Dancing has always been natural for me.

      When I put on a pair of pointe shoes, it's like I become someone else, a girl who doesn't know what limits are. And if anyone doubts my talent, the medals and trophies stored on my shelf are there to confirm it.

      Dance made all the difference in my life, it rescued me from a dull existence and made me, a poor black girl, feel good at something.

      That's right. I'm a black ballerina. In fact, I'm the only black ballerina in a class full of white girls with an arrogance the size of the world. But that's not a reason for me to feel inferior, on the contrary. It's what motivates me to succeed and prove that talent has no color.

      But until the world applauds me standing up, I dance every day to gain technique, artistic expression, and strength.

      I'm the first one to arrive at the studio. I like to warm up in the room before class starts because I need to practice steps, turns, and jumps, and that's only possible when I don't hear those conversations that have nothing to do with ballet, about boys, that some of the dancers always have.

      As soon as I put on my long-sleeved black leotard and tie the ribbons of my pointe shoes, I make the bun, pinning it with hairpins, and leave the dressing room towards the studio. There are pictures of dancers who studied at Fernanda Rossini Dance School on the two walls of the hallway. Our studio is small, but also one of the most traditional in Campos do Jordão. Mrs. Fernanda can boast of having trained dancers who now dance in good companies.

      On the small flat-screen tv attached to the wall support of the secretary's desk, which is occupied by the efficient Marta, a reporter is broadcasting coverage of a dance festival in Germany. I join Nadia and Rabechi, watching a brown-haired girl with blue eyes, white skin, and braces, giving an interview to the woman.

      People consider this girl simply the best ballerina of the current generation.

      Simone Candice Liukin. Despite the russian name, she is american and has the self-confidence of those born in the United States. She also has the arrogance of Americans, thinks like an american girl.

      The girl won first place in all the modalities she competed in this festival, dethroning the self-sufficient Russians and Koreans, which makes her a princess of ballet shoes.

      "Is it possible to beat her?" Nadia asks, not hiding that she is a fan of the ballerina.

      I bite my lips, cross my arms, and turn my back to my colleagues. I head towards my place at the barre.

      Yes, it's possible to beat her, I tell myself.

      I hold the barre with both hands, and it seems that I already feel, inside me, the first chords of a classical music piece, sweeping me away and giving me strength.

      Just one last time, I visualize images of the TV showing Simone, jumping and spinning as if nothing could stop her.

      I close my eyes, starting my warm-up on my toes.

      I can beat her.