7/3/20 I just started this journal today. I don't usually write in journals because I have no need for them, but this year is definitely an exception. The coronavirus pandemic is freaking everyone out, including me. You wouldn't believe how berserk my family is going at the moment. My mom has taken out her worries on bottles of hand sanitizer, believing that if we applied sanitizer every few seconds to our hands, we should be okay. My dad has stayed home from his office and doesn't go out without a pair of gloves. And my little sister Ella? She's screaming like a little maniac and crying every night, worried that our parents would die of the virus. Things have definitely started to go bananas. 7/4/20 This morning Ella woke me up and asked me to read her a chapter of Treasure Island, as she always does. After I had read her some, she climbed into my bed and refused to get out. “I guess I'll have to sleep on top of you, then,” I crooned mischievously. Ella shrieked. She hated when I went on top of her, because, what little sister doesn't want a seventy-three pound eleven-year-old girl knocking the breath out of her at eight ‘o ‘clock in the morning? Ella's cries woke up my mother; I heard her stirring under her covers in the next room. “Quick! Ella! Pretend you're sleeping!” I hissed. We both leapt into the covers and shut our eyes tight. Mom entered the room in her pajamas, covered in little beagles with floating hearts. She had her brown hair tied back into a bun. “Girls, stop pretending to sleep.” We continued to keep our eyes closed. “Open your eyes before I do it,” she said sternly. We all knew what “do it” was. And none of us liked it. But still we pretended to sleep. Even though my look-sees were shut, I could swear that a smile was creeping up her lips. “Alright, I'll do it!” she quipped, and whistled for our fluffy cocker spaniel, Graham Cracker. The dog flew through the door and pounced on us, slobbering and licking our faces all over and jumping on us until we laughed. “I knew you were awake!” triumphed Mom. “What's going on?” Dad's groggy voice interrupted our commotion as he stumbled into the room. “Uh-oh,” Ella whispered. “Daddy's gonna get real mad.” I sighed. We were going grocery shopping today. That meant more gloves, more hand sanitizer, and more masks. Ugh. 7/8/20 On only my third entry, right now, I can't believe that Ella's gotten the coronavirus. We had gone to the clinic for testing, yesterday, and the results came out today. Everyone got negative. All except Ella. I hope she gets better. That's all I feel like I should be writing today. 7/9/20 My family has fallen into a deep depression for Ella; nothing can saver her. Nothing. No vaccination. No cure. Nothing. We used to see each other every morning, but I can't anymore. My parents are keeping her from me for fear that I might catch the virus too. 7/10/20 Today, when I woke up in the morning, I half expected Ella to jump on me and pull out Treasure Island. But instead, I found my room empty, without anyone inside it except me. I sighed and crawled out of my bed. I grabbed Treasure Island out of my bookshelf and opened the bedroom door, careful not to let it creak. I crept across on tiptoes to Ella's room. I knew I wasn't supposed to go inside, but I did anyway. I didn't care if I got the virus anymore. I gently pushed the book under her pillow and walked out back to my own room. 8/4/20 ELLA HAS GOTTEN BETTER! I still can't quite get my mind around it. It feels like something come straight out of a movie. How is she even alive? Questions linger in my mind. But the only thing that matters is that Ella is here. Our lives will never be the same again, but this is an extraordinary time in a very dark pandemic. All because of the Covid Craze.

“And...Aster, you're up!" I shakily drew in a breath and bent down to check if my en pointe shoes were tied. Why did the air suddenly seem so cold? Why were chills running up my spine? And why, out of all things, was I scared? It's gonna be alright, I assured myself. My brain believed it, but my heart didn't. It beat fast, as if it was saying, "Oh, I'm not sure..." My friend Wonder's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Pssst. Aster, go on," She nudged me with her elbow. "You can do this!" Wonder's sunny, smiling face encouraged me, but didn't do much to move my fears. "I can't do it." "What?" Wonder's face fell. "I just can't. I'm too scared." "But you can do it!" Wonder protested. "Then how do I do it?" "Just face your fears." * * * The first time my mother told me to try ballet, I was really skeptical. Ballet? Really? With music that goes, dodo-do-do? Nope, not for me. Then, she MADE me try it, which I complained about for a long time. She pushed me into our custom-made Porsche car and said, "You can't think that ballet is terrible before you've even tried it." Sigh. Grown-ups. "I still think ballet is a waste of time and torrible." I declared with a matter-of-fact look on my face, staring at her through the rear view mirror with my brown eyes. "Oh, Aster," murmured Mum. "Using words you've made up." I did make up words if there wasn't a good enough word in Merriam Webster's dictionary. Terrible and horrible both sounded the same and meant the same thing, so I decided to merge them to create, "Torrible". It's a word that's twice as strong than your ordinary negative adjective. Once we got to the ballet studio, I crossed my arms to make myself seem like I meant business and didn't want to be there. "Welcome!" cried a bright-eyed woman. "I'm Madame Natalia!" She had her hazel hair in a tight bun and was wearing a black leotard paired with white tights and ballet shoes. "Please come inside!" I reluctantly entered the studio. It had glossy walls, wooden bars, and a huge mirror at the very front. I had thought that ballet was going to be boring. Boy, was I wrong. Ballet now seemed like it was part of everything in my life now. It was in my schedule, and I tried to do anything to please Madame Natalia. I was having so much fun doing pliés and tendus and pirouettes that I even forgot how I first felt like when I went to the studio! It was as if I couldn't feel that way about ballet anymore. Soon, three years had passed and I was a high-level fifteen year old. Madame Natalia had long gone; I now had a teacher named Madame Trance. Her name suited her. She looked as if she had been taking too many sleeping pills. Her blonde hair always seemed to float and her gray eyes were always dreamy as if she were far, far away from the studio. One day Madame Trance said, “Aster, there's going to be a competition at the Lincoln Center Ballet Stage. Do you want to go for it?” My eyes grew wide. A competition? For real?“YES!” I shouted, jumping up and down. Madame looked at me disapprovingly and shook her head. “What's wrong Madame?” I asked, cocking my head, settling down again. “Oh, dear. The people downstairs will complain again.” I grinned sheepishly, embarrassed. * * * So here I was, at Lincoln Center making a fool out of myself. My brain had already confirmed that I couldn't bring myself to dance on the ballet stage. I had looked down at my feet and moped. Then, Wonder had given me one of the best pieces of advice that I had ever heard in my life: "Face your fears". I looked up. Wonder nodded. I thought about spiders. Poison. War. Stage fright, and another gazillion things that I never knew that I was afraid of. "If you're ever gonna do something in life," soothed Wonder, bring me back into the present, "If you're ever gonna try something new, you have to go face-to-face with whatever you're afraid of." She stared at me so intently that I snickered."Wow!" I laughed. "You sound just like a teacher!" "Thank you."Wonder giggled. "Number 26, are you coming? I repeat, number 26, are you coming?" I inhaled deeply and stepped forward. I put on my best calm face. It didn't matter which place I came in. All that mattered was that I had faced my fears.