My adrenaline rushed as I waited to go on stage. The hot lights were warming the whole auditorium up. Music was blasting, filling the room. I stood off-stage waiting for my turn to perform. I can do this. I’ve trained for ten years, I know what I’m doing. I double-checked my pointe shoe to make sure it wouldn’t come untied. I made sure my tutu was fluffed, in doing so thousands a tiny violet sparkles fell from my tutu. I giggled a little.

The music stopped, and the audience roared with applause. The previous dancers walked off the stage, meaning it was my turn. I sat up straight, lifted my chin, rolled my shoulders back, placed my arms rounded behind me, and walked toe first on to the stage to take my place. I hit my first pose with my arms rounded down in front of me and my feet in fifth position, my front toes facing right, and my back toes attached to my heel facing left. The music began. It filled my ears and my body knew what to do. The lights hit my face as I glissade, Grande jeté into a big spilt across the stage. I continued to dance without a care in the world. But I was nervous for my turn part. My adrenaline rushed, building up to it as I sweat under the lights. The audience watched in amazement. I prepared for my turns. I began turning on one foot, so tensed up that I felt like someone was squeezing me. Finally, I finished my turns and struck my pose, breathing out a sign of relief. Then I stepped to the side to curtsy as the crowd cheered.