12th Grade, High School

Age: 17-18

January 2010

…

When her alarm goes off, Spinelli is already awake, standing in front of the mirror on the back of her closet door. She thinks she looks professional enough to impress the group of parents of Madame Pavlova's 4-6 year old Saturday morning class. Typically, when she would co-teach the class, she would wear what she would wear to her own private sessions — her leotard with a ballet skirt. Her private sessions with Madame Pavlova take place in the early morning hours prior to the morning 4-6 year old class, so there isn't much time to change. The parents didn't seem to think any less of her as she helped to teach their children in the past.

But this is different. Today she'll be teaching them solo.

At their last session the previous week, Madame Pavlova looked about ready to pop. A week away from her due date with her first child, the dance instructor known for her poise and grace could do hardly more than waddle around the little ones, having Spinelli do most of the teaching while she sat off to the side. When the class ended, the little kids waving goodbye with their snotty cold-season hands, Madame Pavlova had kept her back to ask if she would continue to teach the children's lesson. She had a ballet instructor friend who was going to take over the older classes while she was on her maternity leave, but the friend was busy during the children's time slot. She had nearly just canceled the class for the six weeks she was going to take off to spend with her new baby, but after seeing how well Spinelli had been doing with the children, she figured she would offer her the job instead.

She picks a few pieces of Scruffy's hair off her leggings and takes a deep breath as she takes a final look at her outfit. She decided to go with an all black outfit, thinking it would make her look less like a kid and more like an authority figure. Over her black leotard, she has a chunky oversized sweater that hangs off her shoulder and allows her black wrap skirt to just poke out the bottom. She put on some leg warmers around her ankles for the bike ride to the studio and she'll change into her slippers when she arrives, opting for her boots for the ride over.

It isn't as if the parents don't know her. She has been assisting Madame Pavlova with this age group since the summer and the majority of the kids who started back up in the new year are the same ones as the fall and summer sessions. Plus, it isn't as if this class is for prodigies. Most of the time it feels less like ballet and more like herding cats. She thinks the parents must enroll their children mostly as an energy outlet.

She bypasses the kitchen on her way out, too nervous to eat anything ahead of the lesson. Neither of her parents are around to balk at her decision. She can hear her mother fiddling around in the bathroom, the hairdryer blocking any noise Spinelli could make, and her father picked up an overtime shift, long gone somewhere in a patrol cruiser. She slips out the door before Scruffy can notice and distract her, gets on her bike, and heads over to the studio.

It's weird being in the studio by herself. She opens the door with the key and flips on all the lights. The building is older and the wood floors of the entry creak under her feet, loud without the voices of eager young dancers to drown it out. She hurries into the studio's open room, her eyes glancing to the empty barre.

She changes her shoes out and walks over to the barre, glancing into the mirror behind it as she begins to warm up herself. Although she has private lessons each week, it has been a long time since she has performed in front of an audience. Madame Pavlova had worked hard in order to have her catch up with her original class, but Spinelli hadn't wanted to rejoin. The class itself, regardless of whether or not the Megans would leave her alone, was too triggering. Madame Pavlova was clearly disappointed in her, but Spinelli knew she had to prioritize her mental health. No matter how much she enjoyed dancing, it just wasn't worth it.

The private lessons were the perfect compromise for her. She still got the feedback on her skills without the fear that came with the class. It wasn't as if Spinelli had any desire to dance professionally. She knew she wasn't that good. So, in her head, she didn't see the point.

She ends her warm up just as she hears the shuffling of the first attendees to her class and it isn't long before the whole group of ten little girls is sitting in a circle around her, stretching and chattering with their little motor mouths. The parents take seats against the far wall, most with coffee cups in hand.

She tries not to focus on the parents and instead keeps her attention on the girls. One keeps tugging at her outfit, whining as she stretches and tugs at the same time.

"Mademoiselle Spinelli!" she squeals. "I don't want to wear my tutu!"

"Why not, Madison?" she asks.

The little girl gives an over-dramatic huff. "It's pink!"

The rest of the girl's outfit is black, with a black leotard and tights, most likely chosen to highlight the new tutu she had gotten for Christmas.

"You don't like pink?"

The girl shakes her head vigorously and Spinelli can see Madison's mother starting to stand. Spinelli quickly walks over to Madison, hoping to diffuse the situation before the parents lose confidence in her to control their children.

She sits down next to Madison and touches the sparkly pink tulle. "I think it's pretty."

"You don't wear pink!" Madison says. The other girls are watching with wide eyes around the circle. "I don't want to wear pink."

