Allegra by Shelley Hrdlitschka

piglets when the water hit them. Then they’d crowd together in a tight pack until one of them dared to run through it again, and the rest would follow.
    I wanted desperately to escape from that yard. I realized I should never have listened to Dad. I’d only gone to the party because I wanted to please him, to spend time with him on one of his rare weekends home. But I knew he would be disappointed when he saw that I didn’t fit in with those girls.
    Suddenly Dad bolted from my side. I watched as he ran, fully clothed, through the spray of water. The girls shrieked and the mothers clapped in delight.
    He turned and began to run back again, but this time he did a cartwheel over the spray. The blast of water hit him directly in the face. The girls screamed even louder and jumped up and down. The moms clapped harder.
    I felt more isolated than ever. When Dad got back to my side, dripping wet, he said, “See, Legs? It’s easy.”
    I knew he thought he was helping, but he’d only made matters worse, drawing more attention my way. I simply pulled my towel tighter around me.
    Dad knew better than to push the issue. He put his arm around my shoulder, and we watched as the other girls did cartwheels through the spray.
    We stayed at the party long enough to watch the birthday girl open her presents and blow out her candles and then I caught Dad’s eye and motioned to the door.
    His eyebrows arched in surprise, but he excused himself from the circle of women who were fawning over him, the local celebrity.
    â€œLet’s go,” I whispered.
    â€œYou’re not staying for a piece of that cake?” he asked, eyeing it hungrily.
    I shook my head.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Grab your things and we’ll say our thank-yous.”
    Back home, I heard my parents talking in the kitchen when they thought I was in my room.
    â€œI told you,” Mom said. “She’s just not social. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
    â€œMaybe she needs to be encouraged a little more,” Dad said.
    â€œShe is who she is,” Mom said, coming to my defense as always. “Not all of us are party animals like you.”
    Dad didn’t answer, and I felt sick. There was nothing I wanted more than to please him.
    He wasn’t really a party animal, but he was comfortable hanging out with groups of people, and I’m still not, despite the counseling Mom eventually agreed to take me to. Now, I realize, my parents had practically this same conversation about me just a few evenings ago. Some things never change.
    I think that may have been the last birthday party I was ever invited to. I was never shunned by the other girls; I was simply left alone. That was fine with me.
    I push the memory from my mind and continue toward home. I think of Angela, the girl I met when I was allowed to start dance classes. She also started taking classes later than most of the other girls, and she also takes nearly as many as I do. We are friends, but not outside the studio. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s like me; she knows that while we’re at the dance school we can relate, but outside, who knows? I pick up the pace. Dance. I will go to class tonight. Dance will take me away from my worries, help me escape the painful situation at home. I begin to run again.

N ine
    I’m so lost in thought the next morning that I just about hit the ceiling when Mr. Rocchelli taps on the sound-room window. He opens the door and steps into the room. “There, we’re even,” he says, grinning. “I just got you back for that first day of school, when you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
    I smile, remembering how high he’d jumped. It seems so much longer ago than just two weeks.
    â€œWhat were you concentrating on so hard?” he asks.
    I look down at the computer screen and realize I haven’t done a thing over the hour-long class. “Just thinking about the music,” I