Hi guys. Umm... I don't know exactly what I'm doing with this. The idea stuck and the words just kind of diarrhea-d (classy words, I know) their way out. Drabble-ish. Hopefully I can post a few times a week since the chapters are short. I don't think there will be too much plot but who knows. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight but I do own *dun dun dun* BALLETWARD!


You want this.

You want this.

You want this.

I'd been hoping that by repeating to myself why I was here, it would make this easier for me. It would make up for the fact that my ankle was throbbing and my toes were in so much pain, I couldn't feel them anymore. I could only rely on muscle memory to get me through from this point on.

"Remember your technique, Bella," Ms. Kate, my old dance teacher reminded me before I flew out to New York City.

Arabesque…

Split leap….

Triple pirouette…

Fuck!

The sharp pain from my big toe made me flinch for a split second. I eyed the judges warily before continuing on with the rest of the choreography. Their eyes were taking in every single detail of each dancer onstage. Everything from the arch of my foot, the line of my extended leg, the size of hips and thighs, the muscle definition in my arms, and the length of my neck were taken into consideration.

Jessie and I called these ballet company people mini Hitlers. They had a formula for the kind of dancers that they wanted and if you didn't fall into that cutout, then fuck you. You were done.

My muscles pumped furiously through the routine, blood flowing through my limbs and the pain, doing what they had done a million times before: turning my feet out when I needed to and recognizing my posture to make sure it was proper. I felt through my shoulders, making sure to keep them relaxed.

My group finished the choreography a minute later, but I took my time getting off the floor. I watched the judges talk amongst themselves in whispers while also eyeing the forward discreetly. Looking at me.

I wasn't ashamed of any aspect of my body, but I knew what they were discussing.

"You're not slender enough to be a ballerina," I remember my first dance teacher hissing at me. Her bony fingers tapped my shoulders and hips like they were alien flesh. She pointed at my chest in disgust. "You already have breasts! And those thighs! They're larger than mine, child!"

I could see her weathered face clearly in my memory, I could remember frowning at the old bat that drove me insane while trying not to cry. Who in their freaking mind says that to an eleven year old? "I'm sorry that you don't have any breasts, Madame Pitre. My Aunt Sophia didn't have any either but she says they have doctors to fix that now."

My dad had wiped at my face that night. I'd saved my tears for the car ride and my dad had pulled over as soon as the hiccups began. He pulled me tightly to his side by throwing an arm over my shoulder. "You can be anything you want, Bella. Anything."

That was the last day I ever saw that dance teacher.

Grabbing my small duffel bag from the corner of the room, I walked quickly outside of the studio to face the hundred remaining dancers waiting to audition. Most of them were girls with the occasional man here and there. Sighing, I walked as fast as I could to the end of the long hallway and plopped down, waiting what I knew would be hours before the results would be posted.

Hours were nothing in the grand scheme of life, my Aunt Sophia always said.

So, four hours later when the wiry woman I recognized from registration slipped out of the main studio with a piece of paper in her hand and taped it to the wall, my heart fluttered. A huge influx of dancers rushed to results and I waited.

Staring at the too-short list, I'm sure that I squealed while whipping out my cell phone, hitting the speed dial button faster than ever.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Oh. My. GOD!

People say that life flashes before your eyes when you die, but my life and future flashed before my eyes right then.

Isabella Swan

"Dad! Dad! I'm in the company!"