“See? It fits like a glove!” Trevor’s mother said. “And you didn’t think your sister’s ballet costume would fit you! So stop with the complaining.”
“Please don’t make me do this,” Trevor begged. “I don’t want to be in the ballet recital!”
“Well your sister didn’t want to be hit by your car either- but now her leg is shattered, and you’re taking her place whether you like it or not. I didn’t pay for a year of lessons just to have nothing to show for it!”
“But I can’t do ballet! I can’t even walk in these ridiculous heels!” “Well you’re going to learn! Your sister can walk en pointe, and I bought those for you to learn too! And don’t even think about taking them off- we have two months to get you pirouetting, and you’re going to be spending every minute of it in those perfecting your balance!
“I can’t go to school like this! Everyone knows who I am!”
“I don’t care what your friends think! Now get in the car, you’ve got a rehearsal to get to. And remember: if you don’t dance as well or better than your sister by that recital, be prepared to be Trina full time next year!”
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