Standing in Studio 4 at Accent on Dance Studios, everyone around me is a number, including myself. I know a majority of the dancers standing around me and their life stories, but right now that is all forgotten and I’m the big, bold black number, 124, hanging on my leotard. 

The instructors now sit in the front of the room behind a long, white table. They hold onto notebooks and pencils and smile at those who are filled with nerves. They have seen my face around the studio every year and in auditions countless of summers, but in this room, I’m just another face in a sea of black leotards and tights. 

I mimic the steps when I’m told. I fix my feet when I’m told. I smile when I’m told. Until the whole room is filled with dancers who are dancing the same exact way with their personalities locked away in the back of their brains and their focus on remembering the steps. 

But I, number 124, am not the same person as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfect ballerina next to me. I’m an amazing dancer in my own way and my talents shouldn’t be constantly compared to others who have received more education than me. Every year at auditions they compare our skills, but how can they. My previous teams in the past haven’t received training in ballet and perform hip-hop dances throughout the year like others around me. This being said, I may not be able to kick as high or turn as long as girls around me, but I care about my teammates and my commitment is always there for the team. I never turn down the opportunity to learn something new and that has remained the same the 13 years I’ve been dancing. 

“Number 124, please step forward.” The instructor waves me to the front and 200 eyes follow my movements. I make myself more noticeable and step in front of a clump of girls. My feet automatically rest in first position and my hands hold onto each other behind my back. “Do you know why you got called up here?” Her eyes never leave mine.

“No,” I replied looking around at the eyes that are still focused on me. 

“Out of everyone here, you looked me in the eyes while dancing and shared a moment between us. You gave us a hint of your personality.” My heartbeat slows down at the relief that it wasn’t a correction. I hear a small cluster of claps from the back and then out of thin air the room erupts into applause. I look back at my instructor and she joins the clapping. “Amazing job, Alaina.” She winks and I turn to walk back to my spot, my head held higher than before. I’m no longer just Alaina. I’m the dancer that stood out. I’m the dancer who brought out my personality in a room of “programmed” dancers. I’m number 124.