Born to Dance

And then, as I reached the gym, I stopped. What was going on in there? I could hear what sounded like someone moving about. Not loud enough to be an actual noise: more like the sliding of feet on the gym floor, followed by a soft thunk.

I opened the door, very gently, and peered through. What I saw was such a shock that I almost let the door go thudding shut again. A small figure, dressed like me in leotard and tights, was dancing in the centre of the gym. It was Caitlyn!

She seemed to be attempting pirouettes, though not very successfully. Not very successfully at all.I could see at once what the problem was: she was so busy concentrating on the position of her arms and legs that she was forgetting to find a spot to fix her eyes on. You can’t do turns without spotting! Surely whoever her teacher was must have told her?

“’Scuse me!”

I’d gone racing into the gym before I could stop myself. I could see, afterwards, that it would have been more diplomatic to stay outside and clear my throat or rattle the door handle, to give her some warning. But I was just so surprised!

Caitlyn spun around, startled, as I burst in.

“Are you trying to practise pirouettes?” I said.

“No!” Her face immediately turned crimson. “It was just … just something I …”

What? Something she what? She didn’t stay long enough to say. Just gave a little gasp and scuttled for the door.

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t be here!”

“You can be here!” I cried. But too late: she was already on her way out.

In her rush I saw that she’d left her outdoor shoes behind. I snatched them up and ran after her.

“Caitlyn!” I called out, over the banisters. She paused, and glanced up. “Here!” I tossed the shoes down to her. “You don’t have to go,” I said.

For a moment she hesitated, but then violently shook her head and scurried on her way.

Slowly I went back into the gym. I put on Mum’s CD and dutifully did my fifteen minutes of workout, but my brain was now buzzing with so many unanswered questions that I found it almost impossible to concentrate. Why was Caitlyn practising pirouettes in the gym? Why hadn’t she been taught how to spot when doing turns? Why, after all, did she persist in saying she didn’t do ballet when she quite obviously did?

All the rest of the day she kept away from me. At breaktime she stuck closely with the other two new girls: the tall one, Astrid, and the tiny one, Ava. I didn’t want to barge in and start questioning her in front of other people. I’d already embarrassed her once, bulldozing my way into the gym. But I was just dying to get to the bottom of the mystery!

It wasn’t till going-home time that I managed to get her on her own. I could see Mum waiting in the car outside the school gates, but I could also see Caitlyn just ahead of me. I raced after her.

“Hey, Caitlyn!”

She half turned. For a minute I thought she was going to take off, but reluctantly she waited for me.

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” I said, “but dotell me who your teacher is!”

“I don’t have one.” She said it almost desperately, like, Please, please, just go away and leave me alone!

I don’t enjoy upsetting people. In spite of what Mum says, I am not