Mugman chased one of the turtles down an aisle that led back to the midway. The rowdy reptile (who was as tricky as she was fast) crawled under the side of a large, colorful tent. Mugman crawled in right behind her. When he emerged, he found himself at a performance unlike anything he could imagine.

It was a ballet. He’d heard of ballets, of course, but never expected to see one (at least not at a carnival in a tent he’d secretly sneaked into while chasing a watch-stealing turtle—that seemed like the kind of thing that happened to other people). Still, here he was, and now that he’d seen it with his own eyes, he understood the appeal. The music was enchanting—like something you’d hear in only the fanciest elevators—but the most wonderful part was what was happening up on the stage.

Pirouletta was dancing. Actually, she wasn’t just dancing—she was pirouetting.

Pirouletta was a good ballerina, but a great pirouetter. The greatest pirouetter in the whole world, according to signs posted all over the tent, and Mugman believed it. As a wheel, she was perfectly balanced, and could whirl and twirl like a shiny gold tornado. He was mesmerized.

Watching the performance, it occurred to him that ballet was a little bit like flying. It was smooth and graceful, and there were moments when Pirouletta seemed to defy gravity. The fact that she could hover that way without a propeller was nothing short of amazing, and he was green with envy. Well, not actually green, like a tree or an avocado or that little lady in the audience, but more like—

Little lady in the audience? The turtle!

What was he thinking? Mugman had completely forgotten about the turtle. The hard-shelled hoodlum was standing near the front of the crowd, and when she saw Mugman, she climbed onto the stage and made a break for it. Mugman went after her.

But there was a problem—he was on the opposite side of the stage. Crossing it in the middle of a ballet wouldn’t be easy. Still, he had to try.

Very quietly, while Pirouletta danced and leaped and twirled, Mugman tiptoed across the back of the stage. Well, halfway across.

The audience howled.

Of course, the right thing to do would’ve been to just keep moving. But Mugman couldn’t move. He was experiencing a sensation he’d never felt before—stage fright. And the minute he looked out into the crowd and saw all those faces staring back at him, he froze.

As he stood there, staring and sweating, the laughter got louder and louder. But not everyone thought it was funny.

“No one interrupts my performance!” Pirouletta huffed.

She glared at him with eyes as hard as her metal tutu. He tried to explain, but before he could get a word out, Pirouletta had pulled him into one of her spectacular spins. Mugman twirled round and round like a top until he was flung—with the grace of a nauseous swan—back to the wrong side of the stage.

When he was able, he stood up again. He felt dizzy, humiliated, and strangely enough, a little bit brave. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to try again. After all, it was almost time for Elder Kettle’s party, and the turtle was getting away.

So he dusted himself off, took a deep breath, and stepped back out onto the stage. This time, he deliberately didn’t look at the audience to avoid getting stage fright. Unfortunately, he did look at Pirouletta and got regular fright. She was enraged. He watched as she made several long, swooping leaps in the air, getting higher and higher with each lunge, and just when she was about to put her foot where he kept his face—

Mugman caught her. He didn’t know why; it was a reflex. Still, it was a good catch, beautifully executed, and the audience applauded. Well, if anything, this made Pirouletta even angrier. She spun away from him, then back again, her foot whirling toward him like the blade of a propeller. Mugman ducked and dodged, but he did it so gracefully that the crowd never even suspected he feared for his life. To them, it looked like dancing, a glorious punching, kicking, twirling, tossing ballet by two masters of the craft. Finally, an infuriated Pirouletta grabbed hold of Mugman and the pair spun in an elegant, entangled brawl to every corner of the stage.

When the twirling stopped, and you could again tell one dancer from the other, Mugman was holding Pirouletta above his head in majestic suspension. How it happened, he had no idea. But since it occurred just as the music came to a rousing conclusion, the audience exploded in wild applause. They were cheering and whistling and throwing flowers. Pirouletta, who was completely surprised by the reaction, walked to the edge of the stage and made a deep curtsy. And Mugman, not wanting to seem rude, did the same.

Considering this was his first ballet, he felt like it had gone pretty well. He thought about staying longer (the crowd was begging for an encore), but he had a turtle to catch. So he did what any artist would do in his position: He picked up a flower, put it in his teeth, and made a great, noble leap off the end of the stage.

And he kept right on leaping until he’d danced his way out the back of the tent.