Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

“Thank you, Winter,” she said. “How are you? You seem
to be doing well down there.”
Yeah. “A nine-year-old could do that job.”
“Winter…” she scolded.
I wasn’t really joking, though. It was the truth. A typical
teenage job. While I didn’t need the money, it was nice to earn
my own cash and have something low-stress, so it didn’t
distract from school, but it was also a job she thought I could
do. She’d picked it for me.
And I wanted to do more.
I stood there, hovering, and she must’ve seen the look on
my face, because she stopped counting the money.
“You nearly broke an arm,” she reminded me, sighing.
I fell practicing over a year ago. Dancers fell and broke
bones all the time.
“You can’t dance with the corps,” she went on. “You learn
slower than we can work with. The wrong fall could kill you. I
mean…do you know what you’re asking of us, honey?”
My jaw locked, because she was tired of this conversation,
and I had no new arguments. I danced on that stage downstairs
many times when I was little. I danced at home with no
accidents. Yes, it took me longer to learn my stage, and I
would make everyone’s job just a little bit harder and that
sucked, but it wasn’t impossible. I’d gone over it in my head a
thousand times, mapping the choreography—mine and the
other dancers’. I just wanted a shot.
She rose from her chair, the wheels squeaking underneath,
and she pinched my chin lightly between her fingers.
“Challenges find us so we can become who we’re meant to
be,” she told me. “GGod has taken you on an exciting new path.
Trust his judgment and see where it leads.”
What the hell?
“I bought a first-class ticket,” I told her. “I’m not taking
the bus.”