The Dancer Next Door

1

What is a whore? Or better yet what makes a whore a whore? So, if a girl is considered a whore if she sleeps with multiple men; is she still a whore if she sleeps with one guy for money? Or is that prostitution? I can't help but wonder about these things, because sadly they regard to me. At the age of 16 I never thought that I should even have to ponder about these questions. Yet, here I am staring at my phone debating on what to tell this guy who just asked, "how much do you want." How much do I want to give away my in innocence, my virginity, my self respect, and how bad do I want the money?

"$100" I respond, still questioning sleeping with him just so I could pay for drill team. Saying this out loud makes me notice how stupid this may sound to someone else, but to me dancing is my world. Making the Blue Bonnet varsity drill team was the happiest day of my life. I wasn't alone. I was part of an actual team, doing something I love. Being someone with social anxiety has negatively affected my entire life. I remember growing up and having students thinking I was weird and different. I wouldn't say that I was bullied, but I knew somehow I didn't fit in and that people noticed. I've been called a "bitch" and "stuck up" for not wanting to talk to others, when in reality I was just too afraid. In elementary school I had maybe four to five friends. Everyone else who I considered my friend would only talk to me outside of school, when no one could see us together.

Middle school wasn't that much of a difference. It probably didn't help that I changed schools every year in hopes of fitting in. I even tried out for sports I didn't like so that I would have a way to communicate with someone...anyone. For many people, middle school was know as the "awkward years", but not for me. Ironically, I was considered beautiful. Guys always tried to get my attention, but I would either say something stupid, or nothing at all. Girls would invite me to sit with them at lunch, and when I did I would eat in silence. Year after year, until high school.

High school was when I decided that I needed to change and that I was tired of being alone. Freshman year I came to school dressed nicely and ready to socialize. Upon arrival, I found out that opening up was not as easy as opening your mouth. I still would like to think that I was dedicated, however I did tend to keep to myself and focus on my studies.

Sophomore year I slowly started to give up. Not just on talking to others, but on school itself. My grades slowly dropped, and so did my effort. I went from having a 3.7 gpa to a 3.4 gpa. The only part of the day I looked forward to was dance class. It was an hour and thirty minutes of pure bliss. It was my outlet. A way for me to express myself that didn't need words. Talking wasn't allowed during class and that didn't bother me one bit. In fact, it helped me not worry about having a conversation.

Near the end of the year my dance instructor announced that drill team tryouts were soon approaching. I yearned to try out. The thing is I view try outs as an enemy. If you don't make it, that means you weren't good enough, and I hate not being good enough. Just the phrase "try out" is unsettling.

I remember going to the clinics and easily nailing the dance and having scary high kicks. For the first time in a while, I would like to believe that I was truly confident in myself. I would go home and practice for literally hours until I had to either do homework, eat, or sleep. The day of tryouts I can recall getting up really early, working extra hard on my hair and makeup, and going over the dance multiple times. I even flossed my teeth which I rarely ever do.

The worst part about trying out for something is waiting for your turn. You get this feeling in your stomach like you are about to shit your pants. To make matters even worst, right before I went in for tryouts a red head told me, "you're probably not going to make it sense you weren't on JV." I wanted to cry so badly, but it was my turn to go in. Overall her comment didn't effect my performance. As soon as the music came on it was like I was a different person completely.

"Madison!", I hear a familiar voice shout, knocking me out of my stroll down memory lane.

"Oh umm hi," I stutter.

"You can come in the door is unlocked," she replies with a warm smile. Just my luck. Who knows how long I've been sitting out here like a dumb ass. I grab my stuff to head inside and check my phone for the time. I unlock my phone and notice I have three messages all from Chris, the guy who offered to pay me to have sex with him.

*Hey... You there*

*Umm hello*

*Ok, how about $200*

I send him a quick message saying, "Sorry, I don't want to do this anymore." before heading inside for practice.