In a room of professional dancers, she stood out. An ornery woman, older than all the young, skinny dancers. She was in her thirties, and she acted nothing like the others on our team. She drank soda, instead of diet drinks, or five-hour energies. She chewed on a piece of tofu while not dancing. And, the thing that stood her out most, she was crippled.

She tried to hide it. But, she wasn't that good at it. Everyone could tell, from the way she limped, dragging the foot, that set her apart from the others, subtly. And when it was time for her to perform, or even practice, she would groan, at the pain of putting preassure on her foot as she got up.

Funnily enough, she hadn't actually danced in about a year. Maybe more. When i got onto the team, she didn't dance, and that's all I knew. But it was more that she wasn't allowed to. Coach always told her to sit down and get some rest, and she sighed, angrily, and complied.

"Just 'cause my foot don't work don't mean ya hafta coddle me. I'm older than most of y'all combined!"I heard her mutter angrily.

Then, her time came. Everyone was exhausted. We were at a dance competition, and none of us could go on. We were going to lose to a slightly less exhausted team. I stood up, sweating pools, deciding that I would do it. But then i was shoved back in my chair.

"Move aside. I've got this."There she was. She hadn't gotten to dance once that night, and she looked positively ticked. Not listening to the coach cry out, she went out, meeting up with a sweaty oponent.

And she danced. If her foot was hurting her, well, she didn't show it. She danced perfectly, beautifully, mastering every move. She owned her opponent. And when she came back to us, limping worse than ever, she was grinning.

"Still think I need ta' be coddled?"She rumbled, a chuckle in her voice. Not caring for our shocked faces, she went right back to her chair, and took a giant gulp of soda. We didn't move until we were called to get our awards.