The new semester started on a snowy January morning. I made my way up the icy steps that led to the puddled main hallway. Once again, I was walking into the unknown. I had no idea what would happen if the dance program didn't work out for me. My parents were adamant that I stay at Broughton, and somehow my midterm grades had somehow been enough to keep me from failing either social studies or science.

They didn't keep me from being thrown into a group with a couple of sophomores and another freshman, Kat, in social studies. After my run-ins with Sasha, I was pretty sure I didn't want to spend the next month with another member of that group. I missed most of what our group was expected to do because I was so busy dreading my next period. When the bell rang, one of the sophomores had to nudge me to leave.

Freshmen in the dance program take class together so everyone can be brought up to Broughton's minimum expectations. I followed my classmates into the locker room. The other girls all started changing into what looked like heavy-duty pink pantyhose and black swimsuits. I felt a bit stupid standing there, the only one not changing. Some of the girls noticed me and started whispering and snickering. Annoyed and still wearing my blue jeans and my Broughton Academy sweatshirt, I walked out to the studio.

A woman who looked even more severe than my piano teacher was standing by the stereo, shuffling through CDs. My tennis shoes squeaked on the polished hardwood floor, and she turned, scowling at me, "No street shoes in the studio!"

"Street shoes?" I looked down at my sneakers.

The woman sighed heavily as she slammed the CDs into place on a shelf below the stereo. "Remove your shoes. We only wear dance shoes in this studio."

Oh, I thought as I kicked off the shoes and placed them near the wall.

"Your shoes, and your street clothes go in your locker. Why aren't you changing with the others?"

I had a bad feeling that this new life was going to really raise my verbal score on the SAT. First, there were street shoes; now there were street clothes. Frustrated, I explained, "I didn't know I was supposed to bring other clothes."

The teacher circled me like a hawk, staring down her slender, upturned nose at me. "Are you in the wrong class, perhaps?" The hopeful tone of her voice made me want to scream, but I really didn't need it getting back to my father that I was already causing trouble in my new program.

Hoping that responding in short sentences would keep me from telling this woman how I felt, I said, "I'm here for Freshman Dance."

"Hmmm... Well, you obviously haven't studied dance before." She walked back over to the studio.

"I didn't know it required studying." I didn't realize how much of my sarcasm and anger had leaked into my voice until she turned around, fury apparent on her taut face.

"Well, we simply don't have time to bring you up to the level of the other girls-"

"But we'll do everything we can to help you get there." I turned at the new voice, a warm lilting tone. The woman extended her hand as she crossed the studio. "Are you Melinda?"

"Lindy," I corrected.

The newcomer nodded, "I'm Ms. Lemert. Dr. Birchard said we would have a new dancer. Did your parents not get my email?"

"You sent my parents an email?" My father was right on campus. Why were my teachers resorting to email?

"Oh, dear. I was afraid it hadn't gone through. I sent them an email with a list of things you would want for class. I'll see if I can find it and print it out for you."

Someone had tried to make sure I wouldn't be standing here embarrassed? Someone who didn't even know me? Somehow, Broughton brightened just a little bit.

Ms. Lemert vanished through a door next to the stereo and returned with a box. "You'll be starting jazz with the other girls today, but I only have ballet slippers. Dig through here and see if any of them fit you. You can borrow them until you get your own. And I'm afraid you'll have to dance in what you're wearing."

The box was filled with what looked like pink leather slippers, although they were more tapered than any slippers I'd ever owned. "Um, excuse me," both teachers turned, "How do I know which ones are rights shoes and which ones are left?"

"It doesn't matter, Lindy. Just find two that fit." It was a strange bit of advice, but soon I had a pair of odd pink leather slippers on my feet. I liked the way they molded to my feet. They felt weird and cool all at the same time. I ran across the studio in them, receiving more glares from the mean teacher. I ignored her and spun around. I even tried playing soccer with an imaginary ball. The slippers were almost better than my soccer cleats.

From what the first teacher had said and from what I had seen in the other departments at Broughton, I suspected I was the only person in the room who had never studied any type of dance. The other girls walked in and lined themselves up at the wooden bars that hung at just below shoulder level around the room. Some of the girls warmed up with streches both on the floor and using the bars. I was used to warming up before soccer, but couldn't figure out why I had to stretch and limber up before dancing.

Once everyone was in class, Ms. Lemert called us to the center of the room. Nearly every single one of my classmates sat down gracefully; I just kind of fell to the floor. That was when I noticed the mirrors lining the wall behind Ms. Lemert. Sitting there sprawled out in my "street clothes", I really looked like I didn't belong in this room full of princesses. I eyed the door briefly, but Ms. Lemert started talking.

"Good morning, ladies." We all acknowledged her in some way, many of the girls responding in unison. Ms. Lemert smiled. "I trust everyone had a good break." There was a another chorus of murmurs. "Excellent. Now, I'm sure many of you know that we will start preparing for the Spring Gala this week. You'll learn a series of dances, which you will perform for Ms. Aeling and I at the end of the week so we can set the dances."

Some of my classmates started whispering excitedly among themselves. I felt something settle deep in my stomach, a fear of having to audition again. Many of the girls will still whispering, including the Ducks, as Ms. Lemert asked us all to move to one of the non-mirrored walls.

