CONTEST ENTRY #1

I was a stupid kid with a mouth of sparkly braces and a cello sometimes slung over my shoulder. I did not hang out at Burger King after school because I had to change into my tights and get to ballet on the city bus. I did not do terribly stupid things or abuse substances. I did not know about substances except that the President's wife thought I should "just say no." I did not go to parties--I went to church lock ins. I wore cable knit sweaters with broaches after the fashions of Miss Molly Ringwald. I liked a boy who wore combat boots and drew anarchy signs on his jacket. He referred to his parents as "fascists" and seemed to know a lot about the Iran -Contra scandal. He listened to really, loud, angry music. I told everyone that I was now really into the Sex Pistols but I secretly loved Wham and Duran Duran. My dad told me to do the dishes and I called him a fascist and he laughed.

In those days, you could walk out onto the front lawn of school and see dudes just spinning on their heads and backs. Breakdancing was so cool. I longed to grand jete into a perfect backspin like my other idol, Jennifer Beals. I pictured myself in one of those teen movies where the young ballerina tosses her point shoes in favor of spontaneous street dancing. I would be a success. And somehow that success would be witnessed by everyone at my scary, urban high school. Even the boy of my dreams, the anarchist, he would see it and be, like, wow.

But my dancing aptitude gravitated towards graceful arms and pointed toes. I loved turning--but on my back?

So one time, my sister and I were hanging out in her room. We had 2 or 3 friends over. Church friends? Relatives? I don't remember. We were talking about breakdancing and how cool it was and everyone was trying out different moves. Someone did the worm--awesome! Someone else stood on the side of thier neck and pitched their body high into the air. Someone did a back spin. And then my little sister gets down and crouches into this frog position--arms wrapped around her legs--she starts hopping! How does she do it? I am furious with her for showing off like that. What am I supposed to do now? Some double pirouettes and an arabesque ala second? Do I dare enter this dance battle with my nerdy, ballet class moves?

No. I decide that I will do the same move. "Oh, come on! " says my sister.
"Please be careful!" everyone advises me, as if I will break a hip.
"I can do it" I tell them
"I don't know. Maybe it's not a good idea..." they say as I crouch into position, arms around legs, staring at the yellow shag carpet on my sister's bedroom floor.

"I'm gonna do it!" I tell them, and a hush goes over the crowd. Someone turns up the volume on the casio and I go for it.

And then.....

just as soon as I hop forward, I tumble, straight down, mouth to the carpet. Yellow shag stuck in the braces. Everyone laughs. " We told you!" they shout. They were right. I can't get up. My intricate orthodontics are attached to the floor and I am still twisted into the frog shape, unable to move.

One by one, sister and friends help me up. They are kind for a second and then they see my mouth with its mess of teeth, metal, and yarn. They can't contain themselves. I can't really blame them.

Ultimately I go back to being the best kind of stupid kid I know how to be: a ballet and orchestra nerd. I do not attempt breakdancing again. I work on my extensions in ballet class.

I do not pretend to like Sid Vicious more than Simon LeBon. Although I like him a little.

I do not go to parties and hope that someone's older brother will purchase beer for us. No, I go to see Flashdance in the broad light of day with my mother, who I must persuade to take me to an R rated movie in the first place.

I do not go to rock shows. I go to church camp.

One year later, I still like that safety-pinned anarchist. He thinks I am a dork but he cannot help but notice my beautiful, straight teeth.