Prologue

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I stand there. I just stand there. I don't know why, I just do. Everyone in the theater starts snickering, laughing and making fun.

"What is she doing? She looks like an idiot," I hear.

"She's always been a wannabe," Comes another comment.

"Get off the stage!" "Stop making a fool of yourself!" "Let someone else that actually has some talent have a turn." "She's been like this ever since her mom died," That was the last straw. I close my eyes and feel tears prick the back of my eyelids. I force them away and open my eyes again. I am not giving them that satisfaction.

I calmly walk off the stage and walk to the changing rooms. I close the door and press my back to the cool metal and slide down to the floor. Letting the tears finally flow down my cheeks as I unwind the ribbon from around my ankles and take my Pointe shoes off before throwing them across the room.

I stand up and walk across the room picking up my shoes. Moving to put them in my bag something silver catches my eye. I set down my shoes and pick it up to see the one thing that I thought I would never see again.

It is a silver picture frame with a picture of a 6 year old version of me doing a Arabesque and the quote 'Obsessed is the word the lazy use to describe the Dedicated'. I start smiling because that was the day my mom introduced me to the dance studio.
I hear the door open and look up to see Hendrix standing there."What do you want?" I grumble.
"You have to go back out there," He says.
"No, I'm not going back out there. I made a fool of myself and people would just laugh." I put the picture back in my bag and stand up. He walks towards me and ends up standing right in front of me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, thanks to the drastic height difference between us.
He grabs my arms saying,"No one will laugh at you. And if they do, I'll make sure they regret it. You are an amazing dancer, I've seen it with my own two eyes. Do it for me. Dance for me."

Okay, I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning. . . .

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