Free Taking the Lead: Lessons From a Life in Motion by Derek Hough

had to go away to a dance competition, she was kind enough to do my homework for me by telling me all the answers. Mr. Duwitt taught me math. He was an older man, and when he leaned over to show me how to work an equation, the smell of smoke and tobacco on his body was so pungent, it made me gag. His famous expression was “The mind boggles,” as in, “Derek, you can learn a complicated dance routine yet not figure out a simple simultaneous equation. The mind boggles!”
    Principal Anne Sheward had her office on the ninth floor—so most kids rarely went up there. I, however, was a frequent visitor. I hated ballet class, so I would skip it, and my teacher would angrily march me up the stairs for disciplinary action. But Ms. Sheward was great. She would tell me to take a seat, and we would have a cool chat about life for a few minutes. She never scolded or punished me (though we didn’t let my ballet teacher know that). It was a free-spirited school, for sure, and for the first time in my life, I had lots of friends. There was George Maguire, the cool kid and a very talented actor and singer, and Newton Faulkner (then known as Sam), with his ginger hair done in dreadlocks. Sam would skip class and lock himself in the boys’ changing room so he could practice chords on his guitar. Fast-forward six or seven years later, and he was signed to a major record label. I always knew he would make it. Lucas Rush and Desi Miller were my two best friends, the ones I got into trouble with the most. They would bust on me every time I tried to talk in a British accent. But teasing aside, I felt encouraged, supported, inspired. The academy was all about letting us be creative and follow our dreams.
    During lunch or in between classes, I would go to the art room—I even had my own key. Once again, I became a bit of a loner, but this time by choice. My friends were always asking, “Where’s Derek?” and that’s where I was hiding. The art room was my sanctuary. My art teacher, Miss Todd, was very eccentric. Her hair was wild, and she dressed like a hipster. She showed me art books filled with paintings and sculptures of naked women. She would take our classes on field trips to all these crazy installations at the Barbican Art Centre and the Tate Modern. Her classes lit my imagination on fire. I didn’t have to obsess over straight lines or shading or capturing an image of something down to the exact detail. Until I met her, I had never seen modern art before. She showed me that art doesn’t need to be technically perfect; it just needs to mean something. I’d look at some scribbles on a canvas and say, “I can do that.” Miss Todd would shake her head and break it down for me. “It’s not scribbles. There’s a story and an emotion behind it.”
    After school, I’d take the train home and we’d have dinner. Shirley’s mom, Audrey (we called her Nanny), lived with us and made us dinner (spaghetti Bolognese and roast chicken and potatoes were my favorites). Then we’d drive to the Semly Practice Hall, where I ran my dances with my partners from nine to nearly midnight. It was in this terrible neighborhood called Norbury, and to reach the studio I had to climb two flights of creaky stairs. The whole place smelled moldy, sweaty, and damp, and the lights flickered. There was a little stage; Shirley sat and watched me practice. She gave us pointers here and there, but it wasn’t about corrections. It was a chance to show off and eye up the competition. Some of the world’s greatest dancers practiced there every day.
    On a rare night off, Mark got me to go to a Korn concert at Wembley Arena with him. I put my foot in Mark’s hand during “Freak on a Leash” and he hoisted me up. I crowd-surfed from the back of Wembley to the front, allowing hundreds of strangers to carry me in their arms. I felt like I was baptized into rock and roll! From there on in, I was hooked on heavy metal music. Shortly after, Mark and I ended up