Page 1 of Falling With a Spin

Prologue

Two years ago

As I stood off to the side, the darkness shielding and keeping me safe from the audience, I watched my classmate move through her spotless routine to Perfect by Ed Sheeran. The music flowed through her as she became one with the music. A smile crept across my face. Izzy was born to dance, just as I was. Being able to hone our abilities is a gift. It can’t be taught; you can only be born with it.

Izzy and I started dancing together when we were five years old. Since then, we haven’t stopped attending recitals, competitions, and practices. We would even watch each other from the sidelines when we had solos.

I peered into the crowd behind the curtains to see my mom in the front seat. Even as small as she is, I can always find her in an instant with her tight-ringed hair, which reminds me of the movie Annie. She has on the purple shirt she wears to every recital that says, “Emma is the best, and you can’t change my mind.” Next to her sits my best friend, Caleb. He stands out in the audience as a solid 6 '5 muscular teenager with short, ashy blonde hair and bright greens that sparkle when the light hits them just right. I shook my head at the sign he held in his hand that said, “Do the Spiderman.” It was our little inside joke; it made me think back to when we were kids, and we both made up a dance to Itsy Bitsy Spider.

We have been inseparable since we were born. Our moms were best friends; he'll always be my favorite person. I don’t know what I would do without them. I’m pulled from my thoughts as my directions ran up to me.

“Emma, are you ready?” She breathlessly asked while tapping the screen of her iPad.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Kelly,” I replied, with a wink, bouncing on my heels while shaking out my hands in hopes of easing some of the nerves that were bubbling up. It was my last Junior year performance, and Izzy and I were the only two who got picked for solos in our class. We were placed in a few group dances, but being alone on that stage, with everyone watching you and only having the music, is a feeling I can’t describe.

“You’re going to do great, Emma. You always do, and they love you out there.” She replied, looking up at me with a reassuring smile. “Break a leg out there.” With that, she walked away, and I laughed at the metaphor.

She was right.

I had two early acceptance letters sitting at home on my dresser. It was unbelievable that I had been accepted into Juilliard and New York University. It’s a dancer’s dream come true; my dream come true. I applied to other colleges to see what other options there were and got waitlisted at Arizona State University, Cal State, and accepted into Crestview University. But, seeing the acceptance letter to Juilliard after sending in my audition video made all my dreams come true. The other letters didn’t even compare because I was heading one step closer to my goal, getting the lead role of The Swan Lake.

Taking a deep breath, I turned around and looked in the mirror on the wall to ensure my hair was secured in a tight bun. I stood there for a minute, staring at myself, proud of the girl staring back.

A junior in high school who is only sixteen years old and just wants to fit in but, in reality, is just your average ordinary girl. My light brown hair, dull hazel eyes, and full lips that guys have made rumors about. My high cheekbones made my smile wider than it needed to be. The dark blue leotard fitted tightly on my short hourglass figure, which made it very difficult to find clothing that fit. Closing my eyes, I turned away from the mirror, resisting the insecurities that flooded my brain, and resumed my breathing exercises.

Even after dancing for the last eleven years, I still get jitters and the occasional nausea spells when I’m about to go out in front of a crowd. But once I step onto that stage, I tune everything out and solely focus on the music, letting my body move with it. Two become one is my life motto: when you are dancing, you and the music are partners. You create the painting, write the story, and compose the shot. It’s an art form.

Except tonight was different. Everything about my performance was different tonight. I had to nail down an eight-spin pirouette ending in arabesque. I started practicing weeks ago when my dance instructor assigned me the solo. She originally had it at four, which was nothing. I can do that in my sleep. The most I’ve been able to do without falling out is seven. When I tried to explain that to Mrs. Talia, she insisted that I could do it because of the skills and determination I portrayed. She believes that if I put it into the universe, I will be able to achieve it, or whatever bullshit line she used. Instead, I practiced every day leading up to this moment, even when my body was too tired to move and my legs felt like spaghetti noodles.

As the music faded from the speakers and the lights dimmed on Izzy, it was my cue that I would be up in thirty seconds. She strode off the stage and looked back, giving me a wink. I lowered my head slightly and walked out of the darkness that kept me safe and sound.

I centered myself in the middle of the stage, taking a deep breath, placing my hands in the air, and connecting my wrists. Slowly, I dropped my arms and let my hands skim down my face. I popped my hip out and bent my knees, waiting for the music to begin. I release the breath I was holding when the music played through the speakers, and the familiar melody of my favorite song from La La Land, Mia, and Sebastian’s theme brought a calming sense to me.

I let myself forget about everything around me, the people in the audience, and the pile of homework that I have been neglecting. The stress of my job and my nagging boss, the three college acceptance letters lying on my dresser, and the other minuscule things I’ve been avoiding to make this routine flawless. It was just me and the music, as it has been. As it always will be.

As the music continued, I counted each eight-count leading up to the pirouette—just one more. You can do this, Emma, I thought to myself. Getting prepared, I swipe my right pointed foot across the stage floor, where I begin the first turn.

Then the second-

The third-

Fourth-

Fifth-

Oh my god, can I do this? Thinking to myself as I go into the sixth turn, swinging my leg out.

I was almost done.

Seventh-

Last one

All I heard was a snap.

Then I fell.

And then there was a ringing.