For the next half hour, I got my first real taste of the dance program at Broughton. The older dancers performed for us. The first group did a soft ballet that sort of reminded me of the flowers in the Winter Performance. The next group did a fast tap number that I loved. This group was far better than the freshman group that had performed last month. The last group did a dance that looked lie random flailing that occasionally had a pattern to it. It was fairly disturbing. When the last group finished, we applauded.

Ms. Lemert then sent a handful of older dancers to various spots in the room, and my class was divided among them. I was sent to the corner where Nicola and Angela were waiting. I was so glad to see them, and it looked like they were happy to see me in their group. Once everyone was sorted, Ms. Lemert announced that these were our audition pods, the groups we would be learning , practicing, and performing the audition pieces in. Looking at my group, I felt very sorry for them. They would all be like the older dancers, elegant and knowing what to do. I would be the one in the back hoping I didn't hit somebody with one of those kicks or jumps.

The older dancers were dismissed to their class, and we were asked to spread out around the room. Ms. Aeling led us through a series of slow exercises that gradually got faster. Then she had us do jumping patterns and leaps across the room. We even had to spin across the room. Despite the horrible things she kept saying to me, I found I was having a lot of fun. I could see what my grandmother had liked so much about dance. I'd never be as good as her or my classmates, but I was having a good time despite everything.

Ms. Lemert dismissed us for the day, handing me a piece of paper as I grabbed my tennis shoes. "I've included the name and address of a shop that knows what we prefer here, and they'll be happy to help you find everything you need." I thanked her and retrieved my backpack from the locker room. The paper was shoved and forgotten.

==

"This is going to be awesome!" Angela exclaimed as she picked the tomato wedges out of her salad. "You're going to have so much fun! These dances are incredible!"

"That's great, Angela, but I'm not going to know what to do," I reminded her.

"Silly girl, that's what you have Nicola and me for." Nicola? We'd never really talked before, and she always seemed so distant. I couldn't imagine the ice princess having any desire to help me navigate the dance program. "She and I talked about it on our way to our studios, and we're going to have a sleepover this weekend to get you a head-start on dancing.

"But the audition is Friday?" It never ceased to amaze me that Angela planned out my weekends long before I'd ever had a chance to think about them.

"Yeah, and I'll help you get ready for that while we're doing homework. But you're going to be in the dance program for a while, and we're going to help keep you there." She almost devoured the salad in three bites and grinned at me. "You'll be great!"

"If you say so," I poked at my soggy sandwich.

Sasha chose that moment to interrupt our peaceful lunch. "Hey, Angela. Yoli wants you to start eating lunch with us. She thinks the Ducks should always be seen together."

"Then why aren't you over there with her?" Angela replied with disinterest.

She huffed. "Yoli expects you to start eating lunch with us, so you better get over there."

"Why?" Angela's green eyes narrowed.

"Because you're a Duck, or will be one sooner or later. Might as well give in now."

"Whatever." Angela rolled her eyes and grabbed her bag. "Come on, Lindy. Let's go get started on teaching you one of the dances."

"Oh, that's right," Sasha sneered. "We noticed you'd flunked out of choir." I started to react, but Angela grabbed my wrist. "I can't imagine what you think you're doing in the dance program. I saw you trying to dance this morning. You're just going to flunk out. You should leave the program now, while you still have your dignity intact." She did an coordinated series of movements and laughed.

I understood she was trying to make fun of me, and it might have been funny if I wasn't already thinking that I would wash out of the dance program.

Angela started to pull me out of the cafeteria. "Lindy is going to be twice the dancer you are, Sasha." I looked at Angela in amazement while Sasha continued to laugh behind us. I couldn't figure out why Angela had so much faith in me, but I was grateful for it.

==

I spent all of science thinking about everything that had happened that day, and missed the entire lecture. At least we weren't doing any lab work this week. I could worry about my next opportunity to fail at the performing arts all I wanted.

In tech theater class, I found myself on yet another team without Miguel and Michael, both of whom had been assigned to the lighting team. After I met the other members of the props team, I was sorely wishing I was on the lighting team with my friends. When I found them in the theater's lobby, two of them were arguing at the top of their lungs.

"What's going on?"

"Oh, Francine and George are trying to settle who is going to be the head of the team," said the guy sitting on the floor.

"Head of the team?" Neither of the two teams I'd worked with had felt any need for a leader. Everyone just worked together. I had a bad feeling about this team.

"Yeah, And Ravi took off when they wouldn't let him be in charge. It was pretty crazy."

I set down my bag and took out my sketchpad. It seemed like an excellent time to catch up on my stick figures.

By the time the bell rang, nothing had been resolved, and the props team had no idea what it was doing. I hadn't even seen any sort of notes on what props any of the departments needed, although I couldn't imagine either the choral or orchestra departments needing any. Dismayed, I walked over to my father's office.

"How's it going, Lindy Lee? Given up on dance yet?" The soft smile in his eyes calmed me out of trying to defend my indecisiveness.

"No, but I'm thinking tech theater is going to suck for the next couple of months," I admitted as I sank into the nearest chair.

"Oh?" He wiped down his bow and put it in his violin case.

"The props team is pretty disorganized."

"Maybe you can help straighten them out." He closed the case and set it next to his briefcase.

I thought about the fight that would result. "I think I'd only make things worse." Suddenly remembering my morning, I fished a crumpled piece of paper out of my backpack. "I have to get some stuff for class tomorrow."

My father looked over the list. "We'll take care of this on the way home."

My life was suddenly topsy-turvy. I almost liked my performing arts program and dreaded going to technical theater class. When did I forget the rules of my own game?