The Showcase (Alex)

The showcase is today.

No one else is doing vocals and dance, at least not to my knowledge. Elizabeth and I are doing solos and we're doing three ensemble numbers: one with the pre-pointe class, one with the pointe class, and one with all of us. The older girls are all so talented, especially Natasha Lebedev. When we joined the pointe class for practice, I always wanted to watch Natasha. I hope she's soloing. If anyone deserves to solo, it's her.

I don't even know why I'm soloing. I'm not long and graceful. I've put on some weight and I'm on the taller end. Maybe I shouldn't have had that sweetroll; I can already feel it sticking to my sides. I sprayed my hair again and got my carrot on a stick ready. I hope I don't break the pig's back. I had my tea with only enough honey to prime my vocal cords for the vocal showcase.

After getting off the pig's back, I made my way to the dressing room. I felt the extra weight on my frame. Every lump on my body showed under the leotard. I felt disgusting. I didn't have the lean lines the audience expected. No wonder pointe was hard for me. How was I supposed to support all of this weight on my toes? I hid my gut under my tutu and retouched my hair.

I was painfully aware of the judgmental eyes fixed on my rotund features. I danced well enough, but the only thing I felt was the jiggling of fat as I landed my jumps. My weight is technically healthy, but it's not enough to be healthy. I need to be beautiful. I need to impress the audience. I need to grow up. Elizabeth is a natural. Why can't I have her perfect golden locks and slender limbs? I have the build of an iron golem in a tutu, but with fat instead of muscle.

I sat through Elizabeth's solo. Her extension was flawless. I could only dream of having her turnout. The sleek, sophisticated costume showcased her perfect body. Her perfect body. The one I could never have. After taking her bow, I made my way onstage and got into position.

The music started and I realized something: I didn't need to look the part. I just needed to play the part. I imagined my old vocal teacher's voice belting out the high notes as I pirouetted like never before. My foot felt odd...like something was stabbing me. I ignored it. Natasha must hate the fact that she has to share the stage with someone like me. I'm as awkward and unballetic as it gets. Why am I soloing? I shouldn't have even set foot on a dance floor.

During the mass number, the stabbing pain returned full force, but I didn't wince. Natasha leapt gracefully in front of me. I tried to do the same, but I collapsed. The last thing I remembered from that dance was Natasha asking if I was okay.