It is her turn. All eyes on her as she takes a step out and a deep breath. She jumps in, and as the bubbles clear, she finds a position on the floor. The soft contemporary melody begins as she glides her way across the room. She is like the seaweed, the music, and the tide carrying her back and forth in the tiny room we are in together. Without hesitation, she keeps a constant flow that is sharp, but at the same time gentle, captivating my classmates and I as we watch in silence. Then I get stiff and shiver because the tide is cold and less welcoming. The music continues, and the waves suddenly get rough. I don't know what to do. I tumble around like a helpless crab being washed ashore. I struggle my way to the surface the current holding me back. She watches, she is judging me as I flop around on the hard studio floor. When I finally approach, I question myself, and I am ashamed of my performance. Then the wave comes in and carries just me back in, and I do it again. This time, she is not watching, I am alone. I am forced to put all of my trust into the tide or the music while it moves me to the shore. Suddenly the water feels less cold, the waves calm down, and I relax a little bit, and I feel a lot safer.