The Snowflake Ballerina a personalized book with your child as the hero

Ella loved to dance more than anything in the world. She danced in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, she danced down the path to school, and twice a week she danced at the little studio on the corner, where a long mirror ran along one wall and a wooden barre ran beneath it.

One sunny Saturday, Madame Rosa clapped her hands for quiet. "I have news," she said, and pointed to a new poster on the wall: a silver snowflake glittering on a deep blue sky. "This year's winter show will be called *The Snow Garden*. And the Snowflake solo will be danced by…" She smiled at Ella. "You."

Ella gasped. The Snowflake! She would dance alone, in the middle of the stage, in a white costume with silver sparkles.

"There is one big pirouette in the middle," said Madame Rosa. "A whole turn on one foot, right on the music."

Ella nodded happily. A pirouette. How hard could it be?

She pressed her heels together in first position, bent her knees in a soft plié, and rose up onto the balls of her feet. She turned. The room whirled. The mirror whirled. Her foot wobbled, her arms flew out, and — *bump* — she sat down hard on the wooden floor.

She tried again. Plié, rise, turn… wobble… *bump.*

By the tenth bump Ella's cheeks were hot and pink. "I can't do it," she whispered. "Everyone else can, and I can't."

Madame Rosa came and knelt beside her. "Do you know a secret?" she said. "Every dancer you have ever seen on a stage learned by falling down and getting up again. Every single one. Falling is not the opposite of dancing. It is part of learning to dance."

She took a small gold star from her pocket and pressed it onto the mirror at the height of Ella's eyes. "Here is a dancer's trick. It is called *spotting*. When you turn, keep your eyes on the star for as long as you can. Let your body go round first and your head turn last, quick as a blink, and find the star again. Then the room will stop spinning, and you will stay on your feet."

Ella tried it. She looked at the star. She turned. Her head whipped round — and there was the star again. She still wobbled, but this time she didn't fall.

"You don't have to be perfect today," said Madame Rosa. "You only have to be a little better than yesterday."

That evening Ella cut a star out of yellow paper and taped it to the living-room wall. Beside it she pinned a calendar. Every night after dinner she pushed the coffee table aside, stood on the rug, and practised: plié, rise, spot, turn. Some nights she fell. Some nights she didn't. And every night, before bed, she drew a little tick on the calendar. One tick. Two ticks. A whole row of ticks.

At the studio, Ella noticed that her friend Noor kept landing her big leap with a stumble. Noor's face looked exactly the way Ella's face had looked on the day of the ten bumps.

"Let's practise together," said Ella. "I'll count for you, and you count for me."

So they took turns. "Five, six, seven, eight!" Ella clapped, and Noor leaped. "Five, six, seven, eight!" Noor clapped, and Ella turned. When Noor landed her leap at last, both of them squealed so loudly that Madame Rosa laughed out loud.

Then, before anyone was quite ready, it was the night of the show.

Behind the heavy red curtain, the air smelled of warm lights and hairspray. Ella stood in her white snowflake costume and felt a hundred butterflies flutter in her tummy. Her hands were shaking. What if she fell in front of everyone?

She remembered what Madame Rosa had taught them for moments like this. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly while she counted to four. She held it for a moment. Then she breathed out slowly, counting to four again. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Little by little, the butterflies settled down.

The music began. Ella floated onto the stage, light as a snowflake, and danced the first part just as she had practised it. Then came the moment. Plié. Rise. Turn —

Her foot wobbled.

But Ella didn't stop. At the very back of the dark hall there was a tiny glowing light above the door. She found it, fixed her eyes on it, let her head turn last, and found it again. And there, in the middle of the glittering stage, she spun one perfect pirouette, as smooth as snow sliding off a roof. She danced the rest of the solo with a smile she couldn't have hidden if she had tried.

When the last note faded, the hall burst into applause. In the front row, her family were on their feet, waving a big bunch of flowers. Madame Rosa hurried onto the stage and hugged her.

"What made you shine tonight wasn't only the spin," she said. "It was practising every single evening and never giving up, even after all those bumps."

After the show, a little girl from the audience came shyly up to Ella, holding her programme tight. "I want to be a snowflake one day," she said.

Ella knelt down until they were face to face. "Then don't be afraid to fall," she whispered. "Every dancer falls. You can do it too."