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~Wednesday, January 5th~

Tick, tick, click, clack, CLUNK, CLANK!

Slowly the five-year-olds begin to trickle back into the studio, their tiny black tap shoes newly tied onto their feet. As more of them enter, the metal-on-wood noise increases until the stomping and jumping begins, and every pound of their little feet on the floor makes my forehead throb.

"Shhhhh." I walk around the room with my finger on my lips as I direct each student to their spot on the floor.

"My tap shoes are quiet Miss Theresa, see?"

"Good job Melody, thank you," I smile down at the brunette in pigtails. Though I'll never say it out loud, Melody is my favorite of all the pre-ballet students I teach. Her chubby cheeks, baby teeth smile, and affection towards me makes it hard for me to not show my soft spot for her. Plus, she's been in classes that I help teach for three years now, so I've gotten to see her grow up a lot. The class continues with simple warm-ups, like tapping the metal on the shoes on the wood floor to the front, side, and back of the little dancers. After practicing a few more steps, Miss Erica and I set up to have the girls move across the floor. I place a green colored spot on one side of the room and a red one on the other side while Miss Erica lines the class up behind the green dot. The music is turned back on and one-by-one the five-year-olds go across the floor, attempting simple shuffle-steps. Myself or Miss Erica has to go with each of them since they can't remember the step for themselves, but it's adorable how they stare at my feet as I do the step and try to mimic me, often tripping over their own feet in the process.

Going down the line I find myself lucky to be escorting Melody across the floor to join the line of girls at the red dot. She smiles up at me with her chubby cheeks and places her hands on her hips as I do. Halfway across the studio I look down at her to see how she is doing. As always, her eyes are glued to my feet, but when I look down at her feet I notice something is off.

"Careful Melody, your tap shoe is-" It's like I can see the future or something. Just as I'm about to warn her, Melody steps on one of her untied black laces and - too preoccupied with the steps - falls straight forward. "-untied," I finish, though it's of no use. I immediately crouch down to her level and pick her up, setting her back on her feet. Looking at her face, I already know what's coming. I've been volunteering at this place for too long to not be able to read little kids. For now she just looks shocked, but then she blinks a few times and the tears start coming.

"You're okay," I say. Rule one of taking care of little kids: never ask if they're okay or not. That just leads to them questioning whether or not they're okay, and they'll probably come to the conclusion that they aren't. Instead, tell them that they are okay, take the question out of the picture. Nevertheless, Melody seems to have moved past that point. Sometimes once the crying starts, they don't even hear you anymore.

I look up from Melody's pink and tear-stained face to look at all the other dancers. Rule two of taking care of little kids: if one kid starts crying, don't let any other kids find out. Currently I'm staring at seven five-year-old girls, all looking with wide eyes at the eighth girl who's crying her eyes out. If this goes on for too much longer, another will start crying, then another, and another, until Miss Erica and I are surrounded by crowd of crying children - and the parents in the lobby will be left to wonder what on earth we are doing to their children in here. Even if the kids don't know why they're crying, they just know there's probably a good reason to cry if someone else is. Miss Erica and I make eye contact and she stands in front of the other girls and begins to talk to them, diverting their attention away from Melody. I take this as my cue to do whatever I can to get her to stop crying.

Rule three of taking care of little kids: distracting an upset child is your only hope. Immediately I pick Melody up and place her on my hip, walking over to the box of tissues by the glass door.

"Hey Melody, what's your favorite color?" I get sniffles in response. "Is it purple?" Nothing. "Pink?" Melody nods, wiping at her cheeks with her hand - I already knew that would be the answer. "Really? Me too!" I gasp and fake excitement, though pink is definitely not my favorite color. I don't dislike it, but I practically live in it here at the studio, surrounded by little girls of all ages in pink tutus - I've even worn a pink tutu for a performance in the past myself. "Do you want a tissue?" I ask, again another distraction. She nods her head and I hand her one. She immediately wipes the tears from her face and calms down. There's something about cleaning themselves up with a tissue that calms kids down. It's almost as if once all the tears are gone from their face, there's no use in messing themselves up with more tears. Just to be safe, I continue to question Melody to distract her. "Who's your favorite princess?"

"Ariel," she mumbles, still sniffling.

"Oh, Ariel's cool! I like how she's a mermaid. My favorite princess is Belle. Do you like Belle?"

"No," Melody says with a smile. I feign a gasp.

"What? Belle's the best! You're being silly!" I smile down at her, tossing the tissue in the trash barrel and tying up her shoe. She giggles back at me, obviously only saying she doesn't like Belle to get to me. Five-year-olds can be sneaky. "I think you're feeling better. Are you ready to dance some more?" I say as I start to put her down.

