Une Fleure Fanée

Week 4 Part 4 (Thursday)

     As suspected, I can barely walk because I'm so sore from last night. But I have to hide the grimaces of pain. I have to be happy, or someone will think something is up with me. Enough people are already suspicious.

     Eggs are protein. I think eggs are a safe food. But salt and cheese aren't. I don't eat dairy anyway. So I eat a plain egg. One plain scrambled egg. 91 calories. Every calorie I eat is a failure. I just had 91 failures.

     My hands are shaky and my whole body shivers when I pick up a utensil because I'm afraid to eat. How did I go so far so fast? I thought this would be slower. But anorexia has hit me like a truck. When will somebody notice? How did I get here? My mind is so jumbled. I think dancing will unjumble it.

     There's a rumor that's been circulating around that Vivi-Anne from Candy Apples Dance Center is going to do a tap duet with her tap partner. That's why Ms. Abby was so annoyed yesterday. Because she's scared of Vivi-Anne. But she's feeling better now. It just means that there is now more pressure on us to perform.

     Hannah and Sarah are all over my case. I have to assure them that I'm fine. But Sarah needed the distraction. She basically got a dagger shot through the heart yesterday. She doesn't suck. Sarah is a beautiful dancer.

     But I notice that Ms. Abby is spending all of her time with Brady and Pressley's duo. Our group dance isn't even done yet and we're leaving for competition in like one day. It's either favoritism or poor time management. Probably the first. Mom isn't too happy. I can hear constant arguing between Mom and Brady's mom about how he doesn't get corrections, and that because he's a boy he gets more advantages.

     I agree with Mom halfway, but I think the only reason she's focusing on Brady is that the girls, including me, are missing something that Brady has dance-wise.

     One of us is getting sent home, and since Brady is a superstar, it's probably going to be me. You didn't prove anything last week Lilliana. Eventually, I'm called for my duet with Hannah. We have to learn it and perfect it within an hour. This is the only time we're getting. That's 60 minutes to learn a 2-minute dance. It may seem like a lot of time, but it's not.

     The dance is about a big sister and a little sister. I'm the little sister. The big sister is Hannah. The big sister is a failure to the family, and I'm supposed to be perfect. You're the failure in real life, Lilliana. You can't do anything right.

     I know how to be mean and small and fragile all while having a smile on my face, which is good for the dance. But I don't like the idea. I don't like putting Hannah down. She's just as good of a dancer as me. And I think Ms. Abby is putting her opinions in this dance. This is basically my solo and Hannah is following me. It's not fair.

     "Tendu. In, change your weight. Lilly, I want you to suck your stomach in a bit," Ms. Abby critiques.

     That hurt. I am sucking in my stomach. Learn something from her critiques, Lilliana. Suck it in harder. Ms. Abby quickly moves onto Hannah, who gives me a sad smile. She doesn't like it when Ms. Abby picks on me about my weight.

     Ms. Abby claims that I made the mistake of picking the tallest girl and the oldest girl in the group. Yet, I'm doing better than Hannah. Hannah is doing fine, but Ms. Abby doesn't like how she's doing compared to me.

     Suddenly, Hannah doesn't fix something because she doesn't know how and Ms. Abby wouldn't tell her. Now she has to do 50 push-ups to get her arm strength up and for punishment because Ms. Abby doesn't think she can lift me. But the truth is I'm too heavy. That's why I'm losing weight.

     Hannah's mom is freaking out. I'm freaking out internally. Hannah's freaking out. This is so dysfunctional.

     Eventually, we learn the dance and we have lunch. Or more, everybody else has lunch, while I have a single bite of my sandwich, which is an estimated 15 calories. They brush it off. I think everybody heard that I threw up yesterday, so they're probably looking at me not eating with the perspective that I'm afraid of eating the sandwich. And that's true, but the motive behind it is false. They think I'm not eating because the sandwich made me throw up yesterday. I'm not eating the sandwich because I will become fat if I don't. It's a fear food now. Don't eat any more than that bite, Lilliana. You can't if you want to be skinny and beautiful.

     We head home from the day after a couple more hours of dance. Hannah comes over to hang out and get away from her apartment. Her mom has been putting a lot of pressure on her because everybody thinks Hannah is the underdog.

     Turns out, Hannah is quite talkative when she isn't in a dance environment. She and I take turns trying to throw popcorn into our mouths. I purposely make sure she misses so that I don't have that disgusting salted mushy corn touch my mouth. But she and I still have fun hanging out together.

     Later tonight, I barely have any dinner: three baby carrots and half a chicken breast. I still feel like I had to work out. I did six hours of dance today, but it doesn't feel like enough. But I know I'm going to regret it if I do or don't exercise. Exercise, Lilliana. You didn't do enough today. Fine, I'll do 100 sit-ups. Hopefully, that'll be enough.

     I weigh myself after I do my 100 sit-ups, my abs feeling like they are on fire. 78 pounds. I lost .8 pounds in a day. Two pounds in 3 days. I don't care if this is wrong. I know that in a day, I'm going to a competition with no scale. And we're going out to dinner the night we go to the hotel. I can't bring my journal either. But I'm pretty good at remembering things. If I can remember choreography for one to two dances, I can certainly remember my calorie intake.

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