Spirited Dancing by Katie D.

I hear my alarm clock ringing in my ear, and I jumped out of bed. The day had finally come. I had worked toward this day for what felt like my entire life. In the kitchen I found my mother smiling a smile as bright as the sun. She cheerfully handed me a plate of scrambled eggs like they were her prized masterpiece. I ate them slowly, knowing I would need my energy for the upcoming hours.

After breakfast, I headed upstairs to get dressed. I pulled on my leotard and tights and threw my new dance shoes into my bag. Although I had never had a proper dance lesson, my mother insisted that I have the proper attire for today. I was venturing where no one from my neighborhood had ever been before. I knew it was risky, but I was going to audition for Baltimore’s junior dance team. It was my big chance.

As I headed out the door, my mother grabbed my hands and looked me in the eye. “Honey, all I ask is that you try your best,” she said. I rolled my eyes, muttering a “thanks” and started down the street. It seemed impossible, but my mom seemed even more into this than I was. Soon I arrived at the dance studio, and realized that most dancing hopefuls were arriving in expensive cars. I also noticed something else. I was the only African American there. But that wouldn’t stop me. I knew I wanted this more than anything.

Walking down the tiled floor, the pounding of my sneakers seemed to echo off each wall louder than any voice in the room. I could feel the eyes of every person standing in the hallway watching me. I could hear the whisper, and although I couldn’t make out words, I was sure they doubted I would make it on the team.

“Name?” the woman asked at the front desk. I could tell she was the mother of one of the dancers, trying desperately to get her daughter on the team. Her hair was piled up a mile high on her head, and she wore a fake, forced smile.

“Amanda Hillard,” I replied.

“Date of Birth?” she asked, bored.

“July 16, 1943.”

“Age?”

“15”

She handed me a card, telling me I could proceed into the waiting room. Before long my name was called and I stepped into a large room. We learned a combination, and then we danced in small groups. This was much simpler than the audition I’d imagined, and I mastered it. Every single step was perfect, and I remembered to wear a bright, dazzling smile. There was no question that I had, as my mother told me to, done the best that I could do.

At the door back into the waiting room, some dancers were already being told they had a call back. Others were being told that they would be notified in a matter of days. I stopped at the door, clutching my dance bag. “I’m sorry,” the woman said, “But you’re not really what we’re looking for.”

I looked back into the room and noticed that almost everyone was staring. I’m not an impulsive person, but something inside of me took over. My love for music and dance pulsed through my body, and I ran to the center of the dance floor, and did what I do best. I danced to the music, feeling the beat everywhere. I could see the blurred faces around the room, and for once I didn’t care what they were thinking. The music was a part of me, and I felt like a free spirit. When the song stopped, I walked out the nearest door and started home, not looking back.

Days later, I received a call from the Baltimore junior dance team. One of their dancers had dropped out, and they were wondering if I would like a position as an understudy. “No Thanks,” I said, hanging up the phone. I wasn’t sure what the dance team was looking for, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to be a part of it. I knew I had something no one on the dance team had. Because when I dance, I can feel it in my soul.