Dancing for the Lord The Academy - By Emily Goodman Page 0,14

praise God.

But You sent me here, Lord, she prayed resolutely. So I guess You know the direction You want this to go. Just…go easy on me, okay? And don’t let me lose touch with You. The more she saw of the Academy, the more vital she knew that prayer to be. Always before, she’d been surrounded by people who believed as she did. Now, she was surrounded by those who would think her beliefs quaint, or even downright weird. It would be a challenge to continue to practice as she believed—and yet somehow, she had to do it anyway.

Of course, the first part of the challenge was going to be simply getting through the day.

Finding her first class of the morning wasn’t hard—Danni just followed Madalyn, who was more than eager to direct her to wherever she needed to be. Unfortunately, Madalyn didn’t have English class with her; so Danni was left to find her way to the individual dance class on her own.

It can’t be that difficult, she consoled herself desperately. All of the dance classes are in one wing—so all I have to do is go there. Surely someone will be able to tell me where room…. She squinted down at her schedule. Room 203 is.

Unfortunately, none of Danni’s teachers seemed overly inclined to take into consideration that on her first day, she would benefit from a little bit of extra time. Instead, her English teacher held her over after class so that they could have a discussion about her books, and make sure she understood the way the curriculum was planned out at the Academy.

Danni got it. Really, she did. What she didn’t get was the way this blasted building was organized, or why on earth she had to run from one end of it to the other to get to her next class!

Girls were rushing everywhere, all of them looking purposeful. Danni supposed she could have stopped one of them and asked if they could point her in the right direction; but by that point, she was too overwhelmed to make eye contact with anyone.

203…203…come on, Lord, it has to be here somewhere. Please, please, just let me be able to find it!

“What are you doing?” A slender girl with long, black hair shoved Danni aside, glowering at her. “Don’t you know better than to just stand around in the hallway? I mean, good grief, some people think it’s important to be in class on time!” She put her hands on her thin hips, looking as though she might decide to say more. A glance at the clock on the wall, however, had her scurrying away again before she could say another word.

Danni wasn’t sure whether it was worthy breathing a sigh of relief or not. What was with that girl?

And, unfortunately, the black-haired girl wasn’t the only one who was about to be late. Danni glanced to the side, desperate—and spied a number.

202. Which means 203…. She glanced to the other side of the hallway. Yes! There it was! Thank you, Lord! Danni scurried inside, grateful—not for the first time—that she had long since developed the habit of wearing her leotard and tights beneath her clothing. It made for a rush if she was trying to get to the restroom between classes; but it saved her a lot of time when she was running late for dance class.

Since, in Danni’s world, dance class was the most important thing, that was definitely a mark in the plus column.

“There you are!” Madalyn hissed, grabbing her arm. “I was beginning to think I needed to send out a search party!”

“Got lost,” Danni whispered back, jerking her jeans down and pulling her sweater off over her head. Luckily, she had gone through these motions a hundred times before. It took her no time at all to transform from her street clothes to her dancer’s uniform. “Pointe shoes to start, or ballet slippers?” she asked swiftly.

Madalyn blinked. “Um—oh. Start out in slippers to warm up. We’ll all come over and put on pointe shoes in a minute.” She displayed her own slippers quickly.

Wincing, Danni realized that Madalyn’s were pink—as were those belonging to every other girl in the room. She hadn’t even thought about it; but for the last several years, her teacher, Carolyn Richards, had requested that the older girls wear black ballet slippers. It was a matter of practicality, really. The boys in the class—particularly Michael—had always worn black slippers; and they blended better during recitals if everyone