As I pull my gray sweatshirt over mymessy hair, I grab my dance bag and run to the car. Oh great, my tights aren't inmy bag. Now my mom is yelling, "Twinkle-toes, we are going to be late."It is a typical Saturday.

My mom and I now have a 45-minute drive toWethersfield. We arrive minutes before class starts; I have just enough time topull my curly hair up into a ponytail.

"Hey, Meg" are the firstwords I hear as I walk through the door.

"What's up?" I say."Oh my gosh, did you see Keara's performance at the competition lastweek?"

"Yes, it was unreal."

"Tell me aboutit. Hey, did our step go up-jump-down or left heel-heel first?" "It wasup-jump-down."

"Thanks, has anyone seen my skirt?" We keeptalking about our week as I tape up my blistered feet and slip into my pinkballet slippers.

"Next class, we are now starting!" MissMary-Beth calls, interrupting our conversation.

Class begins with theusual stretching. I do extra because of the bursitis in my left hip. We moveacross the floor. After a few left clicks, I am out of breath, but cannot stopbecause we still have up-jump-down-two-threes and birds to do.

Now my hipis throbbing. We are done and the best part of class comes - putting on the hardshoes. With these big black shoes on my feet, I move toward the center of thefloor, just listening and tapping my feet to the beat of the music.

Soonthe whole class is ready and we begin. Miss Mary-Beth counts as we receive thetiming for our new jig. "One and two, three and four, five, six, seven andeight." The sound of the shoes against the hard floor fills the air. Tenminutes later we take our first break. As I talk to Amanda, we review last week'ssteps with our feet. Then break is over, and we're dancing again.

"Up-jump-down, faster girls, watch the timing," Miss Mary-Bethyells over the music as I try to nail the step. Wow! She just called me to thefront of the class to show the correct way to do a heel-heel click. The class haslearned to do it correctly now. I feel so proud!

At 1:30, class is over.As I gulp water I hear someone say, "Nice job today, Meghan." It wasthe owner, Mr. Griffith. I am psyched because that is a huge compliment comingfrom him. As I step outside, I see my dad waiting for me. I say good-bye to myclassmates and hop in his truck. He asks me how class went, and 20 minutes laterI finally shut up about it.

This is what I live for - the thrill ofdance. It is my time to express myself and let go of all my stress; I relax. Noone can take away the joy that I feel when I dance. At home, as I hang up myshoes for the day, I rest easy knowing that tomorrow they will be back on myfeet, and I will be doing what I love to do - dance!