(no subject)
Zara walked in to her dance lesson twenty minutes late with the same dorky grin on her face that had been there since she had gone to visit spinner at the dot after school. She sat down on the floor and began to change into her toe shoes as she did everyday, her teacher scowling at her.
"Lateness will not be tolerated, mademoiselle naismith." the woman said coldly, snapping Zara back into reality. She nodded quickly, an apologetic look on her face, hoping that would be all that was said. "Show me your technical piece for recital."
Zara stood up and as her teacher hit play on the CD player, Zara moved about the rehearsal space, her arms and legs moving with the utmost precision and poise for several minutes, each step meticulously perfect. When she finished she stood before her teacher, smiling proudly. Her teacher did not smile back. "Now your original piece" she said, obviously unimpressed. The next song played, and Zara moved with methodical fluidity. Her teacher looked angry. "That was terrible" she said cooly.
Zara's face fell. "The steps were perfect." She protested breathlessly. "I did everything perfectly right." Her teacher stood up, getting in her face.
"Exactly. You dance from here." she tapped the side of Zara's head. "There is nothing from here" she poked her old bony finger against Zara's chest. "no emotion. no originality. no creativity. like a robot." She scoffed. "Horrible." She headed for the door. "Do not come back with that routine, madamoiselle. It will not be tolerated. Nor will lateness" She slammed the door and Zara stood before herself in the mirror, frowning as well. She performed her pieces again several times, watching herself carefully in the mirror. It WAS perfect. But was perfect enough?