Une Fleure Fanée

Week 5 Part 5 (Friday)

     It's a lyrical solo. It has to have emotion and fluidity. It's very similar to contemporary. Lyrical is also GiaNina's best and favorite style of dance. She also has to nail this or else she'll be sent home. And I'll be the only one in my apartment complex. Whoopee.

     Next is Hannah's jazz solo. I watched a bit of Gypsy Rose Lee's work during a lunch break. It's not Hannah's fault, but even if she did have better expressions, the choreography does not encapsulate Gypsy Rose Lee. But she still manages to give off some impression of a burlesque dancer, kind of?

     After that is Pressley. Poor Pressley. She hates horror movies. She's either forced to watch them by us, or she's forced to watch them because every single solo that she's had so far is horror-themed. But Pressley is almost as creepy as I am on stage, so it looks good. Not perfect, but good.

     Last is Brady. We all watched intently at the swan themed ballet solo. It's really good. The expressions are perfect, the fluidity yet sharpness of the moves are perfect, the swan character is perfect. It's just perfect. You're never gonna be perfect, Lilliana. Not even close.

     Once that is over, we motion our hands to the viewing box for our moms to come down. They seem angered, and they have every reason to be. They stand in a line away from us so they can face Ms. Abby

     "Moms, do you understand there's a lot on the line for your solos?" Ms. Abby asks the moms.

     A chorus of very annoyed yeses are used as a response. This whole week has been about the solos and Brady. Nothing else but the solos and Brady. For once, I'm glad I don't have a solo. I don't need to be part of the chaos. You're already part of this chaos that's inside your brain, Lilliana. Too late.

     Ms. Abby continues, "Out of the girls we have dancing, I don't know Gianna. I think somebody from another studio is gonna take the win."

     "No, Brady's gonna win," Ms. Farrar snarkily snaps at Ms. Abby, pissed at her right now.

     "Well yeah. Brady's gonna win," Ms. Abby corrects herself as Brady's mom begins to talk.

     "You say that you want seven stars, right? Well Brady's a superstar. Find six more Bradys. If they can't dance with him, send them home! It's not your fault your kid is not as good as my kid. Stupid Abby. Send them all home," Brady's mom yells at Ms. Abby.

     You're never good enough, Lilliana. You will never be as good as Brady or Hannah or GiaNina or Pressley or anybody. You're just a piece of trash. It's really upsetting to hear your teammate's mom say that about you. I looked unfazed on the outside. I had to deal with Brynn's mom when I was seven. I can handle Brady's mom. I think.

     Brady's getting sent home to "see what the girls are made of." We weren't good enough. We didn't prove ourselves to Ms. Abby, and now Brady is paying the consequences. Maybe if we do really well, Brady won't have to be sent home.

     Right after that little yelling episode, we're told to grab our things and get on the bus. After I stow away my stuff in the baggage compartments, keeping my little carry-on, I find a place to sit. It's next to Hannah. I look at Brady. Savannah's there to keep him company, luckily.

     I notice a big bag of Chick-Fil-A next to the moms. They got Chick-Fil-A for us for the bus ride. Great. I have to eat an entire Chick-Fil-A meal.

     "Lilly. Lilly, tell me what's wrong," Hannah quietly mumbles to me, putting a hand on my knee.

     I look down at where Hannah's hand is. My legs and arms are shaking. I've gone pale. My breath is quick and heavy. I can't eat Chick-Fil-A. Nobody gets it, and nobody will ever get it unless they're anorexic. And unless they're hiding it really well, nobody else is anorexic.

     "I-I'm fine. I just can't stop thinking about what Brady's mom said. I'm a good dancer, right?" I ask, already knowing that she's going to say that I am.

     Hannah's face immediately falls as she quickly comforts me, rubbing my knee, "Of course you're a good dancer, Lilly. Don't ever doubt that."

     Lies. All lies, Lilliana. Hannah's just too nice and quiet to tell you otherwise. Don't ever believe anybody that tells you that you are good enough. Because you can always lose an extra pound or two. Or an extra inch or two. I give a fake small smile.

     "Thank you. You're a really good dancer too," I said back, pulling my laptop from my bag so I can do my day of schoolwork. I don't want to make it up when we get back on Sunday.

     Around an hour after we leave, Pressley's mom starts handing out some Chick-Fil-A. I thank her, but I just stare at the food. Six grilled chicken nuggets and a fruit cup. Hannah's eating her chicken sandwich like she didn't care. You know what to do, Lilliana. I can throw it up later.

     Eating the six grilled chicken nuggets and the fruit cup is traumatizing. It seems any time I eat, I'm traumatized. I'm really lucky that it's the healthiest thing on the menu. Making sure nobody could see, I discreetly look up the calories on my phone. The grilled chicken nuggets are 100 calories. The fruit cup is 50 calories.

     I do manage to finish the plate, but I'm almost crying by the end. But it's the first day of March, so it's becoming allergy season. So I'm able to play it off as allergies. My stomach feels full and it's sickening.

     About half an hour later, we arrive at the hotel. It's really nice. I claim a bottom bunk this time. GiaNina claims the top bunk above me. If I throw up, I don't want to climb down a ladder. It makes more sound.

     It's only around noon. We have to do about an hour of school before we can go look around for some landmarks of Scranton, like the bar that they used in The Office. I have to write an entire chapter of an online textbook. Some of the other kids seem like they're struggling with some work. Oof. I manage to throw up during this hour without anyone noticing.

     About an hour and a half later, we're allowed to go sightseeing and also to the outlets to grab stuff last-minute for some costumes. Brady's mom stays behind. My stomach isn't hurting from hunger and I hate it. I may have thrown up half the calories, but I still ate 75 calories. I feel so gross.

     We find Lake Scranton, Alfredo's Pizza, and we get to shop at the Steamtown Mall, which is more like a marketplace. We're missing an outfit for GiaNina. After multiple stores, we find this white bra that Ms. Abby wants a snow frill on and a white frilly skirt that Ms. Abby also wants a snow frill on.

     Her waist is only 2 inches bigger than mine. She's also 3 years older than me. You need to lose some weight, Lilliana Look at yourself! You're so fat! I'm off for the rest of the day, putting on pretend smiles and pretend faces.

     We take a lot of social media photos, which we can't post until June. We all look so happy in the photos and videos when inside, everybody is hurting. By the time we get back, it's only six, and we're very tired.

    We occasionally go over the dances, making sure our supporting feet aren't turned in or out, our hips are in place, and our legs are straight, but most of the time, we watch a movie in the small lounge room that is away from the bunk beds. Except for the occasional staff member checking in on us, we were alone.

     We all clock in around eight-thirty, which is very early. I nearly have an anxiety attack for not being able to weigh myself, but I managed to internalize it. Not being able to know how much you weigh is terrifying. It's like doing a rope course with a harness that may or may not be faulty.

     I make sure to face the wall when I sleep, so nobody can see the silent tears falling down my face. Everything is going so wrong. Brady's leaving, GiaNina may leave, I'm not losing enough weight. None of my coping mechanisms for throwing up are working anymore. I'm having night terrors. I'm not a good enough dancer. I just need to sleep...

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