Thanks to everyone who read the intro to this story and I hope you like this next chapter!
I had just turned twelve when they said I should be old enough to start pointe. I was so excited, I had waited years to hear those words. Being in pointe automatically put me on a high note at my dance studio. Pointe was for the best of the best, the people who had the most potential to succeed. The pointe teacher comes up and says she doesn't want to waste her time on slackers, and only the dancers that care can join her class. My parents were reluctant to take me to the doctor and see if the bones in my feet and ankles were strong enough to hold up my weight for long periods of time (the reasons why younger girls can't take it, to bones in their feet are too soft to hold up the weight and could cause serious injuries if they attempted pointe,). They thought I would get to attached to they idea of being a great dancer at my dance studio and automatically think I was in a company or a prima ballerina. After tons and tons of begging, they finally agreed, stating how it would hopefully scare me into stop dancing after I felt a little pain, since I wasn't used to five-ten little toes balancing the one-hundred and fifteen pounds I call my weight. I would never given up so easily, of course if I had the chance.
My feet were perfect pointe. The perfect strength, pointed in the perfect angle, everything. It turns out my ankles were way too weak, to even attempt pointe. My doctor said that he had no idea how they never affected any of my other dancing before. I had felt a pain in my ankles on many occasions, I had just thought it meant I was working to hard, or it meant I was doing it perfectly. The teachers say if it feels a little weird, you are probably doing it right. They told me that I was still able to do all my other classes since it never truly affected them in a dangerous way, but pointe was off limits.
They told me and my parents that my ankles were weirder than the normal weak ankle. Most ankles can strengthen in time and be ready to take pointe, my feet showed signs that trying to improve them had no point because they were just too weak. Even with improvement, they were ninety-nine point nine percent sure that they would never be strong enough for pointe. My parents had taken that as a sign. They told me my ankles were trying to tell me that my dream should stay a dream. I took it as a challenge, there was still that point one percent chance that I could still make it to pointe, and no one said your dreams come easy. Quite the opposite, they said it takes hard work and dedication. And I clearly wasn't going to let anything stand in they way of my dreams. Plus, I never considered myself a normal child, so I would I fall in a normal percentage range? Most girls wanted to be Cinderella or Snow White when they were five. Not me, I wanted to be Clara or Odette. And I wasn't about to let anything stand in my way of accomplish taking my dream away from me. Especially since that thing was part of me.
People at school treated me different. Before anyone knew about this I was just the crazy ballet girl. They couldn't even say crazy ballerina, they had to say ballet girl, which made the nick name even worse, but after everyone found out, people stared at me in sympathy and offered to do things for me, like carry my books, massage my ankles, and a lot of weird things like that. The stares made me feel awkward, but the offers were nice, it made me feel useless since people thought I couldn't do simple things, but they were nice. Strangers would come up to me and say I was strong to come to school even though my dream has pretty much fallen apart. I guess it's the thought that counts, I mean saying that about my dream was rude, but I'm sure they didn't mean it that way.
It took weeks for my parents to finally allow me to go back to my dance classes. They said that I could do permanent damage to my ankle, even though my doctor had stated I was still able to do my normal classes. I think my parents were trying to use my ankles as an excuse to keep me away from dancing, but I wasn't stupid and I saw right through them. That's the only reason they allowed me to go back, because they knew I saw right through their little plan. Dance was a bit awkward at first. My teachers had heard about my ankles, so they told me to take it easy and go back to basics, but when I showed no signs of doing that, they slowed everything down for the whole class just so I wouldn't hurt myself. I hate when people do that, they feel sorry for someone that all they do it is try to make the persons life better, but in actuality it just gets on their nerves more. It never truly hurt me before, so what makes them think that it would hurt me now? After about a week of slowness they finally picked it up to normal pace.
I stayed longer in the studio just to do some ankle strengthening stretches and exercises. They might have said it was no use, but as long as it doesn't kill me I should be fine. I noticed the pointe teacher, Mrs. Blossom (which is such a nice name for a harsh teacher), eyeing me, as if I didn't belong. Maybe she was mad that one of the most talented girls in the studio couldn't join her class, or maybe she was one of those people who thought my ankles are a sign that I shouldn't dance. Either way, it started to creep me out. That lady has one of the creepiest stares ever, it's haunted house worthy. I was kinda glad realizing that missing pointe means missing that lady, but I'd rather deal with her and have my dream come true, than not have her and have my dream die like my ankles want them too. Her staring at me is only the beginning of her involvement in this story though.
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