Une Fleure Fanée

Week 6 Part 4 (Wednesday)

     You can't even do your turns right, Lilliana. Pathetic. Just pathetic.

     "Late, Lilly. Late."

     Why can't you stay on beat, Lilliana?

     "Sarah what are you doing over there? Hit it on 'fun.' And the rest of you don't even know the counts. If I was judging right now, I would put you in this coffin with my remarks. You're not tight enough, you're not sharp enough on the movements. You don't have Brady to camouflage you. We can't send Brady over there doing an aerial walkover so that nobody looks over here at this big, hot mess we have going on. You think you're dancers, but I think you all have a lot to learn," Ms. Abby complains to us.

     You're not a real dancer, Lilliana. Real dancers are tight and sharp and turn out their heels and suck in their stomach and are skinny and beautiful. You are nothing like them. You will never be like them, Lilliana. Never.

     I wish the urges didn't make me hate myself when Ms. Abby gives me a critique. She means well. She just wants us to become better dancers. If she didn't critique me, I would never get better. But whenever she does, the urges pipe in, claiming that I'll never be a dancer whenever Ms. Abby gives me a critique.

     "You guys are done, go do some school. GiaNina, you're gonna work with me for half an hour for your solo. Go, now!" Ms. Abby yells at us and we run out to the dancer's den.

     We hear music playing as I manage to cram nearly all my school into the allotted time. I feel bad for GiaNina. She'll have to make her school up at her apartment, and on top of that, she gets possibly one of the worst solos that Ms. Abby has given out this season to date. It's also another jazz solo, and jazz isn't exactly her favorite.

    After GiaNina is done with that, we have lunch. I make sure to eat my celery sticks and grapes slowly. That's all I'm gonna have until dinner time. Savor it, Lilliana. Stuff is just going to get tougher for you. It still feels weird feeling the food in my stomach, since I nearly starved myself for two weeks, then realized I was going too far, and now I'm starting a boot camp almost to ease myself in.

     They also have cupcakes. No sweets or desserts, Lilliana. It will make you fat. I pass, and so does GiaNina, so I'm safe.

     Once we work in our group dance a bit more, we all take photos with Ms. Abby. Since I'm four and a half feet tall, I have to sit on Ms. Abby's lap just so I can be in frame. Then, we go home.

     "So, Gia, what do you think of the Snooki solo?" Mom asks in the car.

     "It's jazz, and I don't even know who Snooki is, and I'm from the Jersey shore," GiaNina replies.

     "I'm not even from that part of Jersey," Ms. Paolantonio complains, sipping on her coffee.

     "I'm gonna have to watch a couple episodes, I guess," GiaNina says, leaning against the seat.

     I stay quiet, not having anything to add to the conversation. I feel really bad for Gia. I've been here before. I've gotten a solo to spite my mother. I just hope she pulls it off well.

     Once we get home, I do some more schoolwork and then start taking down my room. I collapse my desk. I can learn in bed or at the small dining table. I don't have to take my dresser or bed frame. Those came with the apartment, along with all the big furniture. I'm not taking down anything else until the day we leave for the competition.

     My room looks really drab, like it's brand new. The only thing that has a personality is my rainbow sheets and pillows, as well as the photo frames I have of my family, Eva, and Violet.

     "Hey, Lilly, Ms. Abby wants to take you out to this sweet shop to talk, so be ready in ten minutes," Mom tells me.

      I freeze. I'm not going to be able to calculate the calories because I'm not gonna be able to control my order. But I smile and nod so Mom isn't suspicious. I pick a white shirt with multi-colored stripes and a pink corduroy overall dress to go over the shirt. I put in my LK clips and readjust my ponytail. You're gonna be so fat by the end of this, Lilliana. You can't even count your calories. And it's sweet.

     I sigh in defeat and make my way to the car. I'm shaking, but not noticeable to my Mom. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I don't want to be fat. I wanna please the urges and Ms. Abby, but I have to please Ms. Abby right now by contradicting the urges. Fake it, Lilliana. Ms. Abby is so detail-oriented, she'd notice.

     Ms. Abby and the camera crew are already there when we arrive. I hop out of the car with a fake smile and give Ms. Abby a hug. I walk ahead of her to the shop, ready to open the doors for her.

     "Have you been here before?" Ms. Abby asks me.

     "No," I reply back.

     "No, you haven't? It looks cute inside. It's like a little dollhouse," Ms. Abby comments as we approach the doors.

     After a bit of struggling, we manage to get her wheelchair through the doors and I take a seat. They bring out a row of tiny bonbon-like treats, and all I can think about is how many calories this is. I carefully take the one with the caramel sauce on it. It looks like it has the least amount of calories.

     "So I don't usually take just one student out. Usually I'm with the group or nobody at all. And I singled you out because I just feel like you're a little bit different than you were. This is not the same kid that was seven years old, that went out there and nailed every single number. You're the one that I brought back. You're the one that I wanted here. You have the technique and ability, so what's changed? You never made those mistakes in a group dance," Ms. Abby asks me.

     "Well, I just think that I'm paying too much attention to like the moms and all the drama and I feel like I get stressed out from everything. I think I just need to get my head in the like- in the room where I am," I tell Ms. Abby.

     I don't know if it's a lie. I'm getting stressed out by this urge, the fact that I'm fat, and the momma drama. I don't think it's a lie.

     "I agree a hundred percent. But you've been here before. You've worked with me. So I expect more out of you, especially without Brady. And I need you to be the Lilly that I know and love," Ms. Abby says.

     Tears well up in my eyes. I'm not the same Lilly. I'm not up to her standard. I'm not the one she can count on anymore.

     "Oh, don't cry. Come here. I don't want to see tears in anybody's eyes anymore," she says as I stand up so she can give me a hug.

     I sit back down and we start eating the sweets. I only eat like, four, which has to amount to like, a thousand calories. My stomach twists in agony and the urges are screaming at me. You're becoming so fat, Lilliana! Ms. Abby is going to kill you when she sees you in dance clothes unless you puke it up when you get home.

     Eventually, we go home, and I go straight to the shower. I'm so full from dessert, I'm not hungry for dinner. I hate the feeling. It's like a triggering alarm whenever I feel full. I get in the shower, and I stick the two fingers down my throat. It doesn't burn as much anymore. A concoction of sweet desserts comes up my mouth and into the shower drain.

     My nose bleeds again, and blood drips down my nose in the shower, looking strangely artistic on the white tile. I wash out my mouth in the shower, some of the water slipping down my throat. The other is gargled and spit out like mouthwash. I've avoided mouthwash since it has calories, so water is my alternative.

     A Rolling Stones T-shirt and black sweatpants are my pajamas tonight. I brush some hair and my teeth before deciding to weigh myself before bed this time. The TV is on loud enough. Beep. 72.6 pounds. Half a pound lost today. I should be losing more, but maybe I'm on a plateau. It's so frustrating. You're not losing weight fast enough, Lilliana. Hopefully tomorrow will fix that.

     I count my calories, making sure to halve the dessert calories because I threw them up. The total: 824 calories. I went over double my limit. But I punished myself by throwing up already. I look at the planner I wrote in my journal a couple days ago. Tomorrow's calorie limit: 100 calories. Back to nearly fasting. I can't even have strawberry yogurt tomorrow.

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