Most of the other girls in the circle also have some form of pink on their outfits. She remembers when her mother bought her first leotards, her mother was also drawn to the pink ones. But the girls in the circle won't care about that. At their age, she knows the importance is in the immediate present. Spinelli isn't wearing pink and so now Madison has decided she needs a monochromatic outfit as well, and the rest of the girls aren't far behind.

Great, she thinks. I'm losing control over a sparkly tutu.

"My brother told me that tutus are for babies!" another one of the girls says from across the circle. A few of the girls are wearing tutus and all drop their jaws.

The parents are all beginning to stand and Spinelli bites her tongue, feeling their judgment of her. She hopes Madame Pavlova at least gave them a discount for the classes she was going to teach — or a refund when they all pull their kids. She takes a few deep breaths. The girls wouldn't react like this with Madame Pavlova. Even at their age, they know not to cross her. But she wonders if the little girls see her more as a big kid than an adult, even though she is their teacher. The only thing she can think to try is to get on their level.

"Hey, wait a darn minute," she says and the girls all quiet down, staring at her like they would a mage. "Why are we listening to boys? Do you see any boys in this circle?"

The girls all shake their heads.

"Well then, how does a boy know how special wearing a tutu is?"

Madison crosses her arms and eyes her suspiciously. "Do you wear tutus?"

"Of course!" Spinelli says, holding the duh on her tongue. She doesn't think the parents would appreciate that one. "I wore a sparkly green tutu the first time I ever danced on stage." She nudges Madison. "And I wore a pink one when I was the Sugar Plum Fairy in the Nutcracker."

One of the girls across the circle stands up and starts jumping up and down. "I just saw the Nutcracker!" she squeals excitedly. "You were in the Nutcracker? You were the Sugar Plum Fairy?"

Spinelli stands and smirks. "Alright, Hannah, calm down," she says, putting a hand on the little redhead's shoulders. "I was, and one day if you stick with it, maybe you'll be in it too. But, you'll have to wear a tutu."

The girls are now all standing around her, none of them pulling at their tutus or leotards. She quickly sways them to their warm ups and the little girls begin with the five basic positions. As the girls behave, Spinelli dares a look back at the parents, who have gone back to their casual conversations over their coffee cups. She lets out a long slow breath as the girls plié.

One crisis down, only five more weeks to go.

The remainder of the lesson continues in much the same pattern, with the girls losing concentration and Spinelli herding them back with tales of her past experiences and games to keep their focus. It reminds her of Madame Pavlova all those years ago, telling her about the little girl in the old country. When the session is over, she waves goodbye and the girls rush over to their parents, changing out their ballet slippers for more practical winter boots and shoes.

Madison comes toward her though, tugging gently on Spinelli's sweater.

"Did you really wear a pink tutu?" she asks.

She nods her head, remembering her mother bringing home her first ballet outfit. When she was eight or nine, wearing the pink leotard and ballet skirt had felt like torture.

"But pink is so…" Madison looks over her shoulder, as if she's afraid someone will hear her. "Girly."

Spinelli feels the familiar tug in her stomach. "You don't like being girly," she says to clarify.

She gives a little shrug. "My brother and his friends all laughed at me for my girly pink tutu."

Spinelli sighs. Her five-year-old self would have said something similar, so intent on her burgeoning reputation even that young. People say kids are resilient, but she knows better than most that what she says to this five year old at this moment could be important. No one had been there for her, to fight back against her growing insecurities, and so she says what she wishes someone had told her.

"Well, I happen to think that girly pink tutus are pretty cool," she says. "And I think that anyone who makes fun of you for the things you do or what you wear isn't being very nice, and you should just…let it go."

Easier said than done, the voice in her head says.

Madison gives a lopsided smile. "You're so cool," she says with the type of unfiltered awe only children can possess. Then she wraps her arms around Spinelli in a tight little kid hug and turns around, running at top speed for her mother.

Spinelli turns away so Madison and her mother can't see her face, which she knows has dropped into one of discomfort. She busies herself with cleaning the studio as her mind races. Madison thinks she's cool — but if she knew the truth, she'd think twice. Spinelli's mind continues to race as she readies the studio for the next class, Madame Pavlova's friend coming in to prepare for her own class just as Spinelli is heading out.

Little kids always think older kids are cool, even if they aren't. Look at Vince and Chad — he'd been convinced Chad was the coolest of the cool kids. Spinelli wouldn't classify herself as a cool kid, at least not any more. Half the time she was afraid of her own mind, let alone what other people thought of her.

But, if Madison thought she was cool and knowing she wore a pink tutu helped this little girl avoid perseverating on a reputation like Spinelli had, so be it. She unlocks her bike from the bike rack and instead of turning toward home, she turns toward Townsedge Mall. She had thrown away all her old tutus in a fit of crisis last year, back when things were really bad, because she knew she was never going to dance again. She only has a few practice outfits she bought when Madame Pavlova offered her the private lessons and teaching gig — everything else is long gone.

