As usual, the last class of the day was dragging. Every word out of the teacher's mouth seemed to be drawn out deliberately, as if the teacher were taking their time speaking just to torture her; and it was working, dammit! Normally she would be slouched back in her chair and trying to fight off a yawn, but this was not a normal day. Not for her. Now she was antsy, squirming around in her chair, tapping her fingers to her desk, nearly snapping her pencil two in her anxiety. Rainbow Dash was giving her strange glances from the seat to her left but Applejack paid her no mind. She kept looking at the clock, silently willing it to go faster so she could go.
When the final bell finally sounded it was nearly earthshattering. Applejack quickly stuffed her things into her backpack and was the first one out of the door, slipping through the crowd of people undetected... almost.
"Darling!"
A dainty hand on her wrist halted her progress and Applejack turned to see Rarity frowning at her. Of course, Applejack had forgotten she shared her last class with Rarity as well.
"Applejack, what in the world has gotten into you today?" Rarity asked, releasing Applejack's wrist. "You've been twitching all day, and not to mention your attire. Is something the matter?"
"What? No, of course not!" Applejack laughed, dismissively waving a hand. "And what's wrong with my clothes?" she asked, looking down at herself. She had to admit, it wasn't what she normally wore, but...
Rarity crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Applejack, since when do you wear leggings? You look as if you're about to go to dance practice," she laughed, not noticing Applejack's grimace.
"I wanted to wear somethin' comfortable," Applejack said, fighting off a blush. "I'm gonna be really busy today and I ain't gonna have time to change so I just wore this instead.”
Rarity narrowed her eyes, trying to find a hint of a lie Applejack's green eyes, but the farmer was confident. She hadn't lied; she really did have a busy after-school-day ahead of her, but this took priority. The clothes weren't a lie either; her jean skirt and boots would be a hindrance to her plans. When Rarity could find nothing to scrutinize, she sighed and gave her friend a small smile.
"Well, okay. If you need help with anything, you need only but ask."
Applejack beamed at her and shot her a thumbs up before hurrying down the hallway. When she finally reached the room she was looking for, she swung it open and ducked inside. It was extremely quiet in this room, the sounds of others outside muffled by the thick wooden door. She took off her socks and shoes and set them carefully by the entrance, almost as if she were afraid of shattering the perfectly polished wood of the floor. She let out a long breath and made her way to the centre of the room.
Applejack was stubborn. She was hard-headed, she was a tree firmly planted by her roots, she was not easily swayed. So why was she alone in CHS’ dance room? She was no dancer or, at least, not one that practiced after school in the dance room on a regular basis. She glanced at the door to see students passing back and forth, on their way home to whatever extracurricular things they had planned for this sunny Friday afternoon. She was thankful that Rainbow Dash had scheduled Rainbooms practice for tomorrow; it gave her time to explore this.
But… what was this? Ever since Rarity’s attempts at turning her and her friends into dancers, Applejack had developed an itch. She’d done square dancing at family parties and she was no stranger to the simple choreography that she and the girls performed on stage with their instruments, but… this was something entirely different. She no longer simply listened to music, instead her mind conjured up visions of her dancing to each song that appeared on her playlist, how her feet would enunciate each beat. She’d even caught herself counting for the Applejack in her head, helping her stay in the rhythm.
1 2 3 pop 4! 5 6 7 slide 8!
She’d sing along to music in the grocery store only to realize she’d been mindlessly doing steps to the beats, snapping her fingers, and bobbing her head. She looked up dance videos on the internet, mouth agape in awe at the way these people could move their bodies. She didn’t understand what had overcome her, why she was suddenly invested in the art of dance, of ballet of all dances! She thought back to Rarity’s teachings, the many times she’d tripped while doing a… what was it, a pirouette? Or the many bruises that would blossom like roses on her knees and shins from her failed leaps, the times she was sure she’d broken an ankle, and…
She loved it.
She wanted more of it. It was like a drug, the feeling of flying gracefully through the air despite knowing she would crash in less than a second, the double-vision she got from the turns and spins. She was terrible at it, she knew, but that only fueled her more. If she felt this good while failing at it, she couldn’t imagine the euphoria of performing it competently.
She looked ahead of her, at her reflection in the wall-length mirror that sat behind the barre. She eyed her toned arms and legs and frowned; all of the dancers in those videos looked more like Fluttershy than her. They were like delicate little flowers, able to leap high off of the ground and land without a peep. Applejack studied herself again and slowly rose onto the balls of her feet, testing her balance. She watched her reflection wobble for a second as she tried to find the right weight distribution. It was true, she wasn’t like the other dancers, but that was fine. She’d figure it out her way.
Still on her tip-toes, she lifted her right leg into a rather imperfect passé, barely touching the inside of her left knee with her toes. She dropped her left foot back down to flat, flailing her arms as she felt herself begin to fall, and finally breaking the passé. She groaned in frustration, taking the ribbon out of her hair and using it to tie it into a bun that sat haphazardly on her head, lifting her bangs away from her eyes. She tried again, this time starting flat-foot and lifting her right leg back into its pointed-toe passé position. She held her arms out in a T, making sure she was balanced, before slowly rising onto the ball of her left foot. What was that called again? Rarity had scolded her for calling it “tippy-toes”.
Relevé. That was it. She was in relevé. Applejack snorted as she stifled a laugh; fancy words are all it was. Yet there she stood, the most concentrated she’d been in months. She beamed at herself in the mirror, at the feet that were exactly where they were supposed to be, at the arms she’d rounded in front of her. “Like holding a beach ball” the tutorials had said. Her arms were in... first position. She was still on relevé, too!
“Ha!” she laughed. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the mirror. That couldn’t be her! This girl looked graceful, she looked regal! Who was this ballet dancer who looked like Applejack?
Finally, she dropped back onto her heels, but she couldn’t stop moving. She was full of energy now as she did little hops around the dance room in celebration.
“I did it!” exclaimed to the barre, to the mirror, to students that still mingled in the hallway outside. “I did it! I did that!” she said, pointing to one of the posters on the wall that displayed just what she had been doing. It was unlike her, she recognized, to behave like this. She’d always been the calm, cool, collected one but at this point she didn’t care; was anything she had just done normal for her?
She took a deep breath and picked up her phone, finding a a video she’d saved a couple of days before on impulse. The thumbnail showed a petite girl dressed in black, arms stretched in an “L” above her head. Applejack started the video and placed it on the floor in front of her, hurrying back to her spot on the floor. The dancer began talking, and Applejack took up first position.
Author's Note
If you've read my Applejack-centric stories before, you'll begin noticing a pattern. I often put myself in Applejack's shoes. Not just because she's my favorite character but also because I find her very easy to relate to. I'm a tomboy, the girl who loved sports and all things conventionally "manly", yet... in my second year of high school, I saw a flyer that the dance teacher was starting up a drill team and figured... why not? Dancing is a ton of fun, and though I never had the highest kicks or leaps, it was amazing to watch my progress. I'd gone from not being able to touch my toes to doing a spinning leap into a split. It was so fun to blast everyone's expectations out of the water, all of the people who thought the biggest girl on the team wouldn't last a second. But I stayed on the team til my last second of high school.
