OMG!!!!! This will be my last post for TWO WEEKS!!!!!!!!! I"M GOING TO CANADA! YAY!

All week we've been trying to figure out if we're going up today or Saturday. Since V is too busy to come up right away, she's just dropping me in Hope, and my g'rents are picking me up and taking me to Sun Peaks. Last night, my grandma called, and V had a looooong discussion. Apparently there's going to be a storm up there over the weekend, so we're driving up today. Then there was all the drama that my dad didn't get the form notarized, and then we were in the depths of despair - correction: V was bewildered, and Dad and I were watching NCIS on TV. It's a good show. Anyway, V finally figures out that since she's my PARENT she doesn't have to have a form notarized to take me over the border, so then she had to change the form, and we stayed up until eleven packing me. I had my bag part packed, but I was missing socks, my toothbrush, etc., so it took a while. And then she insisted that I take enough snacks to feed an army : Srsly, who eats a WHOLE BAG OF SUNCHIPS? OR FOUR APPLES? OR SIX YOGURT BARS? Sigh...

We went to the island and saw Other Moves on Sunday! It was fantastically awesome! Graham even signed my program! V was humming the Prince music on the way home, and she suddenly turned around and asked "Nat, weren't you a dancer once? Do you want to start classes again?" "Not really," I say, pretending to be engrossed in Nancy Drew, even though I've read it a million times.

I was a dancer, once. I started dance when I was five, and added riding when I was seven. Before long, I was one of the best. I got moved up, made captain of my dance teams. But people were always whispering behind my back. "Teacher's pet" "Miss Perfect" "Always has to be better than everyone else" I tried to ignore it. I practiced four times a week, obsessing over every pointed toe, every graceful sweep of the hand. I was only nine. It only got worse as I got older. One girl, in particular, was really mean. She used to hide my dance bag, not tell me about changes in schedule, put soap in my hairspray. Then, Mrs. Elliot, my dance instructor, gave me a lyrical solo. Melanie, the meanest girl, was furious. I ignored her, though. I was thrilled. My solo was set to "Lessons Learned" by Carrie Underwood, my favorite singer. I had even learned a back walkover for it. Then, the night of my performance, right before I went on, Mel hissed to me "Mrs. Elliot only chose you because you're little. It makes you look like a prodigy. From HER studio." My heart sank, but I did my routine perfectly. Mrs. Elliot gushed about it. But my fantasy was ruined. I would never be a dancer. I quit dance soon after that. But, as it turns out, my dad met Veronica at my performance. They started dating, and seven and a half months later, I had a stepmom. V is the one good thing to come from it - that and being able to accel at riding.

But I love riding, and Gabby is fabulous. And I'm leaving for Canada in fifteen minutes!
I'm watching the clock.

GTG,
Natasha Eleanor Anastasia Hawthorne King