“All right, it’s just about quitting time, so let’s call it a day, all right?” I clapped my hands a couple times, happy for having gotten through that sentence without making it rhyme, as it usually ended up doing, much to my chagrin. I might be teaching a bunch of kids, but I had no desire to do so while sounding like a Dr. Seuss character. Also, I’m not fond of hats. Mess up my hair.
Truth be told, as much as I hated to admit it, I was feeling a bit proud of the little brats as they filed past me, clad in their leotards and tights, little tie-on skirts fluttering. There were a couple who were getting pretty good, or at least in the range of not-bad that would lead to them being upgraded to a different class. And they’d all managed to keep their little panties dry the whole hour, for once.
At least as far as I knew. I couldn’t help but snicker as one walked by, the slight bulge of a diaper pretty evident around her bottom. She looked up at me with a hurt expression, which I countered by pretending not to know what her problem was. Seriously, she was probably at least five or six, maybe older – I never have any clue how old children actually are. And it wasn’t like she was the only one who had problems, nor was she the oldest in the class. Admittedly, the older ones, some almost teenagers, were, as a whole, much better at getting to the bathroom on time. They also tended to be fairly geeky and awkward, and probably would have rather been reading at home than with me.
I can’t say my feelings were hurt by that thought, considering I would also have rather been at home. But I got to take my own classes for free by teaching them, and I made a little spending money as well. Nothing stunning, but it’s better than flipping burgers or something. So, all in all, not a bad deal. And it gave me a healthy appreciation for the true level of Lela’s insanity, actually choosing to spend almost all of her time around these – literally, in some cases, since she babysat some of my students – loud, disobedient, leaky little beasts.
One of which had not followed the others out, and was, instead, standing in the middle of the room, glancing up expectantly at me. Perfect.
“Miss Skye?” she spoke up after she realized I wasn’t going to do so, as I was busy doing a few final warm-down stretches.
“Yeah?” I tried to avoid actually looking at her, yet that proved more difficult than you might imagine, considering the mirrors lining the walls.
“Umm… Next Monday, I’m going to visit my grandma, and she lives way over in Springfield, so I might be late.” Finally, those little green eyes vanished as she ducked her head to stare at her fidgeting foot.
“You know the policy,” I sighed. “Either show up on time, or not at all.” I guess I might have sounded a little meaner than I needed to, but I didn’t make the rules, they were the dance studio’s. Not that most teachers bothered to enforce them.
“Okay,” she said quietly, slinking off with her eyes still downcast. She wasn’t a bad kid, really – in fact, she was always very quiet and polite, and not half bad with the whole dancing thing.