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On this recent morning, the happiest dancers at the National Ballet School in Toronto are the ones who can't pirouette, learned to dance six months ago and usually rehearse in a portable classroom, not a sunlit, state-of-the art facility. Their school burned down two years ago, and hasn't been rebuilt.

The kids from Pikangikum, Ont., a fly-in community 230 kilometres north of Kenora once dubbed the Suicide Capital of the World, laugh as they assemble at one end of the giant studio. But as a Ne-Yo tune booms and their routine begins, their stone faces reflect the weight of their mission.

Next week, they will perform this routine in front of 800 people, one-third the size of their 2,400-person Ojibwa reserve.

“It's awesome,” D.J. Turtle, 13, said later.

“I'm pumped,” offered Jennilee Turtle, 16.

Their instructor, Tracee Smith, stands in front of the mirror and shouts “5-6-7-8” and “no spaghetti arms!”

The 30-year-old dancer and choreographer has been prodding this group of 12- to 20-year-olds since October, when she flew to Pikangikum with a promise: work hard, attend class, make rehearsals – and I'll bring you to Toronto for two weeks where you'll visit MuchMusic, work with professional dancers, then take centre stage.

Her new program, Outside Looking In, is Ms. Smith's way of giving back. The daughter of a Scottish father and Cree mother, she grew up taking dance classes in Port Colborne, Ont., and went on to achieve her MBA. The program, which gained charitable status this year, is less about dance steps than opening kids' eyes to a world outside their stricken communities.

But Pikangikum, like many of Canada's most troubled reserves, is a magnet for well-intentioned outsiders with promises. Ninety per cent of the reserve's homes lack sewer service, and a single diesel generator provides all its electricity. When Mick Stageer, the principal at the local secondary school, arrived a decade ago, the staff turnover rate was 20 per cent. Teachers were lucky if three out of 15 registered students came to class. That year, seven kids in his Grade 7 class alone committed suicide.

Mr. Stageer's efforts to attract and retain good teachers has helped elevate class attendance rates to between 50 and 80 per cent, he said. So when he sat in the audience and watched Outside Looking In's inaugural performance in Toronto last year, he saw another way to pull students away from alcohol and gas sniffing and into class. “I was selfish,” he said. “I wanted the program for my kids.”

He convinced Ms. Smith to double her workload: To teach his students to dance she would need to fly regularly to both Pikangikum and Lac La Croix, a small Northern Ontario reserve about four hours from Thunder Bay that took part in the program's pilot and was back for a second year.

When Ms. Smith flew to Pikangikum in October with her pitch, 144 students signed up. The fire left the school with a cluster of portables and no gym, so they crammed into the local hockey arena, and Ms. Smith taught them moves on the dirty floor.

“They were all uncomfortable and nervous,” she said. They also seemed skeptical, she said, of yet another outsider with a promise. “They have lots of people come to the reserve and never come back.”

Ms. Smith returned every two weeks, adding new choreography and cleaning up the old moves. A group of teachers led the practices – an hour every day after school – between her visits.

The drop-out rate was steep. But the 14 students who remained learned to move in unison and hold their arms strong. Teachers were amazed by other changes. Kids who normally shunned eye contact now held their heads up. Even when temperatures dropped to minus 35 and the school closed, dancers showed up for practice. Among the older dancers, the only male is a 20-year-old father of a four-year-old daughter who had dropped out of school several times. His grades now hover around 90 per cent.

Before leaving for Toronto, the students wowed parents and community members at a talent show. “She's the first kid of mine to do this kind of stuff,” said Edna Quill, the proud mother of 15-year-old Starlene Quill, who will perform a solo within her group's performance.

Last Saturday, after a 45-minute flight and 30-hour train ride, they arrived in Toronto, many for the first time. The dancers hit the CN Tower, then a Toronto FC football game. They also met the dancers from Lac La Croix: eight students who had also been hard at work on their routine.

“It feels like coming home,” said Lance Geyshick, 13, the only dancer who took part in the program both years.

On Monday morning, each group danced their number in front of the other. They also met professional dancers from New York and Toronto who will perform in a finale with all the kids next Wednesday night. They were nervous.

“You guys are going to support each other and be nice to each other,” Ms. Smith said, unnecessarily as it turned out. When one Pikangikum girl blanked on her steps, the Lac La Croix kids clapped in encouragement. Boys from different communities taught each other moves.

The dancers will perform at St. Lawrence Centre for the Arts. In the audience will be people they know: About 100 parents, teachers and community leaders will travel from Pikangikum to Toronto, and Lac La Croix First Nation is sending 30 people. Hundreds more dignitaries, politicians and VIPs will attend.

If the steps aren't perfect, Ms. Smith isn't worried. And the dancers aren't daunted. Asked what he was most looking forward to, 20-year-old Alexander Quill said simply: “the show.”