When Brick looked in the mirror he saw a goof, not a cavalier. Some dummy in tights. The girl with the bird would think he had fallen off a stupid train. And Mrs. C wouldn’t see his beautiful arches, only his bulging belly. Outside the changing room door, he heard giggles. Were they laughing at him? Nobody laughed at him. And survived. The tights had to come off. Now. Brick pulled on the black waistband, but it felt like a thousand rubber bands grabbed his middle. He let go and it snapped loudly. Ugh! More laughter from outside the door. He bit his lip, and tried again, this time reaching a hand to steady himself. His fingertips found a little table decorated with a lovely silk plant. The fake plant went flying. With a yelp, Brick tumbled to the ground and landed on his bottom, a tangle of feet and black spandex. He pedaled his heels back and forth, rolled on his stomach, yanked and grabbed and cursed, but the tights held on. Mocked him, he was sure of it. Got ya! Not letting go until you say 'Brick's a booger face!' Huffing and sweating, Brick gave up and sat there. A boy trapped by his tights on the floor of a ballet school.
Rachel writes contemporary realistic fiction novels for the middle grades. Her books depict suburban family life in a post 9-11 world. No unicorns required.
Ballet for Bullies