Can you believe I actually have to lock up a grimy old leotard and a ratty pair of leg warmers? As my parents would say, "What is the world coming to?" By the time I'd finished putting up my hair, everybody else was in the studio. Good. For some reason, I didn't want them to see me locking up my bag. I closed the bag, took out the tiny key, and made sure the little padlock was locked tight. Then I put the key on the thin gold chain I was wearing around my neck.

    Mme Noelle doesn't really approve of wearing jewelry in class, so I usually don't. But she says it's okay as long as it doesn't get in the way. I tucked the necklace under my leotard and checked in the mirror. It hardly showed, so Madame probably wouldn't even notice it.

    Once rehearsal started, I forgot about the key. For a change, nothing bad was happening to me, and I was free to concentrate on practicing my steps. Mme Noelle was giving me approving looks.

    "Beautiful!" she said, as I bouree'd across the floor. "But smile, Mademoiselle Romsey. Relax and enjoy it!" Oh, sure. Have you ever tiptoed across a whole floor, moving nothing but your legs in the tiniest, controlled movements? I tried to smile, but my feet were killing me. A ballet dancer's feet are almost always killing her.

    We switched to another step, and I had a chance to relax for a moment as I waited my turn to show Mme Noelle my technique. Lisa Jones did a lovely arabesque at the back of the room. She was just practicing while she waited her turn. Carrie was on the floor, showing Mme Noelle her stuff.

    After I took my turn, I stood again in the little knot of dancers, waiting for Madame to tell us what was next. I heard Hilary whispering behind me, and turned quickly to warn her to be quiet. (Madame hates it when we whisper.) Just as I turned, I heard a tiny clink. I looked down. Uh-oh. My necklace had dropped to the ground. The catch must have come unfastened.