dancergirl. Carol Tanzman M.

      Ever feel like someone’s watching you? Me, too. But lately it’s been happening in my room. When I’m alone.

      A friend posted a video of me dancing online, and now I’m no longer Alicia Ruffino. I’m dancergirl. And suddenly it’s like me against the world—everyone’s got opinions.

      My admirers want more, the haters hate, my best friend Jacy—even he’s acting weird. And some stalker isn’t content to just watch anymore.

      Ali. Dancergirl. Whatever you know me as, however you’ve seen me online, I’ve trained my whole life to be the best dancer I can be. But if someone watching has their way, I could lose way more than just my love of dancing. I could lose my life.

      I hear the name first. Behind me, in the park. The end of daylight savings time has brought dusk earlier than I expected, so I can’t quite see the guy’s features. He looks sinister in his long, gray trench coat.

      “Dancergirl—” he starts. The roar of a bus cuts off the rest. I glance at the street. Yes! If I can get to the corner before the bus leaves, I’ll be safe.

      My legs weigh me down. Heeled boots cover my feet and I can’t get any traction. I look over my shoulder. The guy is gaining….

      The pneumatic hiss of the closing bus doors gets my attention.

      “No!” I wail. “Don’t leave! Wait!”

      The driver sees me through the side window. Gives an evil smile. A cloud of noxious smoke spurts out of the tailpipe as the bus pulls into traffic. The old man sitting in the back seat looks at me. His toothless grin mouths, “Dancergirl…”

      I wake up fighting for air. It’s 2:00 a.m. It was only a dream…this time.

      Carol M. Tanzman

      Dancergirl