Free My Seventh-Grade Life in Tights by Brooks Benjamin Page A

times more. Finally she let me go on to my next move. A step-step-spin combo.
    I fanned my shirt, glancing around to make sure there was nothing close enough for me to run into.
    “You remember how to step, at least?”
    “Uh-huh.” The stick-up-the-butt stiff-legged walk.
    “Good. Now you’ll take two of those and start with a single pirouette.” She double-stepped and brought her right leg up to her left knee to start the spin.
    “A retiré! I remember that from last week!”
    Sarah spun once and her arms floated back down to her sides. “Now let’s see you try it.”
    I attempted the move a few times. The first was beyond awful. The times after that weren’t any better. The more I tried, the more worried I got. All the good feelings I’d felt after the first practice were gone, buried under the fear that there was just something wrong with me. Like maybe the dance chunk of my brain was broken or something.
    “Don’t shrug when you move. Try to make your neck longer,” Sarah said, stretching hers out, looking like someone posing for the front cover of Snob magazine.

    I tried to do the same thing.
    “No, don’t pull your shoulders down. Just relax.”
    So I did.
    “You’re slumping. Straighten your back.”
    I did that, too.
    “You’re tensing up. Relax. ”
    I threw my hands in the air. “I am relaxing! I just can’t do it.”
    “Yes, you can. Now come back and—”
    “No, I can’t! I guess I’m just not made to dance like that.”
    Sarah stopped the music. “Did you expect to learn it on the first try?”
    I just stood there, my chest burning from breathing so hard.
    “Look, Dillon, you’re not going to win this thing if you give up as soon as it gets tough. Let’s run it again.”
    “This is stupid! All you care about is rules and form and having body parts in just the right spot. It’s starting to not even feel like dance anymore.”
    Sarah stomped toward me so fast I thought she might tackle me. “You want to know why I care about that stuff so much? It’s because that’s what separates the amateurs from the pros. That’s what it takes to be the best, Dillon. It takes commitment. It takes drive. It takes doing whatever you have to do to make sure you come out as number one. Even if—” She took a deep breath. Almost like she didn’t want to finish. But she did. “Even if it hurts more than you think you can handle.”

    We stood there in the world’s most awkward silence for a long time. Then she ran her hand through her ponytail and looked at me. “Look, maybe I have been a little hard on you. But I promise it’s for your own good.”
    “Yelling at me is for my own good? I hope you realize the more you break a lung screaming at me, the more I think maybe Kassie’s right.” I wiped the sweat off my brow. “Or was. When she hated studios, I mean.”
    “You can drop the act,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “I know she didn’t send in a video.”
    My chest tightened, forcing a sound out of my mouth. Somewhere between a grunt and the word Huh?
    The Then why are you helping me? plastered across my face must’ve been obvious. “It doesn’t matter why I’m helping you,” Sarah said. “I have my reasons. Now reset.”
    She knew. And she was still keeping me around. A tiny prickle of worry inched across my skin. Something wasn’t making sense.
    Sarah smacked her hands together. “Come on, let’s go.”
    “Not until you tell me why you’re helping.”

    “Like I said. That’s not important.”
    “It is to me! What if you’re teaching me all kinds of stupid moves on purpose so I’ll look bad when I win?”
    Sarah smiled. “You said when. Good. And these moves are not stupid, by the way.”
    “How should I know?”
    “Listen, Dillon. I’ve totally got the upper hand here. You want help? I’m giving it. I don’t have to tell you why. If you don’t like it, you can walk out. I don’t care.” She flipped her ponytail back over her shoulder. “So what’s