This Is a Dream

"So you just left?" Mackenzie Daniels asked, slowly.

I nodded, frustrated. "I've told you that like a hundred times already."

"Yeah, but you just left? Like, you didn't even get his number?"

"I got his name." I mumbled.

"Callie, hon, we go to an all girls school and we're in ballet," she stressed 'ballet', "our parents never let us get out of the studio, and when you finally meet a cute boy you don't even get his number?"

I stared at her awestruck face, "Kenz, I had to go. My mom knows exactly how much time it takes for me to jog home from the studio. I had to say I tripped to make up for the time I lost talking to them: And it was only like a minute!" I flung myself onto her queen size bed.

"Yeah, I guess." She muttered and I chose to ignore her. Mackenzie could be a jerk when she wanted to be: And when it came to missed opportunities with cute boys, she filled that category pretty well.

"Well, can we go get ice-cream? I haven't had some in weeks!" I exclaimed, prepared to beg: but she just stared at me.

"Do you know how hard I worked to get these abs?" She pointed to her flawless stomach, "Too long for one ice cream to ruin."

"It's just one ice cream, we can even get vanilla." I protested.

"One leads to more," She recited.

I just stared hard at her. "I'm going." I announced, hopping to the floor.

"Where? Your mom's not supposed to pick you up for another hour."

I turned around and glared at her, "I don't need my mom's permission to do everything: I'm seventeen and I am getting ice cream."

I slammed the door behind me and stormed down the stairs and out the front door.

When I got to the sidewalk, I slowed down and didn't look back at her house. I hated when she reminded me that my mom practically controlled my life: down to the calories I had eaten at lunch today. It's not like her mom is any different anyway. They were both almost prima-ballerinas: but my mom had broken her ankle and Mackenzie's mom had fractured her wrist.

It wasn't a lot but it was enough for the talent scouts to look elsewhere. So now both of our moms were training us to be miniature replicas of themselves- whoopee.

I walked the rest of the way to the local ice cream parlor. After I ordered a two scoops of chocolate ice cream, just to vex Mackenzie, I examined the teenagers around me.

None of them looked very different from myself. Well, most of the girls weren't tall, thin, blonde, and overly wiry anyway. But they had something that I lacked: happiness.

I sighed then and threw away half of the two scoops, and left: leaving the ice cream parlor behind. I would just have to tell my mom that Mackenzie had driven me home early.