The First Time Your Body Betrays You

Photo by Michael Zittel from Pexels

I follow the choreography, beads of sweat forming at my hairline, my best friend next to me. The teacher is from London or New York or Moscow. He’s a big deal. It’s a dance festival in the mid-nineties, made up of competitions in different genres, showcases, classes, and workshops. I’m an 8th grader from a tiny ballet school. A very small fish in a medium-sized pond.