Chapter 1
The ballerinas stuffed their dance bags inside their lockers and slammed the gray metal doors. All the dancers at Madame Stone’s ballet studio were ready for their after-school practice — except for Marissa.
As the other girls left the changing room, laughing and talking to each other, Marissa stood at her locker. She held her practice outfit in her hands.
Everyone had to wear the same thing: a black leotard, pink tights, and pink ballet slippers. Warm-ups were about to start in the big exercise room next door, but Marissa was still wearing the comfortable sweatpants and T-shirt she had worn to school that day.
A girl with a freckled face looked around the door. “Hey there,” Marissa’s best friend, Rachel, said. “Warm-ups are starting. You know Madame hates it when we’re late.”
Marissa looked up. “I know, Rachel. I just can’t,” she said.
Rachel walked into the room. She sat down on the bench next to Marissa. “You can’t what?” she asked gently.
“I can’t put on the practice outfit,” Marissa explained. She stared down at the black leotard and pink tights.
“Why not?” Rachel asked. “We all wear that outfit every day. You’ve been dancing here forever. What’s the matter?”
Marissa sighed. “I just feel weird putting on the leotard and dancing in front of everyone. I feel like the other girls are staring at me,” she admitted.
Rachel put her arm around her friend’s shoulders and gave her a hug. She knew that Marissa felt self-conscious about her body.
Over the last year, Marissa had grown a lot taller and bigger than the other girls in the ballet studio. She was almost as tall as Madame Stone, their dance teacher.
“Don’t worry about it so much,” Rachel told Marissa. “You love dancing. Just think about the music and the steps.”
Marissa stood up. She quickly stuffed the leotard and tights back into her locker. Then she shut the metal door. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said.
“But you didn’t change,” Rachel said.
Marissa started walking toward the exercise room. “I’ll just dance in my sweatpants and T-shirt,” she said. “I told you, I don’t want to put on the leotard.”
“But Madame Stone has rules about what we wear!” Rachel protested, following her friend.
“Maybe she won’t care,” Marissa said. She pushed open the door to the practice room.
“She’ll care,” Rachel said quietly.