#v !!

Yet, as Yuhua held the plaque that proudly displayed “her” status as a second-place soloist, a suffocating feeling entered “her” throat. The spotlights blaring down on the stage were far too bright, and the announcer’s microphone was far too loud. The eyes of the other dancers gathered on each side of the stage were little pinpricks in the back of “her” mind.

Hadn’t “she” done well, for “her” first year competing a solo piece? It could never be perfect, of course, and “she” was content to live with that fact—But didn’t it all mean something? It had to mean something, right?

So why was the one holding the first place award “her” group teammate? The one who could never understand the music to save her life, the one who treated dance like it was a chore not worth her time, the one who just didn’t care? Why did the judges give it to her because of her “long legs” and “beautiful extensions”?

What had Yuhua done wrong?

The stage was filled with unaware applause, and so Yuhua swallowed everything and clapped, too. “She” made sure everything was flawless for the cameras of friends and family in the audience: feet turned out in fifth position, mouth poised into a brilliant smile, medal lined up perfectly on “her” chest. 

“She” smiled because “she” didn’t know what else to do. 

It was nothing to be upset over, after all; a regional competition meant absolutely nothing to anyone but the insufficient “her.”

~

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