Chapter One – Chicken Legs

Penelope's POV

I climbed on to the stage and stood behind the microphone, my face the color of a tomato. I was never good at public speaking and it terrified me, quite frankly. However, I knew this had to be done. I took one big gulp of fear and began to speak, "H-hello. My name is Penelope Clark and many of you know me, but some of you don't. When I was a little girl, dance became my passion. However, this small town didn't have any place for me to practice that. So every weekend my aunt would drive me to Northwich to take dance lessons, and it was honestly a pain in the bum. I mean, you never could forget your dance slippers like the other girls because you would miss the lesson by the time you retrieved them. As I grew older I saw little girls doing the very same thing and I decided that Holmes Chapel needed our own dance studio, so I made one. This is our first year and I have to say we've come pretty far. Tonight is a celebration of these girls's dedication, as well as a celebration for the parents. Thank you for supporting your children in doing what they love. Enjoy the show."

I quickly hopped off the stage with the applause that followed as the house lights began to turn down. I sat in the very back of the audience, note pad in hand to write down notes about tonight. There was a total of twenty-five girls that I gave lessons to, some as young as four, and others only a year younger then me. When I set up the program, my school was gracious enough to let me turn our gym into a studio for five hours a night. The boys on the football team would all laugh as I marched little girls in pink tutus down the hallways. It was well-known in Holmes Chapel that I was a dancer, gaining me the nickname 'Chicken Legs' since the sixth year. I didn't mind, though, dancing was what I loved and no one was going to stop me.

Tonight we planned seven dances, by age group. The first group was the four and five year olds who basically jumped and spun around on stage in cute outfits and caused the audience to laugh. The girls were having fun, and that's all that mattered. Other groups consisted of the six through nine year olds, ten through twelve, and then thirteen through seventeen. Occasionally we would mix them up; the audience thought it was adorable when the little girls danced with the big ones, as did I.

Watching the performance caused me to dream, dream of a day where I could possibly do this as a career. I wanted to be on stage every day, taking people away for even two hours a night. However, I was more rational then that. I knew I would never make a career out of it in this town, and I didn't have the guts to move to London or New York to pursue it. I took this fate in silence as I prepared for university next year. I planned on studying chemistry as it was the only thing that ever interested me besides dance. My parents told me, "Penelo-pop, follow your dreams! Move to a big city and do what you love!" However, my parents are artists and they've always been the laughing stock of the town. They didn't technically have 'real' jobs, and that was a strange thing in this town.

As I reflected on my future, the show continued on. The girls were all doing great. Not all the steps were there, they weren't perfectly on time, but they loved every second of it. I couldn't help but smile to myself that all my hard work had paid off. As they finished the finial number I gave them a standing ovation, tears in my eyes. They all took curtain call as parents were cheering and applauding. I walked up to the stage again, my tears finally beginning to stop.

I was handed a microphone from the sound technician and I strode onto the stage. I fiddled with the edge of my dress as I spoke, "Hello again. I am so proud of my girls that words cannot describe it. Watching the show tonight, I expected to take notes telling them that they weren't smiling enough or they needed to look at the audience more, but they worked it! I want to thank you all once again for coming and drive safe!"

I was about to exit the stage when I felt a small tug on my sleeve. I turned to see one of the little girls, Daisy, facing me. "Ms. Penelope, don't leave yet."

I bent down to be equal with her, "Why not, sweetie?"

"Because we have a surprise for you!" she giggled, running to one of the older girls.

Rebecca then took a step forward, her hands behind her back. "Ms. Penelope, we really want to thank you for all you've done for us. You're like a cool aunt to all of us, even if you're only five years older then I. So, we wanted to give you something."

She moved her hands from behind her back to reveal a book. I took it, the cover completely blank. I began to open it; the crack of the new spine opening welcomed me with open arms. I flipped to the first page and covered my mouth in gratitude. A tear streamed down my cheek and I wiped it.

"It was my idea," Daisy smiled to herself.

"Was it, honey?" I went over to her and picked her up, her arms reaching around my neck.

I looked at the audience who stared at us, puzzled. I finally collected myself and began to explain, "At the beginning of the year I told the girls to never take any pictures of me during rehearsal, because I always looked ridiculous after such a long day. However, they didn't listen to me. Apparently Rebecca here had been taking secret photographs of me while I was choreographing and each of them picked their favorite and wrote me a letter underneath it. As much as I appreciate this, I feel a bit conceited having a huge book of photos of myself!" Everyone laughed as I hugged each and every girl on stage. All of them told me that they were looking forward to next year, and I didn't have it in my heart to tell them that I wasn't going to be here, not yet.

As the night wound down and everyone left, I headed towards my gym studio. I worked in silence, laying down the rubber mats, taping up the mirrors, and putting out the beams. I quickly slid my sandals and blazer off and put on some spanks before stretching. I plugged my iPod into the speaker system and hit play. It was a tradition of mine that I would dance to whatever song played when I placed my iPod on shuffle, and so I did. Tonight's selection happened to be New Soul by Yael Naim. I began to get the feel for the song, moving in small amounts to the rhythm. By the first chorus I was in full swing. I had forgotten to pin my hair up, so it flew around my face, whipping around with each pirouette turn. I closed my eyes and danced, not caring if every move was perfect, not caring if I looked like a mess. This was my bliss.

Every turn and leap felt like I was flying, the warm summer wind blowing in through the open windows. I ended my dance in my complete split, letting the stretch take over my body. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. I thought of nothing, my mind was completely clear of any worries that had previously bothered me.

"No wonder all the guys in this school talk about how hot you are Chicken-Legs, you can do that. I've always wondered what it's like to make love with someone that flexible. Wanna teach me?"

My head whipped around to see the familiar face that had haunted me for thirteen years. I was going to ignore him, but I couldn't help but react to his ignorant words. "In your dreams, Styles."