My feet are caked in dirt. It feels as if needles are being hammered into my feet. Each of my legs feels like pudding. My heart is beating twice its normal speed. Inside of my head, I am gaining a massive migraine from the deafening music. It doesn't matter though; I'm able to dance.

I am sixteen-years-old, and I have been dancing for thirteen years. I have always felt at home when I dance. The music speaks to me, and my feet automatically start moving along to the beat. I can do a million styles of dance: ballet, jazz, hip hop, Irish, waltz, tango, lyrical, ballroom, and, my absolute favorite, tap. I love all of them, but my feet feel most at home in a pair of stretchy, black tap shoes.

"Alrighty, dancers. You have one minute to rest and get a drink of water, starting now. Go!"

That's my dance teacher, Miss Brown. I live at her dance studio. Once school finishes at three o'clock, I run to my car and drive to the studio just in time to make my 3:15 ballet class. I usually stay here until 9:30, when I hop back into my car and get home at 9:45. When I get home, I stay up as long as I need to in order to get my homework done. If I don't make honor roll, I have to kiss dancing good-bye.

I hate school. The very thought of having to sit in a desk for an hour straight sends a chill up my spine. I don't like listening to my teachers drone on for hours about stupid history or crazy math. I know for a fact that I will never use this information in my lifetime. It seems like a waste of time and energy for me. If it weren't for my parents, I would probably drop out. They have a strict rule, though. No school; no dance.

At school, I am picked on all the time. I'm seen as weird for loving to dance. Personally, I don't think that it's weird that a boy enjoys dancing. I think that it is clever. I get to spend six hours a day doing what I love, and I get to be around girls the entire time. It's perfect.

For me, it doesn't matter what people say. If people pick on me, let them; just let me dance. You can yell at me, hit me, or spread rumors about me; I don't care. I'm still able to dance, the one place I am truly at home.