Dancing Through Life

I Hope You Dance

Becca POV

I wake up at 6:00am the next morning and can't go back to sleep. I jump out of bed, and take a quick shower. I put on black leggings, a gray tank top, and I tie my red plaid flannel around my waist. Finally, I put on my Vans and grab my dance bag. I slip out the door because my dad isn't awake yet, and skate to the diner.

"Hey Dillbill," I greet.

"It's early for you to be up, ain't it Becky?" He replies.

"I couldn't sleep, so I came here for some breakfast."

"Couldn't sleep cause your famous?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Obviously not,"

"Becca, everyone's heard about your little dance off. Here, look at today's paper." I grab the paper from him, and read.

"Rebecca Evans competes in a dance off with dance school headmaster's son, Asher Carlton. Rebecca surprised the school with her impressive dance skills; a daughter following in her mother's footsteps. (Then there was a picture of the lift we did)"

I stopped reading there, and look up, exasperated.

"You look pissed." Dillon says.

"No shit sherlock." I reply with a glare.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side." He says, and I laugh lightly.

"I need to get to school, I'll see you later."

"See ya." I ride my board to school, thinking about the article. I was so mad. I walked through the doors at school, watched by every person. I got to my first class, and everyone stopped their warmups. The teacher turned to confront me.

"Becca," She says, smiling.

"What?" I reply, surprised by her unusual friendliness. 

"The principal asked to see you in his office this morning."

"Okay," I turn, and walk towards Mr. Carlton's office.

"What do you want?" I ask walking into the room.

"Good morning Rebecca, have a seat." Mr. Carlton says.

"I'd rather you just tell me what the hell I'm doing here."

"I guess you saw the paper this morning."

"It's kinda hard to miss when it's on the cover 'New Dance Prodigy.' Why don't they just leave me alone?"

"Your dance was spectacular yesterday, you danced just like your mother."

"I'm not my mother. Why do people always compare me to her?"

"Becca, let me tell you something," He says, coming around the desk, standing in front of me, "I knew your mother. In fact, we went to this school together twenty years ago. Actually, you remind me of her in many ways. First, you don't like to show your talent, you hide it. Second, you are quite stubborn and don't respect authority. Finally, you are a fantastic dancer."

"Can I go to class now?" I say, folding my arms across my chest.

"I haven't told you why I called you in here. You won't be attending your classes anymore because you will be taking private lessons from me." He replies, also crossing his arms.

"Great, my day keeps getting better and better." I say, sarcastically.

"No, attitude," He says.

"What are you, my father?"

"No, but I'm your headmaster which is basically the same thing when you're in the building." I roll my eyes.

"Fine," He leads me down the hall to an open studio. It feels larger than the other ones. I examine the room. There's a wall of mirrors and the barre on one side, and mats on the other. I set my dance stuff down, and put on my flannel, "What are we doing?"

"Ballet," I put my hair into a high ponytail, and put on an underarmour headband. Mr. Carlton glares at me.

"This is as good as it's gonna get."

"Fine, I can work with that. First, position," I put my heels together with my toes out, "Plie, butt in."

He makes me repeat my plie three times because I keep sticking my butt out.

"You know for such a talented dancer, you can sure screw up a plie." He chuckles.

"It's been a while." I say, as an excuse.

"Whose fault is that?" I just roll my eyes. He continued to make me do simple warmups and routines, and when the final bell rang I felt like we had made no progress, "You're free to go. Meet me in this room tomorrow."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." I say. He leaves, but I don't, I dance.