02 03 The Rhineheart Roost: Let's cut to the chase: we both know there's only one class worth talking about. 04 05 15 16 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 31 32 33

Let's cut to the chase: we both know there's only one class worth talking about.

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Backpacks, lockers, screaming. All things I've seen and heard these past two days. School has (gulp!) officially started, and honestly? It's a complete and total madhouse. TOO MANY PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. Ugh, Sometimes I just want to scream!
But that's SO not the point.
The point is, there is one class that I have been absolutely salivating over since I was in eighth grade.
Ballroom. Duh.
I tried to take it in ninth grade, but there were, and I quote, "too many girls". Ha. The next week, people were begging me to join Ballroom because there actually were, and I quote, "too many boys". I kiddest thou not, folks. They were begging me. But I'd already signed up for stagecraft, so it was too little too late. I still went to the concert, and went insanely green from jealousy. But this year is different. This year, I actually did it! I gritted my pearly whites, and clicked the "ballroom dance I" tab on the electronic schedule. And boy, did I regret it.
All summer, I sweated and fretted and stumbled and fumbled over thoughts and anxiety over my decision. I knew, I just knew, that I would be the WORST dancer ever, and step all over the boy's feet, and make a fool of myself. I know I'm not exactly model material, but this would become a glaring reality as soon as I set foot in that classroom. So many pretty, skinny little girls would be flouncing about the dance floor, entrancing boys with just one saucy flip of their silky brown, shampoo commercial-worthy hair, while I'd be the awkward one, shuffling from position to position, sweating like a 10K runner in mid-July, mumbling apologies as I pulverized the poor, suffering boy's feet.
Of course, I also had fantasies in the other direction. I'd waltz in with a spring in my step, people would get whiplash from trying to spot me first, I'd have boys fighting over who got to dance with me first, and when I finally did dance, the teacher would fight back tears of sheer pride, and tell me I was a natural, and would I please show the rest of the class my skills? Maybe I could teach the class sometime? I'd toss my head back in a confident laugh, grin and say, "but of course!" Then she'd ask me to sit with her at lunch and we'd giggle over something trivial. Okay, maybe not exactly like that, but you get the idea. I would have no problemo being a prodigy.
Back to the future! Or, present. Today was the day that this dancing dream (nightmare?) began. I walked in, and it was the usual 2:1 ratio of girls vs. boys. So I set myself up to be disappointed by having to be a leader, or guy, when I found out that we all switch between being leaders and being led. Score!
So what did we learn first? SWING!
I loved it so, so much. I'm actually a passable dancer! Until I have to lead. THAT was pathetic. I felt particularly bad for this one chick, Payton, because she had to constantly deal with me as a partner. Why can't I lead? Well, I'll just chalk it up to first-time jitters, and it was only the first class ever. So I'll give myself some leeway.
For now... (dun dun dun!!)

-DQ#1
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