“You guys have a good night,” Anya Raymond said to her students as they left. It had been a good practice. Now she would take a few minutes to herself before she prepared to leave.
She popped in a CD and heard the beginning strains of a good reggaeton fill the dance studio. Anya felt the rhythm of the music pumped through her veins. It was always like this when she danced. The tempo, the instruments, and the sound of the words all combined to become her own personal soundtrack. She had always loved to dance. From the time she was a small child she had known that she had wanted to be a dancer. Her mother and father in the beginning had thought that it would be a useless endeavor to pursue dance as a career.
Over time though she had convinced them that her it was more than…
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