Tomorrow in ballet class, we’re going to find out about the dances for our Thanksgiving recital. If I were a good dancer, I’d be looking forward to this. Instead, I’m dreading it. It’s bad enough being a terrible dancer in ballet class twice a week. Being a terrible dancer up onstage in front of everyone is a total nightmare.
I hear thumping on the door.
“Mason, what is it?” I yell.
The door opens, but Mason isn’t the only one there—Jessica and JoAnn are right behind him. Everyone says we girls all look alike, but if they looked harder, they’d see that we’re very different. JoAnn’s arms and legs are thin and muscular from all the sports she does. Jessica’s body is more rounded, and her eyes are softer.
“We’re going down to play basketball,” JoAnn says. “Wanna come?”
Our house is almost at the end of our block, and there’s a little park with a basketball court right next door. Mason and JoAnn play basketball there a lot, and Jessica goes with them sometimes.
