eight-by-ten glossies of exceptionally well-groomed children, little girls with perky bows in their hair and little boys wearing T-shirts that looked as if they’d been ironed. The academy’s success stories, I surmised.
Off to one side, through a closed door with a window, I could see the business side of the operation. Two women sat at desks, their eyes glued to their computer screens as if they’d been hypnotized.
I stepped away before they noticed me, figuring I’d get much further without their assistance. I slunk along the hallway, following the sound of dreamy music, then peered through the glass in the door of the large, sunny room at the end of the corridor. It had an expansive wooden floor and not a stick of furniture. One wall was completely covered with mirrors, making it look like every dance studio I’d ever seen in the movies.
The twelve or fifteen little girls whirling around in circles weren’t exactly dancing. But they were definitely in motion, some twirling gracefully and others milling around with the randomness of puppies. They all had their arms spread out, and the colorful silk scarves attached to their sleeves with safety pins fluttered around them.
“Okay, butterflies!” cried the only grown-up in the room. She, too, had flowing squares of fabric wafting from her arms. As she whirled and twirled among the little girls, the undulating chiffon looked surprisingly like the wings of a butterfly. In fact, even though the instructor didn’t have the willowy build of most dancers, she almost floated across the room, her pink ballet shoes barely touching the ground. “We’ve just spotted a bunch of beautiful flowers over in that corner. Let’s all fly over to them!”
I lingered in the doorway, fascinated by the energy in the room. The innocence too. I watched, mesmerized, as the sweet-faced little girls did their best to emulate the colorful butterflies they were no doubt picturing in their minds.
I was so busy enjoying the charming scene that I didn’t notice that someone had snuck up behind me until I heard, “Can I help you?”
I whirled around, instantly feeling guilty. The person who’d spoken was a sour-faced woman who accessorized her beige sweater set with a pair of glasses hanging on a clunky gold chain. I recognized her as one of the two office workers I’d spotted on my way in.
“I’m looking for Lacey Croft.”
The woman frowned. “As you can see, she’s tied up at the moment. But if you can wait, her class ends in a few minutes.”
Confused, I peered into the studio again. Was it possible that the head butterfly, the woman who practically floated through the air, was the mousy wardrobe mistress I’d seen at the theater?
Sure enough, as she fluttered in my direction, followed by a flock of younger, smaller butterflies, I saw that the woman with the look of pure joy on her face was, indeed, Lacey Croft. A completely different version of her, perhaps, but the same person nonetheless.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the waiting area,” the woman from the office suggested coolly.
It was only then that I remembered that I didn’t exactly belong there. In fact, I suddenly felt as if I was intruding on a special moment that belonged only to Lacey and her young charges.
“Of course.”
After a few minutes of sitting dutifully beneath a photo of a freckle-faced boy I was sure I recognized from a Cheerios commercial, the door to the dance studio opened. The little girls scrambled out of the room and into the arms of the mothers who had been gathering all around me. I took that as my cue to seek out their instructor. Weaving through the chattering crowd, I made my way back to the end of the hall.
I found Lacey in the big, mirrored room, keeping a watchful eye on her reflection as she practiced a few dance steps.
“Lacey?” I said gently.
She glanced over, startled at the interruption. But as she dropped her arms to her sides, her moon-shaped face lit up
Off to one side, through a closed door with a window, I could see the business side of the operation. Two women sat at desks, their eyes glued to their computer screens as if they’d been hypnotized.
I stepped away before they noticed me, figuring I’d get much further without their assistance. I slunk along the hallway, following the sound of dreamy music, then peered through the glass in the door of the large, sunny room at the end of the corridor. It had an expansive wooden floor and not a stick of furniture. One wall was completely covered with mirrors, making it look like every dance studio I’d ever seen in the movies.
The twelve or fifteen little girls whirling around in circles weren’t exactly dancing. But they were definitely in motion, some twirling gracefully and others milling around with the randomness of puppies. They all had their arms spread out, and the colorful silk scarves attached to their sleeves with safety pins fluttered around them.
“Okay, butterflies!” cried the only grown-up in the room. She, too, had flowing squares of fabric wafting from her arms. As she whirled and twirled among the little girls, the undulating chiffon looked surprisingly like the wings of a butterfly. In fact, even though the instructor didn’t have the willowy build of most dancers, she almost floated across the room, her pink ballet shoes barely touching the ground. “We’ve just spotted a bunch of beautiful flowers over in that corner. Let’s all fly over to them!”
I lingered in the doorway, fascinated by the energy in the room. The innocence too. I watched, mesmerized, as the sweet-faced little girls did their best to emulate the colorful butterflies they were no doubt picturing in their minds.
I was so busy enjoying the charming scene that I didn’t notice that someone had snuck up behind me until I heard, “Can I help you?”
I whirled around, instantly feeling guilty. The person who’d spoken was a sour-faced woman who accessorized her beige sweater set with a pair of glasses hanging on a clunky gold chain. I recognized her as one of the two office workers I’d spotted on my way in.
“I’m looking for Lacey Croft.”
The woman frowned. “As you can see, she’s tied up at the moment. But if you can wait, her class ends in a few minutes.”
Confused, I peered into the studio again. Was it possible that the head butterfly, the woman who practically floated through the air, was the mousy wardrobe mistress I’d seen at the theater?
Sure enough, as she fluttered in my direction, followed by a flock of younger, smaller butterflies, I saw that the woman with the look of pure joy on her face was, indeed, Lacey Croft. A completely different version of her, perhaps, but the same person nonetheless.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the waiting area,” the woman from the office suggested coolly.
It was only then that I remembered that I didn’t exactly belong there. In fact, I suddenly felt as if I was intruding on a special moment that belonged only to Lacey and her young charges.
“Of course.”
After a few minutes of sitting dutifully beneath a photo of a freckle-faced boy I was sure I recognized from a Cheerios commercial, the door to the dance studio opened. The little girls scrambled out of the room and into the arms of the mothers who had been gathering all around me. I took that as my cue to seek out their instructor. Weaving through the chattering crowd, I made my way back to the end of the hall.
I found Lacey in the big, mirrored room, keeping a watchful eye on her reflection as she practiced a few dance steps.
“Lacey?” I said gently.
She glanced over, startled at the interruption. But as she dropped her arms to her sides, her moon-shaped face lit up
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