“Alright, girls,” the ballet teacher clapped her hands. “Now, the Plié!”
“One, two…Really, Leslie! Nice young ladies don’t DO THAT!”
Leslie rolled her eyes and removed her finger from her left nostril. She wiped it on the pink tulle of her tutu and glanced around the room to see how the other little girls were executing their pliés—not that she cared.
What Leslie did care about was getting out of this stupid ballet class, tuning-up her banana bike, and then going snake-hunting with her brother and his friends. She glanced at the clock on the wall — twenty minutes to go.
With a deep sigh and the elegance and grace of a three-legged giraffe, Leslie attempted to imitate her classmates. She held her back straight, assumed a contemplative expression and lowered herself into a squatting position.
Halfway down, a grin replaced her poker face and a blast of wind ripped through the air.
The class exploded in laughter as Leslie glowed with pride.
In contrast, Leslie’s mom sat with the other mothers; mortified, but not surprised. She’d done her best to bring her daughter’s feminine side to light, but it was no good. She’d never be a girly-girl—
so, let her hunt snakes.