The Firebird

I softly walked onto the stage in my purple ballet dress. I was so nervous to do my dance. I slowly slid into a split. The music started, but I could barely hear it because my heart was pounding so loudly in my head. Even though I couldn’t really hear the music, for some reason I knew what to do. I stood up and threw my leg up. I jumped and did a split in the air. I rolled on the ground and stood up and did a scorpion. From then on, it was pretty easy for me. These were the parts that I had mastered. After about thirty seconds that felt like one second of doing my mastered moves, it was time for my firebird. I knew I was going to mess up. I did a fancy run halfway down the stage. My heart was about to pound its way out of my chest. I jumped in the air, threw my legs apart, leaned my head back, and threw my arms in the air. It was like the world paused right in the middle of my firebird. I saw the cameras flashing at the corner of my eye. I landed perfectly. I hope. I walked off the stage. I think I messed up on the firebird.

When I saw my coach, she ran up to me. Here it comes. She’s going to tell me my firebird needed improvement.

“You were amazing!” she said.

“Um... thank you,” I said slowly.

“That firebird was perfect!” she whispered loudly. My coach walked away.

Yes! I guess hard work pays off.