Une Fleure Fanée

Week 8 Part 2 (Monday)

     She seems happy and chipper. I think she's around seven or eight. All seven and eight-year-olds don't understand the crushing disappointments of life. I mean, I did. I learned when I was seven.

     She's good at tap, but she has to learn a lot of stuff really quickly to keep up for us. She's advanced, but not as advanced. Still, she's really impressive and she knows a lot for her age. She's bubbly and fun like a seven or eight-year-old. Maybe she'll be part of the elite team.

     Kamryn's better than you were at tap when you were seven, Lilliana. She should've been part of the team instead of you, Lilliana. I hate that the urges make me seem like a jealous brat. I love it when somebody is better than me. It pushes me. But the urges also push me to a darker place when I'm not as good as someone. You're such a jealous brat for thinking that you were a good dancer, Lilliana.

     After tap is school, and during this time, we get to know Kamryn. She's seven and from Phoenix. She's here for a photoshoot tomorrow with her friend who's a child model. Believable enough. She seems like such a nice and sweet girl. I wish that she wasn't just in town for the day.

     Then we have jumps and turns. I'm shakier today, not winning many of the rounds. Kamryn does an excellent toe touch. Her toe touch is much better than yours, Lilliana. You can barely reach it, while she can do a great one. Do better, Lilliana. I do manage to win the lamest round: the pirouettes.

     Next is ballet. Finally. I think I'll be happy after my favorite class, but then Ms. Gianna tells me to take off my sweatshirt and put on my pointe shoes. Everybody is watching me as I tug off the sweatshirt. I look at my wrist. No cuts. The makeup is holding up.

     Ballet is the only thing you're mildly okay at, Lilliana. You're garbage at everything else, though. I don't get it. When I'm bad, the urges yell at me. When I'm good, the urges yell at me. I must be a really bad person then. I don't deserve to live. The ballet lesson goes fine. Ms. Abby keeps yelling at me to suck in my stomach, though. Your stomach is so fat, Lilliana. You're so disgusting.

***elliana***

     I feel so bad for Lilly. She's obviously cold and is forced to take off her sweatshirt. But then I see her tank top is hanging a bit from her body. The tanktop seems like it should shrink in half to be skin tight. I look at Sarah and she nods.

     "Lilly! Suck in your stomach!" Ms. Abby yells, pinching it during our barre portion of our ballet class.

     How much more flat could it get? Lilly manages to suck it in, but I can almost see her ribs through her tank top and she looks like she's about to cry. I'm genuinely worried.

***lilly***

     I'm so fat and disgusting. Tears brim my eyes, but I can't cry or else Ms. Abby will yell at me so much just for reminding me that I'm fat. You just can't handle the truth, Lilliana. It's so embarrassing that you just can't handle that you're fat, and a slut, and worthless, and ugly, and a spoiled brat. I blink the tears back and collect myself before I raise my leg in the air for a skill that I didn't hear the name of.

     After that near-disaster, we have another hour of school. Kamryn leaves the studio to go out to lunch with her mom while we're stuck here in the studio doing school. Or more, the other girls get into antics while I do my schoolwork because I'm feeling antisocial.

     Lunch isn't much better. Mom packed me a sandwich. Just looking at it, I get a lot of anxiety. Don't eat the sandwich, Lilliana. It isn't safe and it will make you even more fat. It will make you even more disgusted. And ugly. I leave it alone and eat the ten baby carrots. 40 calories. It's a much safer option.