You Got Me Spinning Like A Ballerina Mga Nobela at Kwento

I spin around, using it for support, getting shouts of encouragement and a familiar voice yelling, “Get down from there, Angelee!” But I just ignore it and move my body to the beat of the music. I think spinning and moving my head too much is making me even drunker because everything around me is spinning too, like I'm on a carousel. But I back up my hands and glide through the bar, improvising probably ridiculous moves, after all, I don't know how to dance. And I don't know what to do in a poly dance because I've never done any of it.

They dance against me like butterfly wings. What begins as a small peck becomes more passionate. The rest of the world spins so fast that it becomes non-existent. I lean even further into her, and my body melts into hers. It is as if I can feel a fire blazing within me, out of control. We are completely and utterly in sync at this very moment.

Cierra. They called me Midnight Ballerina. Yes. That was my name under the neon lights. It was 11 p.m. and night duty called...not the kind where you clock in, sharpen pencils, or type invoices. No. The kind where you hold a pole and sway your ass like it’s the last thing the world has left to worship. The more sway, the more dollars. The more arch in your back, the more they rain. More desire, more currency. That was the trade.

Theo asks excitedly. “Watch closely,” I nod towards the screen with a playful smirk, and they all lean in with anticipation. “Whoa, Babe, that's you!” Theo bursts out, and a surge of pride wells up inside me as I step into the spotlight on screen. The music transitions seamlessly from Daddy Yankee’s high-energy ‘Gasolina’ to a smooth, sensual vibe as my dance partner, Conor, steps in to support my upper body, tilting me back while I roll my hips to the rhythm. A move I'd come up with myself.

"The Ballet of Remembrance by the ballerina Esther Joan." I perform my ballet with the most focused mind ever, my mind relaxes and listens to the melodious melody. If anyone is familiar with classical ballet, it is impossible not to know about my performance. I'm recreating the performance that made my mother's name, Rowan Amber: Duck in the Moonlight.

Winona screams next to me, spinning like a mermaid who’s been stranded on land a little too long. “Every song is your song, No!” I yell back. “You’d dance to a freakin’ insurance jingle!” Sheena laughs, her single braid flying wildly as she joins in. “You guys are a mess. But in the best way possible.” I raise my glass. “Here’s to being a hot mess with rhythm!” I almost drop my drink as I stumble slightly, caught off guard by an overly enthusiastic dance move. Maybe my heels are too high. Maybe my whole life is too tilted.

As soon as I got back to Tiff and Peter, I cracked open the water bottle and slammed it back. “Phew, I didn’t realize how thirsty I was after dancing,” I said, wiping my forehead. “Well, shaking your booty for half an hour will do that,” Peter laughed. “Let’s go shake our booty some more!” Tiff declared. I finished off my water and headed back to the dance floor with Tiff. We were dancing for about 20 minutes more when, all of a sudden, the room started spinning. “Ame? Are you ok?” Tiff questioned.

I grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured myself another glass: "No harm in one more." But I didn’t notice until I was filling a fourth… then a fifth glass. My head spun, my cheeks burned, and everything around me felt weightless, as if I were flying. Suddenly, I stood and climbed onto the table amid the crowd’s noise. "Look at me! I’ll show you what real dancing is! DJ… play Swalla now!" No one answered. I bent down, grabbed a passing waiter by the collar, and whispered firmly in his ear: "Tell the DJ to switch to Swalla, right now."

In just a few days, this shy girl transformed into a charming and confident woman, and I was amazed. It felt like being in a dream. I moved closer, letting the murmur of guests and the thumping music fade into a distant echo. The dance floor became our small world, her laughter blending with the beat of the music. I couldn't resist twirling her playfully, feeling the warmth of her smile and the playful sparkle in her eyes.

For three years, I worked three jobs a day to send Wendy Stallone to university. In the end, I ended up doing all the chores at home as well. On the day Wendy graduated, the Stallone family came to bring her back to the family, and she turned into a socialite overnight. Everyone said my years of hardship had ended, and I was about to become rich. During the celebration party, Clark Quinn, Wendy’s childhood friend, sat beside her like he was born to orbit around her and asked me whether it was time for me to step aside. Wendy said nothing and just toyed with Clark’s fingers. Under the dazzling lights, I stared at her and asked calmly, “Are we going to break up?” She was stunned for