"No!" Melody exclaims as she grabs onto my leotard, almost taking the strap on my shoulder with her. My eyes widen and I quickly pull it back up, just barely saving myself. Sneaky, alright, I think to myself as I reposition her on my hip again.

"Why not?" I ask.

"Tissue," she says, reaching away from me towards the box on the shelf. At first I wonder why she needs another tissue, until I notice that her nose definitely does need a tissue.

"Here you go," I say grabbing one and handing it to her since she couldn't quite reach it. While she wipes her nose, I scan the parents in the lobby. Worst-case-scenario I might have to bring Melody out to her mom or dad to get her to continue with class. Surely I'll recognize her parents. I've been teaching Melody for years now, even if I almost never look out into the lobby - being so preoccupied with class. Suddenly I meet the eyes of someone who I was definitely not expecting to see waiting in the lobby of a pre-professional ballet studio, during a Pre-K three tap and ballet class, surrounded by middle-aged parents.

But, as I blink multiple times and force my shocked mouth to close the image of Noah Thompson doesn't go anywhere, he simply turns off his phone and puts it in his pocket, only breaking eye contact with me to glance quickly at Melody. Now I start feeling uncomfortable in my dance clothes. Even though I spend more of my life in a leotard than out, standing in front of the school's star football player in nothing but pink tights, a thin-strapped dark blue leotard, and a thin white skirt doesn't make me feel all that content.

"Oopsie," Melody says in my arms. I look down to see that the tissue she was using just barely missed the trashcan at my feet.

"That's okay, I got it," I say to her as I bend down. Suddenly - my face six inches away from a trashcan - the realization hits me, and I want to slap myself for being so stupid all along. Noah Thompson. And what name was called during attendance every Wednesday at five pm in this very room? Melody Thompson. My eyes widen as I stand back up. I look down to the little girl sitting on my hip and find those bright blue eyes - tinged with red from the crying, but the same nevertheless - staring right back at me. I look back up at Noah, then down at Melody, Noah, Melody, until my gaze finally settles back on Noah. He smirks ever so slightly - just enough for me to notice. Obviously my revelation is clear to him, and now he probably thinks I'm as stupid as I feel for not figuring out that they're siblings until now. I focus my thoughts back onto the class.

"Now are you ready to keep dancing?" Melody shakes her head and clings onto me tighter, anticipating me putting her down. "Why not?" I ask again.

"I don't wanna," she replies. I start trying to think of something to get her to finish class. Rule four of taking care of little kids: only rely on parents (or brothers I guess) if you really have to. There are only five minutes left and she's calmed down plenty, so there's no reason to give up now and just send her outside, but I've almost run out of tactics.

"Would you come back in and finish class if you talked to Noah for a minute?" Immediately Melody's eyes light up and she practically jumps out of my arms nodding. "Okay then," I say laughing lightly. I follow her to the large doors leading to the lobby and help her open it since it's heavy. She immediately rushes through the door towards Noah, who has already crouched down to her level. She jumps into his arms, clinging to his neck, and he rubs her back comfortingly even though she isn't crying anymore. When she pulls away from him I can just barely hear their conversation.

"What happened?" Noah asks.

"I fell."

"But you're okay now?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't you go back to class now?" Melody just shakes her head in response, clinging back onto her brother.

"Hey Melody," I cut in, pulling out my last line of defense. "It's almost sticker time," I say with a smile as she quickly lets go of Noah and runs towards the studio. Rule five of taking care of little kids: most will do anything for a sticker or other type of reward, use this knowledge wisely. Melody and I both finish class with everyone else, and she happily receives the sticker she was promised - which she excitedly shows Noah as soon as she leaves the studio.

After, I start preparing myself for my own ballet class which starts in fifteen minutes, but I can't help but get distracted by Noah helping Melody into her little pink snow boots and zipping up her pink winter jacket. I feel like I'm not supposed to see this side of Noah, I'm too used to the cold-hearted player everyone else sees at school. But now, watching him take care of Melody, I can tell that he really cares about her.

I wonder what else I don't know about him.

As they walk out of the studio - Noah holding Melody's hand - Melody turns around to wave to me, a big smile squeezing her cheeks. I smile and wave back, not missing the smirk Noah gives me when he looks back too.


~~~~~

Written 8/20/17, Published 10/29/17
Ok so I actually help out with the little kid classes at my studio just like Theresa, so I have learned all of these little tips about little kids overtime from experience. Also, Melody is inspired after my next door neighbor who I babysit and who takes one of the ballet classes I assist with (so yes, she's probably my favorite). However, a hot jock from my school has never turned out to be the sibling of one of my students, so I guess that's where the similarities end... lol
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