She won't buy a tutu, but she can buy a pink outfit to wear to next week's session. The girls may not even remember the hubbub, but if her wearing a pink outfit can help Madison not feel embarrassed about being girly around the boys, she'll feel better about the whole experience.

As she pays for it, she hopes the girls appreciate it. All the money she earned from that chaotic hour just flew right out of her hands.

She wanders in and out of a few stores, not really looking for anything in particular but wanting to waste time. TJ has been going to the firehouse on Saturdays. The local fire station had been wanting to put together a junior firefighter program and TJ is their lab rat. He has only been a few times, but he seems to really enjoy it and she's happy for him — but it really puts a damper on her Saturday afternoons. She had gotten accustomed to hanging out with him for lazy weekend days in the fall. But he always promised to make up for it.

January marks their anniversary month and while neither of them are particularly sentimental about the exact dates, it's still quite the accomplishment. Most of the couples that started out with them in freshman year have fizzled out and moved on. Three years is a big deal and they had planned a casual but important date for this evening. Dinner and a movie, though TJ hasn't told her where they're going for dinner.

So, if she has to spend a day at the mall by herself to avoid going home to watch television with her mother, she'll do it. Her mother is too nosy.

The one place she knows she can waste a lot of time is the bookstore. Down at the far end of the mall, it has a little coffee shop inside where she can find a book, grab a drink, and read until it's time to go. Vince had gotten her The Hunger Games for Christmas and she had flown through it, meaning to grab the next book in the trilogy but never having the time with school restarted. She heads to the back where the young adult section is and finds Catching Fire. As she walks toward the register, wondering if she'll be able to finish the book in a day like she had the original, she hears a cacophony of high pitched giggles.

She peers around the bookcase and her heart skips a beat. The four Megans are standing in front of the magazines, Megan Prince holding one out for all four to look at together. Spinelli quickly pulls her head back and leans against the shelf, trying to catch her breath in her hiding spot.

She has done so well avoiding them, barely running into them in the hallways at school and, when they cross paths, she turns away. But now, as much as her mind is telling her to run, her feet are frozen to their current spot on the floor. What if they see her, wandering the mall by herself? Maybe she can sneak back into the Young Adult section and read for a bit in the aisles. She could find a nice aisle to herself where she's sure the four girls wouldn't venture and head to the coffee shop when she's sure they're gone.

If she does that, she won't get her drink though. She might as well just leave the bookstore and go home, hiding in her room with her new book if she's going to do that.

"You really think these tips work?" she hears one of them say.

Spinelli glances back around the bookshelf, craning her neck so she can just barely make out the girls from her hiding spot. The girls are still focused on the magazine between them as they talk.

"My mom reads Cosmo all the time and she always has a boyfriend," Megan King says.

Megan Prince wrinkles her nose and pouts. "I feel like I do half of these tips already and I still haven't had a boyfriend."

"It shouldn't be this hard," Megan Stepanian says. Then, lowly, she asks, "Maybe it's us?"

"No, it's not us," Megan King snaps. "I mean, look at Spinelli. She's short, flat, and crazy, and she's had a boyfriend for years."

Megan Cavanaugh laughs. "That just goes to show we just need to find one sucker in this world."

Short, flat, and crazy. The words repeat in what feels like an endless loop, digging into her like daggers with each go around.

Spinelli turns away and crosses her arms over her chest as their laughter echoes through the aisle. Her eyes burn and she snaps them shut, blowing quiet, even breaths out of her mouth. You are enough. You are good enough. She repeats the words over and over in her head.

When she opens her eyes and looks around the shelf, the Megans appear to be grabbing at another magazine, laughing and talking about something other than her. She knows she needs to get away before she falls victim to their words again, even if the girls aren't directing them at her. They have no idea she's even there. She walks quickly through the store toward the register, eyeing the girls' location over her shoulder as she buys her book. Then, she takes the long route around them, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

Yes, she is glad she hasn't rejoined the class. Even though the girls haven't said anything to her face in a year, they're clearly still talking about her behind her back.

She orders a hot latte at the little coffee shop and finds a singular chair in the back, setting her book on the table in front of her. But her mind is spinning, her quiet afternoon of reading now completely disrupted by her own thoughts.

If she told TJ about the encounter, he would just tell her that they're jealous of her — and maybe they are. It seems like the four are after boyfriends, something they've never had and she does. But the words cut in more than she'd like to admit because they've been running through her own mind recently, before the Megans even spoke them into existence.

