Ballet was an art. Those unpolished and unpracticed were whipped into shape quickly, or soon they no longer practiced the art.

John observed this pattern. He wished, desperately to not fall into the trap of those who didn't practice their art. It was a sacred craft, and you had to be dedicated to it. He knew he was dedicated, but could he ever master it? That was a question he found he had to answer himself, and just like short response questions on their practice state test, he really liked having a teacher to help him.

At the moment, John had his legs crossed, watching the older students perform ballet. It was from their performance in the earlier spring, a dance from some famous composer in the 1600s of which he couldn't name.

In all honesty, they looked graceful. They were overly passionate dancers, and it fit the art they practiced. It did look somewhat silly, but it was beautiful to watch.

Once the song was over, the performers took a bow and then scampered off to rooms on the side. John wanted to know where they had gone. He'd find it out one day, perhaps not now. Two adults, a man and a woman, clapped hands, prompting the little children who sat down to do the same.

"Oh, wasn't that wonderful, my children?" the man inquired, running a finger through his hair, then putting his hands by his side. "I, am Mr. Ulanova. This is Ms. Semionova."

His partner smiled and waved, crossing her thin arms as she surveyed the children. She had already been introduced, and there was no need for her to say anything more.

Mr. Ulanova was a slender man, about six feet tall. He had a square shaped jaw, and dirty blonde hair that sat around his neck. The hair, today, was tied into a man bun. He had a white leotard and black tights.

Rubbing the scruff on his chin, he smiled softly to a students. "I'll be teaching the boys here, ballet, while the girls will go off with Ms. Semionova."

Ms. Semionova had a voice smooth like glass, high in pitch,  but comfortably so. "This way, ma belles."

Soon, all the girls, including Anne, we're gone, and it was just him, and the other boys in this class.

Eduardo, a short boy with curly black hair and piercing eyes. He picked his nose and was honestly the creepiest kid at school. He was fun, though, slightly entertaining when he blurted out facts.

Michael, the boy who attended his school, and honestly, looked like a nerd. John thought he was cute. His hair was a short brown crop like ness

And then there was him, John, the weird, pretty boy who could've been playing baseball on this hot summer day, but was more interested in ballet.

Three boys, not too many boys in this class. Then again, this was ballet. Although so many famous men were ballet performers, not many men figured the art was worth their time.

Still, the ever so charming man found those three boys a blessing. "This is perfect!" he proclaimed. "First things first, let's cover names."

The three boys listed their names and ages, which were mostly the same. Eight, except in the case of Michael, who had just turned nine two weeks ago.

Mr. Ulanova nodded as they all talked a little bit about themselves before leading them into stretches. "Before we can get anything done properly, we have to be stretched out." He explained.

John found himself listening intently to this man, probably because he figured any point of authority was something he ought to have focused on, but also because the man sparkled with poise and dignity.

"Before you can become someone as talented as Rudolf Nureyev  , you must learn the basics, no?" their teacher spoke, a smile on his thin lips.

Mr. Ulanova was a very animated man, moving his hands around and arching his eyebrows as he spoke. He laid his firm, hairy hand on the brown barre that aligned the room. "All ballet classes start with Barre exercises. This is a barre." 

The three danceurs-in-training mimicked their teacher, grabbing onto the barre.

The older man led them into precise stretches, that John, unlike his two comrades, found somewhat easy to follow.

Before they finished their barre stretches, Mr. Ulanova called time, as their parents should have been there to pick them up in just a few minutes.

John whined at that fact, but understood that he had to go home at some point. He just didn't want to go back to his home.

The air of the room called to him, and, as he was picked up by Anne's mother, he couldn't help but smile. No other words came from his lips that day, but how much he loved ballet, and how he was so, so excited to perform it later on.

That day,  in the ballroom, John found his passion. He found what he promised himself he'd be dedicated to for the rest of his life. And he knew, he knew that he would never let go.

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Sorry I've been so slow about updating. I got hit with some writers block and I also know virtually nothing about ballet, whoops.

Have you guys noticed the order of the chapter titles?

If you like this story, give it a star and follow it! Or even better, leave a review. I'd love to know how to make this better!

-M