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Ayesha was on my case.
“Miss Jackson! Chelsea forgot the second wave AGAIN!”
She looked evil when she said it – eyes narrowed and all. She stared right at me - drawing her finger slowly across her throat.
Ayesha was glad I’d screwed the whole routine. Let myself down, let the group down, let the school down ya-dah-ya-dah-ya-dah.
Miss Jackson wasn’t biting though, “And that’s exactly why we’re practising Ayesha,” she smiled, “that’s why we’re having this whole ‘dress rehearsal’ thing going on for tonight’s semi-finals when by rights you should all be in the classroom learning your Shakespeare. So you’re down in the gym popping, locking, and – yeah – waving as well. You’ll get it next time –won’t you Chelsea?”
“I will get it,” I said. I prayed.
I was the weakest link. I knew I’d made the final cut for the crew by the skin of my teeth. Ayesha knew it too and she hated me. Her bestie Camille got to sit on the reserve bench because of me.
“Back in position ladies!” said Miss Jackson.
Ayesha brushed by me. She was so close I could smell her; body spray and bubble gum.
“You think you’re even going to make it to the semi’s tonight Chelsea?” she whispered under her breath, “My girl Camille is waiting in the wings, and we are sooo onto you.....”
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