She had been doing well at the start of the school year. She hadn't had too many episodes and she felt like she had things under control. Even after the disastrous Halloween party, she had recovered nicely and she had been proud of her coping skills. She almost felt normal again.

But at the Halloween party, she had told TJ that she was ready to go all the way and, at the time, she thought she was ready. But the next time they were alone she had freaked out and, embarrassed, had left in a rush. TJ, being TJ, had been gracious and kind and didn't make her feel like an idiot, but her mind…

Well, her mind isn't so nice.

So far, she hasn't told anyone. She can't tell her parents — oh, what a nightmare that would be. Her therapist had just graduated her to meetings further apart. She supposes she could talk to Gretchen but the last time she told Gretchen anything about her and TJ's physical relationship, Gretchen proceeded to conduct her own sex education class with the boys, signaling to anyone with half a brain that the only coupled members of their group were thinking about that. How embarrassing. She couldn't look at Mikey, Vince, or Gus for a week.

She knows she needs to tell TJ, but she doesn't want to worry him. He finally seems more like himself too — more carefree and funny and less staring at her like the world is going to end if he says the wrong thing. If she tells him that she's been picking at her body again in the mirror or worried about what he would think of her without clothes on, he'd freak out too.

She just needs to figure out what she can do to overcome it herself. She's been trying. She wakes up early and looks in the mirror and picks out something nice to say about herself in the mornings. Today she'd been relatively successful.

Through the window of the cafe, she can see the Megans skipping off back down the mall hallway, bags emblazoned with store names filling their hands. American Eagle. Abercrombie. Hollister. All the stores she would expect to see them shopping in. But they each hold a small pink and black bag as well. Even though she's never shopped there, she knows the bag. Everyone knows that bag and some of the girls at school even use it to carry things, just to show that they've shopped there.

Victoria's Secret.

She narrows her eyes and looks back toward the magazine shelf. The Megans had been reading a magazine, talking about tips to get a boyfriend. Her mother reads those types of magazines but she had never read them herself. Seventeen, sure. She and Gretchen would do the quizzes and laugh at the embarrassing stories in the front. But Cosmopolitan? Is she even old enough to look at it without some store worker calling her out on it?

Spinelli taps the cover of her book, flipping open to the first page which reads "Part I: The Spark" but not turning the page any further. Her eyes drift back upwards toward the magazine section and she wars in her head on her next steps. Maybe the Megans are onto something. They're desperate for different things though. The Megans want a boyfriend, but Spinelli just wants to not recoil at someone — someone she trusts with her life at that — seeing her body.

Maybe, just maybe, one of those magazines will have some tips on that.

She collects her book and shoves it into the bag with her new ballet outfit, leaving her latte behind on the table, as she heads for the magazine section.

Sorry, Katniss. I need my own spark.

She hurries over to the magazines and looks over her shoulder, her eyes scanning each of the magazine covers quickly. She needs to find what she's looking for before someone comes in and sees her. It'd be all over the school in a matter of seconds — Spinelli was reading some raunchy magazine about seducing men.

It's almost enough to make her turn back to her book, but then her eyes land on a magazine cover that has the headlining article, "Ten tips to feeling sexy in bed."

Perfect.

She snatches it out of the holder and then reaches for another, more benign magazine to cover it with — the most recent WWE Magazine. Once she's convinced that her actual magazine is hidden by her more acceptable one, she flips to the correct page. Number one on the list: make an effort to look good, which, as she reads the tip in its entirety, means lingerie. A few of the other tips (Six: Embrace your Confidence!; Eight: Learn to be AMAZING at Foreplay!) also talk about wearing lingerie.

Which brings her back to the pink and black bags the Megans had been holding. The few times she and TJ had been focused on going a little further she made sure to wear matching underwear, but she didn't own anything fancy. But it sure seems like dressing to impress can help with the psyche. She remembers Gretchen telling her to not wear sweatpants to the ACT testing because you do better when you dress better. According to Gretchen, there's scientific evidence that says dressing up rather than down to take tests improves outcomes. Maybe she would feel more confident if she dressed like she was confident. If she dressed like she was going to go all the way, she would be more likely to actually do it.

She slams the Cosmo back on the shelf and rushes out of the bookstore, intent on finding the one store she knows will have what she needs.

…

Notes:

According to the SSA baby names lists, Madison (#2) and Hannah (#4) were in the top 5 names in Arkansas in 2005, which is about when the ballet class girls were born.

The episode where Vince thinks Chad is cool and then is concerned that he's actually a geek is "Big Brother Chad".

Gretchen teaches her sex ed class to the boys in Chapter 19.

Thanks for reading! See you in Part 2 :)