In the quiet street outside the dance studio, a girl pressed her face to the cool glass and watched someone move inside.
Through the window, she saw a dancer in a bright blue tutu spinning across the floor. Tap-tap-tap went her feet. The girl tapped her own foot, then her fingers, then her whole body against the glass. She thought she wanted nothing more than to do that too.
At dinner, she pushed her carrots around and asked, 'Can I dance?' Her father lowered his newspaper. 'We can look into it,' he said.
But her eyes stayed on her plate. She thought maybe that was the end of it. Maybe she would never get to try.
That night, Cora closed her bedroom door and tried to copy the dancer she had seen. She lifted her arms and turned, but her feet tangled together and she fell onto her pillow with a soft thud.
She laughed, threw her arms in the air, and then got up to try again.
She tried again and again, arms reaching, feet stepping, heart full of something she could not name.
On a Saturday morning, her parents took her to the studio. The door opened and music spilled out, golden and bright.
Inside, the dancer from the window was there. She smiled and held out her hand. 'Ready to dance?' she asked.
Cora took her hand. The music began, and her feet found the rhythm.
Her arms flowed like the dancer she had watched through the window. Tap-tap-tap went her feet on the wooden floor.
She was eleven now, and every time the music played, she smiled and spun.