nights of the tour, and my dance performances.

I'm a Party Guest in the Nutcracker. We're doing a lot of jumping and twirling around in our routine.

I'm doing Contemporary, Lyrical, Tap, Jazz, Hip Hop, and Acro for the recital. Delilah is in all of the same routines as me since we're in the same classes.

I can't wait for my Nutcracker tomorrow! I might strongly dislike Ballet, but I love performing.

My mom puts me to bed with the usual singing of Never Grow Up. I smile and hold her hand as she sings to me. My breathing evens out, and I'm asleep when the song is over.

I'm back in a place I recognize. It's one of the worst foster homes I was in. A few months before I met Taylor, I was 7.

I get home from school, and the foster parent doesn't look happy with me. I check the time on my watch. I'm late. Uh oh. "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE..." starts my foster person. "I'm sorry, sir. My teacher held me back to talk about a test," I say, cutting him off and lying. My teacher didn't hold me back. Bullies did. "DON'T YOU DARE CUT ME OFF! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO BE LATE?" bellows Josh, the foster person. "More than once," I reply quickly. "That's right! And what did I tell you would happen if you were late?!" says Josh with his voice still raised but not at a shouting level. "Nothing good," I say. "Too right, that is!" says Josh.

He pulls his belt off and rips my backpack off me. He starts whipping me with his belt on my stomach and back until I'm numb and in so much pain all I want to do is listen to Taylor Swift and cry. My ribs hurt so bad it feels like I broke one of them. It hurts to breathe a little bit. "NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO KEEP GOING!" yells Josh. I bend over to pick up my bag when I feel a blow hit my back again. I scream in pain as the metal belt buckle scrapes against my back for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. You're safe now," says a voice. I feel a gentle hand on my back, and I cringe. I sit up as tears roll down my cheeks, and my breathing remains uneven.