My mom calls me Sassy, ‘cause I like to put my hands on my hips and ‘cause I always have something to say. Well, if you had feet as big as mine, you'd understand why.
I was taller than the rest of the kids at school, even the boys. At our recitals all
the other girls got to dance solos and duets, and wear pretty tutus. I was too big
for the boys to pick up, and too tall to be in line with the other girls. So I watched
from backstage, dancing in the wings, hoping that if I just kept dancing and
trying, it would be my turn to dance in the spotlight.
One day at the end of ballet class, Miss Katherine announced, "Mr. Debato
from the Russian school is coming next week to look for talented young
people for the summer dance festival in Washington, D.C."
The whole room turned into a whirlpool of excitement as the sign-up sheet was
posted. Everyone wanted to try, especially me.
But as I wrote my name down, I heard two girls, Molly and Mona, giggle. Mona
said, "Oh please, she'll never make it. They said talent, not a tyrannosaurus."
My heart seemed to stand still. For once I had nothing to say.
I couldn't hide the tears I felt welling up in my eyes, so I just grabbed my
dance bag and ran to the parking lot.
Late that night I lay awake, staring out my window and thinking. I could see
myself dancing on the Milky Way, swirling like a twinkling shooting star. Next
thing I knew, I was talking to myself out loud. "I'm goin' to that audition,
big feet and all."
And instead of standing in the back, I squeezed between Molly and Mona,
right in the front row. I ignored their snickering.
Miss Katherine came in and introduced Mr. Debato. Everyone applauded.
Boy was he short! Couldn't have been more than four feet nine inches tall.
He started walking down the rows, pacing back and forth, just looking at us.
The first round of the audition was center floor exercises. Mr. Debato walked
around prodding and poking, making corrections. He stopped once and looked
right at me but didn't say a thing. I held my breath as he dismissed almost half
the kids after the first round. But not me.
Then came the leaps across the floor. I took off like Jackie Joyner-Kersee in
the long jump at the Olympics. With one leap I sailed in the air past all the
other girls. Molly and Mona watched, lookin' pea green with envy.
When I finished, Mr. Debato yelled, "Young lady, you must learn to dance to
the music. Up on the count of one, down on the count of three! Three! Not five!
You have the rhythm of a troglodyte. Again!"
I was crushed.
LessonTOC
PrintResources
this week's Leveled Readers. See pp. 12f–12g for
