Anna might just be Maruac's best dancer. In fact, she's a national champion (though at the Academy, that alone isn't enough to be the best). Though a bit more top-heavy than most of her clubmates, it's impossible to tell onstage: Anna moves with swan-like grace, perfectly poised, synced so flawlessly with her music it can seem like famous symphonies were written just to describe the flowing movement of her body.

But no matter how many glowing reviews she gets, or how many talent scouts circle her like sharks, you wouldn't know it to talk with her. When the audience gasps in awe, Anna hears whispered criticism; while critics sing her praises, she tearfully declares herself an imposter. The same perfectionism that pushed her past her peers also made her hyperaware of mistakes (real or imagined) and cripplingly insecure. Normally, in the cutthroat world of dance, anything that pushes one to be better is good — but Anna is reaching for an impossibly high bar. She's turned down several potentially life-changing opportunities; there are even rumors that she is considering quitting dance altogether.

Anna's lack of confidence is more than merely a problem for the Dance Club, or even a tragedy of wasted talent. It's dangerous — for her. Her critically low self-esteem makes her uniquely vulnerable to those who would use it against her, be they toxic teens or predatory boys. Were this a ballet, she might find a happy ending — someone to love her unconditionally and, in doing so, slowly teach her to love herself. But healing a girl like her is a lot of work. And when the prize is a young dancer's body, the temptation to break her might prove too much.