How I get myself into these predicaments, I don’t know.

“You! New girl! You need to extend your legs! Don’t bend your knees!”

Yes, that loud Russian-accented voice was talking to me. Me, the new girl.

I spun around to glare at Liz. She made an apologetic face and continued her tendus. I was seriously going to throttle her after class.

Ballet is on my Top Ten Nightmares List. Other items include wearing a thong, skydiving, touching a snake, and eating rabbit.

“Did I say thanks for coming already?” Liz whispered loudly to me.

“Yes. But that means nothing. I can’t believe you actually convinced me to do this!” I hissed.

The class was terrifying. The teacher, Ms. Petrov, was this sinewy older woman who could touch the back of her head with the tips of her toes. There were fifteen other girls in the class who all wore leotards and tights and were stretching all seriously when Liz and I came in.

Liz was a walking American Apparel ad in her hot-pink leggings and ripped tank top. I was wearing yoga pants and an old PE T-shirt. We felt awesome.

But at least Liz knew what she was doing, somewhat. I felt like I was thrown into a laboratory full of scientists trying to find a cure for cancer and they were all looking at me like, “What? You don’t know how to do science like us?”

“You … owe … me … your life!” I whispered to Liz between gasps for air. My arms were flailing at the bar and I was trying to mimic everyone’s leg movements. This was one of the most difficult things I had ever tried to do in my life. Who the hell invented ballet? This was just torture disguised as art.

After suffering for forty minutes at the bar, we transitioned into floor exercises. What I like to call Humiliations: Part Two. This involved everyone doing spins across the room. One by one. I watched with sweaty palms as all the girls extended their arms and flittered in neat little spins across the room in a perfectly straight line.

I was next, before Liz, who nudged my terrified, stiff body with an “It’s not that hard!”

Those four words echoed mockingly through my head as I spun into the walls, into the teacher, and into the bar. A couple girls giggled but I was so dizzy I couldn’t tell who they were. I wanted to throw up and I had to lean against the wall to steady myself. It took all my willpower to not walk out of there. My only consolation was that I knew I would never have to step foot in this hellhole again.

“And now, ladies, we will work on some choreography for the last portion of class. Please stretch while I go over the one-minute routine you will all be learning for this month.”

Routine?

Um.

I saw my life flash before my eyes. I was supposed to DANCE now? I knew it was dumb, but for some reason I assumed that ballet classes were all about standing in front of a mirror doing pliés. And that was hard enough.

I eyed the door leading out of the studio and contemplated making an escape. It wasn’t that far from where I was. Maybe if I slipped out while everyone was stretching, no one would notice….

Then I felt a hard jab in my shoulder. Liz shook her head and mouthed, “No way.”

“There is no way that I’m going to actually dance,” I whispered furiously as we sat on the floor pretending to stretch.

Liz looked aghast. “What?! What did you think ballet was?”

Before I could answer, Ms. Petrov clapped her hands. “Okay, ladies, let’s get up and come to attention please!”

My chance to escape had passed. Panic rose in every inch of my body. I looked at Liz pleadingly. She tried to smile with forced encouragement. “Holly, it’ll be fine. It’s only like twenty minutes of your life.” Nothing she could say would placate me.

“Let’s go over the opening steps. The dance starts on the fourth count — one, two, three, and four.” On the fourth count, Ms. Petrov swept her arms to the right and her feet moved with her. “So a balancé to the right, then one count, then on the second, we go into our glissade.” She danced these two small movements — basically a sweep to the right, and then a little side jump to the left — and I was completely entranced.

Openmouthed, I watched her go through the entire routine — sweeping turns, hops, skips, and stretches. Each move was so graceful, so natural, so lovely. This wasn’t anything like watching our dance team as they shook their butts and gyrated to outdated hip-hop music.

I was so entranced that I didn’t even mind having to dance myself. It was definitely one hot, ugly mess — with me forgetting every step the second it was over. I couldn’t keep up at all. How everyone else remembered the steps within seconds I don’t know! Even Liz seemed to go into Weird Robot Dancer mode.

“New girl, don’t forget to keep your arms in second!” Ms. Petrov called out to me.

Okay, how useless was that to say? Keep my arms in second? I could barely pay attention to what my feet were doing, let alone what the F my arms were supposed to do! But it was sort of nice to see that she actually paid attention to me. I’m sure it was because I looked like a duck flailing its wings among a sea of beautiful swans.

Also, you know what? There was something awesome about dancing to classical music being played on a piano by an old man in the corner of the ballet studio. While I myself sucked royally, every once in a while I caught a glimpse of the girls around me dancing in perfect unison, and it was all very pretty.

And then before you knew it, Ms. Petrov swept her arms up and presented a little bow to our class. “Thank you, mademoiselles. Lovely class. I’ll see you all next week!”

Everyone bowed to her in return (I just stood there looking confused) and then skipped off to grab their belongings.

“See, you survived!” Liz exclaimed after chugging water from her Sigg bottle.

“Um, barely,” I replied.

“Well, either way, thanks for coming with me. Not sure yet if I’m going to stick with it.”

“You should. I could tell it was all coming back to you.”

“Yeah, right! Well, you honestly weren’t that bad either.”

I let out a snort of laughter. “I think it got better once the actual dancing started. That was kind of fun.”

Liz raised her eyebrows. “Oh, really? You think there’s a chance you’ll come back next week?”

Before I could answer, we got caught in a traffic jam of girls trying to leave the studio. From one group of bunheads walking in front of us, I heard a girl say, “I think people who haven’t danced before really shouldn’t be in this class. I mean, I know it’s beginner and all, but it’s like, embarrassing. That one girl was so hilariously bad.” The girls next to her laughed.

It was like being transported back to elementary school. I felt that insta-gut-punch and had to blink a few times.

I looked at Liz instinctively. Her mouth opened to say something, anger flashing across her face, but I just shook my head adamantly. She ignored me and shoved her way between the girls, causing a few of them to trip.

“OOPS, that was embarrassing,” Liz said with sarcasm oozing.

My hands flew up to my mouth to muffle my laughter and I skipped off after her.