I threw my dance bag down next to my locker and started to change. It seems like I'm always in a hurry in the dressing room, but so is everybody else. There's this feeling that Mme Noelle is waiting for us in the studio, getting more_ and more impatient by the minute. And having Mme Noelle in a bad mood is bad news.

    I threw off my school clothes (jeans, a new red sweater, and my red high-tops) and stuffed them into my locker. It's never a good idea to put things on the benches in the dressing room, even for a minute. They'd get all mixed up with everybody else's stuff and there would be mass confusion.

    Then I groped around in my dance bag and pulled out my leotard and tights. I shimmied into them in about three seconds (after years of practice) and then reached for my toe shoes. I could put them on in the studio while I was listening to Mme Noelle give us the rehearsal schedule.

    My toe shoes weren't in the bag.

    I checked again. No toe shoes. My red high-tops were in there, but no toe shoes. Now, you have to understand that I have been dancing for seven years. For at least the last four I have packed my own dance bag. And I have never, ever once forgotten anything. Other girls would have to dance with bare legs when they forgot their tights, or in old bathing suits when they'd left their leotards at home. Not me. Never. I was always prepared. It's just the way I am.

    "Mademoiselles!" called Mme Noelle from outside the dressing room. "Are we plonning to donee today?" She clapped her hands loudly, just once. That meant, in Madame's special shorthand, "Get into the studio, NOW!" I panicked. I bent over my dance bag and practically turned it inside out. They had to be in there! I clearly remembered putting them in the bag the night before, after they'd aired out enough so that they'd be ready to wear again.