Une Fleure Fanée

Week 6 Part 3 (Tuesday)

     I bite my lip as tears spring in my eyes. I miss him a lot. He's like a big brother to me. And Mom wanted him to go. As much as I love her, I feel like I've been betrayed by my own mother.

    "Brady has been a decoy. He draws the focus somewhere else, but Brady's gone, so don't rely on him to mask the mistakes," Ms. Abby warns us.

     The moms stay silent and we have nothing more to stay. I look at myself in the mirror. I look emotionless on the outside, but I'm broken and numb on the inside. It's all your fault, Lilliana. All your fault that Brady isn't next to Savannah on the pyramid. That he's dancing back at Miami. It's all your fault, Lilliana.

     "Moving on to the pyramid," Ms. Abby continues, and I hold my breath, wondering what my placement is going to be.

     "At the bottom," Ms. Abby begins, fumbling with the piece of paper.

     I notice the blue shirt and the grey backdrop. It's my photo. My stomach sinks as I realize I'm at the bottom of the pyramid. I nod and smile sadly to mask my pain.

     "Lilly. Last week, you were actually facing the wrong direction in part of the group routine. You've messed up in a dance almost every single week. I expect more from you. Shame on you," Ms. Abby explains.

    Ms. Abby's right. Shame on you, Lilliana. You're a horrible dancer. You don't deserve to be anywhere other than the bottom of the pyramid, let alone dance at the studio. You should just go back to North Carolina. You should just go home. I have to say something.

     "I think I deserve to be there, because I didn't prove to you that I should be anywhere else," I say out loud.

     Ms. Abby does a wiggle like she's considering something or thinking of what to say next or soaking it in, ending with, "Okay."

     "Next... Hannah. Hannah, it's aggravating that I hand-chose you from kids from all over the country, and you're getting seventh. Seventh place has no place on this team. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Ms. Abby asks.

     Uh oh. Hannah is one of the quietest kids on camera. She freezes up and panics. I hope she'll say something. We wait. We hear a faint hum, but no words come out. I feel so bad for her. When I was on the team a year or two ago, I was quiet like her. I get how she feels. But Hannah's not seven. She's thirteen. Hannah shrugs, not knowing what to say.

     "I thought she did a fantastic job. She went out there, she gave it her all," Ms. Colin speaks up, defending her daughter.

     "Okay, Ann, if that was her all, her all is not good enough," Ms. Abby tells Ms. Colin.

     Hannah's good enough. I'm terrified that Hannah's going to believe Ms. Abby. She may not be perfect, but I'm not either.

     "She didn't exceed your expectations?" Ms. Colin asks Ms. Abby, pissed at the comment Ms. Abby just said.

     "She exceeded my expectations for the Hannah that I know. Is that the Hannah that's gonna make it in the business? Hell no," Ms. Abby confesses.

     She'll make it. She'll make it. Hannah is such a good dancer. Burlesque wasn't her forte, and that's okay. We all have our forte. Mine is ballet and acro. Her's is not jazz, and that's okay. But it's not okay for Ms. Abby.

     "As an educator you should-" Hannah's mom begins, but Ms. Abby cuts her off, flipping out, flailing her hands.

     Hannah's mom messed up. Big.

     "Wait a minute! The hick from Indiana is gonna tell me, who I have taught all over the world, what an educator is?" Ms. Abby yells, Ms. Hosbach losing it when Ms. Abby said "hick."