wog,” Kristen sneered as she passed me. I stood slowly, my hands shaking from my fall. Close by, I noticed a drinking tap to wash away the blood—there was no way I was going to go alone into the toilets where they could do further damage. I’d learnt that the hard way a few months back when they’d tackled me and kicked me in the ribs. As much as it pained me, I never said a word. Trinity was going to lose her mind when she saw my knees.
I washed the blood off my hands while picking the bits of asphalt out of my skin. I used a crumpled tissue from my bag to dab at my bloody knees.
“Beatrice Vera, are you all right?” Mr Niles’s harsh voice startled me, so much so that I dropped the tissue. He clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, folding his arms across his chest as he shook his head at me. He watched me grab the soiled tissue, all the while continuing to shake his head at my torn knees. Not one ounce of sympathy was shown on his facial features.
“Yes, sir. I just tripped, that’s all.” I darted past him, ignoring his condescending ‘tutting’, heading straight to my original destination of the library. I blocked out the hoots of laughter that I heard from the bitchy girls as I walked past.
Late that afternoon, as I joined my dance class, I began to feel the excitement of the approaching Spring Gala. I had been waiting impatiently for this since I’d started dancing. This gala showcased our talents and tested our abilities to audition for the senior class. It was our moment to show which group we would fall into—whether we would remain in the standard dance school, or join the elite and be groomed for the academy, which was located in the city. It wasn’t the Australian Ballet, but it still gave us a dancing pathway.
Being a contemporary dancer, I didn’t have to worry about crazy diets or the size of my waistline, as we weren’t pigeonholed into the ‘one size fits all’ category like our ballet friends. We still worked hard, but we had a different outlook on dance.
While the lake and my room were my solace, dance was my refuge. Despite a few friends that I hung out with, it was no secret that I was treated like a pariah at school. I also wasn’t in the ‘cool’ group; I didn’t attend the prestigious and overly expensive dance school; I didn’t have the pirouettes and pliés that the other girls had. I did, however, have natural rhythm while being able to quickly learn any of the moves from this class and that was enough.
I was an immigrant’s daughter, so I could only afford the contemporary class. My mother didn’t have time to sew my clothes while she worked two jobs to give us a better life, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything more. I was lucky they caved and let me attend this class. Study was important to my parents. They wanted success, and I guess they wanted me to have an outlet. I didn’t mind contemporary. I was too curvy for ballet, and the best part was that I knew that I excelled at it. It also meant those nasty cows wouldn’t be haunting my every move. Being here, I could block out anything that bothered me. The vice that normally gripped my chest slowly released as I moved to my own beat. Music calmed me. Expressing myself reawakened me. After the day I’d just had, I was trying desperately to forget what had happened —which was, sadly, the norm. Today’s incident had been one of many.
Gazing at my hands, I turned them slowly to inspect the cuts. They weren’t as bad as I had initially thought. I could clench and unclench them with only a little discomfort.
Click, click. “Beatrice, are you there?”
I blinked twice and focused on the fingers that were clicking in front of me. My dance teacher, Miss Ashton, was standing there with a look of sympathy on her face. She looked at my hands and I quickly pulled my long sleeves down to cover what I could of my palms. My dark tights covered my scabby kneecaps.
“Sorry, Miss, must’ve
I washed the blood off my hands while picking the bits of asphalt out of my skin. I used a crumpled tissue from my bag to dab at my bloody knees.
“Beatrice Vera, are you all right?” Mr Niles’s harsh voice startled me, so much so that I dropped the tissue. He clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, folding his arms across his chest as he shook his head at me. He watched me grab the soiled tissue, all the while continuing to shake his head at my torn knees. Not one ounce of sympathy was shown on his facial features.
“Yes, sir. I just tripped, that’s all.” I darted past him, ignoring his condescending ‘tutting’, heading straight to my original destination of the library. I blocked out the hoots of laughter that I heard from the bitchy girls as I walked past.
Late that afternoon, as I joined my dance class, I began to feel the excitement of the approaching Spring Gala. I had been waiting impatiently for this since I’d started dancing. This gala showcased our talents and tested our abilities to audition for the senior class. It was our moment to show which group we would fall into—whether we would remain in the standard dance school, or join the elite and be groomed for the academy, which was located in the city. It wasn’t the Australian Ballet, but it still gave us a dancing pathway.
Being a contemporary dancer, I didn’t have to worry about crazy diets or the size of my waistline, as we weren’t pigeonholed into the ‘one size fits all’ category like our ballet friends. We still worked hard, but we had a different outlook on dance.
While the lake and my room were my solace, dance was my refuge. Despite a few friends that I hung out with, it was no secret that I was treated like a pariah at school. I also wasn’t in the ‘cool’ group; I didn’t attend the prestigious and overly expensive dance school; I didn’t have the pirouettes and pliés that the other girls had. I did, however, have natural rhythm while being able to quickly learn any of the moves from this class and that was enough.
I was an immigrant’s daughter, so I could only afford the contemporary class. My mother didn’t have time to sew my clothes while she worked two jobs to give us a better life, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything more. I was lucky they caved and let me attend this class. Study was important to my parents. They wanted success, and I guess they wanted me to have an outlet. I didn’t mind contemporary. I was too curvy for ballet, and the best part was that I knew that I excelled at it. It also meant those nasty cows wouldn’t be haunting my every move. Being here, I could block out anything that bothered me. The vice that normally gripped my chest slowly released as I moved to my own beat. Music calmed me. Expressing myself reawakened me. After the day I’d just had, I was trying desperately to forget what had happened —which was, sadly, the norm. Today’s incident had been one of many.
Gazing at my hands, I turned them slowly to inspect the cuts. They weren’t as bad as I had initially thought. I could clench and unclench them with only a little discomfort.
Click, click. “Beatrice, are you there?”
I blinked twice and focused on the fingers that were clicking in front of me. My dance teacher, Miss Ashton, was standing there with a look of sympathy on her face. She looked at my hands and I quickly pulled my long sleeves down to cover what I could of my palms. My dark tights covered my scabby kneecaps.
“Sorry, Miss, must’ve
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