Every part of my life has been laid out for me. I am going to be the Prima ballerina. I started dance classes at the age of four. I starred in every recital, and I got solo dances.
I look in the dance mirror with my hair in a bun. My pink jumper and tutu and tights. My ballet shoes are laced uptight. Closing my eyes, I picture myself as a teacher, a doctor, or a lawyer. But no mother wouldn't have it.
My name is Sadie Anderson. I now teach ballet at my mother's dance school. I enjoy it. I really do, but sometimes I want more. I want to be seen as something other than the dance girl.
I grab the ballet bar and start doing some stretching. I arrived a few moments before the students. They are all around the age of eight. I am eighteen years old. I just graduated high school with high honors.
I was offered many scholarships based on my intelligence and grades. My mom believes all the training I need is within the dance studio's walls.
I hear loud children in the hallways. They enter the room loudly.
"Settle down," I laugh.
"Sorry, Ms. Sadie," the children say.
" Let's start with our stretching."
The children all line up in their rows. Every dancer has an assigned spot. I stand with my back towards them in front of them, facing the dance mirror. Frustration flows through me when I see my mother enter the dance studio. I see through the reflection in the mirror.
I also noticed a man with her. He looks unhappy to be here. He was someone mother would classify as a punky young adult. He wore his baseball cap backward. He has baggy pants that showed his boxers and a gray sweatshirt, even though it was hot outside. We live in Florida. My mother signed for me to approach her. I walk towards them.
"Keep stretching," I say to the students.
"This is Corey. He is going to be doing some volunteer work around here," she explains.
I nod. My mom works with the juvenile department. Troubled youth and teens come here to perform their community service. Anyone between 12 and 18 can volunteer here.
I reach out my hand. "My name is Sadie."
He grabs my hand gently. I look into his deep blue eyes, and he seems so soft-hearted.
"Corey," he smiles.
My mom looks disgusted. Like a nasty filthy cockroach just landed on my hand. "If you need the floor mopped or the windows washed, Corey will be in the janitorial department," she barks.
Corey looks down at the ground. He feels embarrassed, I bet.
"I think we'll be in good hands." I smile. And he nods.
I turn and walk towards my dancers, who are getting off task.
"Now, get in the first position," I call to the students.
******
I feel so aesthetic as the last unit walks out of the dance studio. It was a long lesson. We have exactly three weeks until the dance recital. I need my dancers ready. My mom takes her reputation very seriously, and we are known for having the best dancers.
Corey walks into my room. He wore our janitorial outfit. It looks like a prison jumpsuit, except for its gray. And has a janitor written on the back in big black letters. He pushes a mop bucket and has a wash rag flipped over his shoulder.
I know I look like a dork watching him, but I couldn't help it. He is absolutely breathtaking. His long dark brown hair and deep blue eyes. He is very muscular.
"Enjoying the view," he chuckles.
I feel so embarrassed, and I know my cheeks turn red. "Sorry," I managed to say.
"You're fine," he winks at me. I smile awkwardly and quickly leave the studio walking past him.