Bunheads

Michelle:
Hey, did you break your legs?

Sasha:
What?

Michelle:
Are those prosthetics you had to carve yourself out of an old dining-room set? That's why you're late?

Sasha:
No.

Michelle:
Then what's your damage, Heather?

Sasha:
What?

Michelle:
Boy, if anyone should know that reference it's you. Stream it, download it, Wikipedia it, Google "people who steal for no reason whatsoever." Get to know the real you.

Sasha:
Why are you freaking out?

Michelle:
Because, Winona, you know you can't even be a minute late for class. Fanny's rule, not mine.

Sasha:
Fanny's not here.

Michelle:
Madame Fanny to you. And no, she's not here, but her class is, her studio is, and her rules sure as hell are. But you know all this, don't you? You know that this kind of behavior will not fly. I mean, forget whatever beef you think you have with me, but there are kids here who want to dance, friends of yours.

Sasha:
I don't have a beef with you.

Michelle:
Why are you doing this? Why are you forcing me into this role? I don't want to be this person, this authority figure. It's not me. And now you've got me talking about rules and your behavior, and I look stern and I think I wagged my finger. Did I wag my finger? You made me wag my finger! I'm not a disciplinarian. I'm not a grown-up! Well, I don't want to be! I'm not here to teach you anything. Except ballet. I am here to teach you ballet. So you have two minutes to get that hair in a bun and get your butt back to the barre or don't bother coming back to class. Period! [sotto voce as she leaves the room] Made me say period. Punk ass kid.