Dancer at Silver Spires by Ann Bryant Page A

then shot bright white light into every corner of the room. I stared in amazement and felt my knees turn to jelly. No matter how much I’d taken in about this room before, it felt so different today. The baby grand piano and the rosin tray, which is for dancers to dip their pointe shoes into to help them grip the floor when they dance on the ends of their toes, took me right back to Miss Amelia’s studio.
    â€œI’ve got a few spare pairs of ballet shoes here, Izzy. What size are you?”
    This was all going too quickly. I didn’t feel as though I could say no, and yet with every fibre in my body I wanted to rush out of this studio. This was nothing like dancing on my own in secret. There was no safety here. I could see myself in every mirror, just like I had done at The Royal Ballet School audition.
    My insides were turning to jelly and Miss Morgan was waiting for my reply. “Er…size four.” Please don’t let her have any fours.
    â€œHere we are. I know it will feel a bit weird when you’re in uniform instead of dancing in a leotard and tights, but I just want to get an idea.”
    No she didn’t. She wanted to size me up. That was the phrase Mrs. Truman had used. That’s what everyone wanted to do in the world of ballet. And if you weren’t exactly the right fit, you were rejected. I felt as though I should be explaining to Miss Morgan that I’d already been rejected so there was no point in sizing me up a second time. And as I had that thought, it was as though the strength went out of my legs. I was shaky before, but now I was weak as well. My fingers fumbled with the ballet shoes. They weren’t my own. They weren’t comfortable. Did they belong to one of the seniors who’d grown out of them?
    â€œRight, just do me a few steps like you did in the sports hall. I don’t mind what, but nothing too stretchy as we don’t have time for a warm-up.”
    Everything stiffened up as I looked at myself in the mirrors. This was so like The Royal Ballet studio where I’d auditioned that it wouldn’t have surprised me if the panel of judges suddenly appeared. And as I had that thought, a picture of Miss Amelia’s horrible face from my dream flashed through my mind.
    â€œRight, off you go, Izzy.” I saw Miss Morgan glance at her watch and I knew she was getting impatient, but my body just didn’t seem to be able to move. I stared at the sprung floor and tried to get the feeling back that I’d had in the sports hall with Sasha. Only it wouldn’t come.
    â€œEr…I’m not really sure what…”
    â€œAny step that you’re used to, Izzy.”
    I couldn’t put it off any longer, so I forced my arms into a preparation position, feeling how stiff they were and hating the sight of myself in the mirror. Maybe it would be better if I couldn’t see myself. But there was no escape from the mirrors unless I looked down. I knew I couldn’t look down though. That would completely spoil the alignment. I’d just have to get on with it quickly and then I could go. So I tried to do what I’d done in the sports hall, only it didn’t work. I was too nervous and shaky and wasn’t warmed up like I had been after gym club.
    Miss Morgan was staring at me just like those judges had done at The Royal Ballet School. I nearly tripped over my right foot with my left one, which I’d never, ever done before. I felt a complete fool and I stopped and said, “There,” because I couldn’t think what else to say.
    â€œOh…right!” Miss Morgan looked a bit surprised. “Do you want to try something else?”
    I shook my head. What was the point?
    Miss Morgan didn’t try to persuade me. No wonder. She was a proper dancer. She would be able to recognize talent if she saw it. Not like Mrs. Truman. Mrs. Truman was only a PE teacher. She didn’t realize I wasn’t any good