The Shoes That Wouldn't Stop Dancing

Ava had a ballet show on Saturday. The costume was ready. The music was learned. But inside Ava's tummy, a hundred butterflies fluttered. "What if I forget? What if I fall? What if everyone watches me… ALL?" The more Ava worried, the bigger the butterflies grew. Then, on Friday night, came a knock at the door.

A parcel sat waiting, with no name and no note. Inside lay ballet shoes, pink and silver, with ribbons that glowed. They shimmered like moonlight on a silvery sea. Ava touched one gently. TINKLE! The shoes gave a wiggle. They gave a jiggle. Then both shoes tapped out a tiny tune. Tap, tap, TAPPITY-TAP!

Ava tied the ribbons. The left foot went TAP. The right foot went TWIRL. Then… WHOOSH! The shoes danced straight through the door and down the street. "Wait!" cried Ava. "I haven't said goodbye!" But the shoes had their own ideas. They leapt over a puddle, spun round a sign, and danced towards the bakery in a flurry of twine.

Past the bakery they danced. Twirl and leap and tap, tap, tap! The shoes won't stop, so clap, clap, clap! The baker spun round to get out of the way. His flour went POOF! Like a snowstorm in May. He stood with white hair and a moustache of snow. "Would you care for a bun?" he asked. "Perhaps when I stop!" called Ava on the go.

Through the park they danced, with a hop and a glide. A duck waddled after them, then three more joined the ride. One, two, three… QUACK! One, two, three… QUACK! Soon there was a line of ducks dancing behind. They bobbed and they wobbled in perfect time. Ava giggled. For one little moment, the butterflies were quiet.

The shoes danced straight through the fountain. SPLOSH! Went the water. SPLASH! Went the spray. The whole town came out to watch them play. Nobody laughed. Nobody stared. They clapped to the rhythm and cheered as they danced. "Twirl and leap and tap, tap, tap! The shoes won't stop, so clap, clap, clap!" But Ava was getting dizzy. "How do I make them stop?"

"Don't stop!" called the postman, attempting a twirl. He spun round so fast that his letters took flight! They fluttered like pigeons all over the street. One landed on a duck. One stuck to Ava's feet. The shoes danced on, but Ava's smile grew small. "I want to stop dancing," she called to them all. Then the shoes turned towards a tall, old door… An old theatre, quiet, with dust on the floor.

The shoes danced through the theatre doors, up the steps, past the seats, across the old wooden floor. Then they leapt onto the stage. A single spotlight shone down. For the first time all evening, there was no sound. In the front row sat an old lady, smiling. "Ah," she said softly. "You've found my shoes." Ava stared. "Your shoes?"

"I wore those shoes a long, long time ago," she said. "I was frightened before my first show, too. My knees wobbled. My hands felt cold. I worried I'd forget what I knew." "What did you do?" asked Ava. "I listened," said the old lady. "The music does the remembering. Your feet know more than your worries do."

The old lady knelt and untied the silver ribbons. At once, the shoes stood perfectly still. No tap. No twirl. Not even a wiggle. Ava took a breath. The butterflies were still there, but smaller now. "Are the shoes magic?" asked Ava. "Perhaps," said the old lady. "But magic can only help you begin. The dancing has always been yours."

On Saturday, the curtain rose. The lights glowed warm. The music began. Ava felt the butterflies flutter once more. Then came the first note. And the next. Ava listened. One step, then another. A turn, a leap, a smile. The feet remembered. The heart caught up. And the dance flowed on.

When the music stopped, the theatre burst into cheers. Ava bowed, beaming from ear to ear. In the front row sat the old lady, clapping loudest of all. Beside her were the floury baker, the postman, and a line of very proud ducks. That night, the silver shoes rested beside Ava's bed. One gave a tiny tap. The other gave a tiny twirl. And somewhere, deep in Ava's tummy, the butterflies began to dance.