Une Fleure Fanée

Week 15 Part 2 (Monday)

     5:00 am wake-up time. Time for classes. Yay. Maybe there will be new kids coming in. I'm pretty sure Ms. Abby is going to stand up to her word, and bring in new folks. I don't want to get up though. Ms. Abby's going to replace you if you don't get up, Lilliana. You have to dance to lose weight also.

     I immediately become freezing the minute I pull off my bed covers. Shivering, teeth chattering. I feel like I'm a block of ice. I grab a red long-sleeved ALDC hoodie with a pink long-sleeved top, and black leggings.

     At least I don't have to cover up my cuts, or at least my arm cuts. I cover my wrist cuts and all the cuts on my upper arm. I feel so cold. I just want to hide under the covers and get warm again.

     I'm still very cold when I put my hair in a ponytail and take my medicine, even worse as I put on my makeup. I just have to get through the day. That's it. Just today. The fourth day of not eating.

     All of the symptoms have returned. I chug an entire water bottle to keep my stomach at bay and then I enter the main room. Mom is looking distraught, talking very animatedly on the phone. I quietly await Ms. Abby's text at the dining room table.

     I try to block out Mom's phone call so I don't get an early headache. It's probably inevitable today, with all the new people. Speaking of people, I'm still scared. They're going to think you're fat, Lilliana. And they're right. I hear a ding on my phone. It's from Ms. Abby. I guess it's the schedule.

     Oh my gosh. All nine classes are on the same day. No school. There's also a warning at the top saying to do your day of school at home after dance. Maybe because of the new kids, if there are any. Or Ms. Abby is up to something else.

     I look at the schedule. Jazz from seven to eight. Tap from eight to nine. Acro and gym tumbling from nine to ten. Ballet from ten to eleven. Jumps and turns from eleven to twelve. Lunch from twelve to one. Lyrical from one to two. Hip-hop from two to three. Legs and feet from three to four. And contemporary from four to five.

     "Bye, see you at the dance studio. Lilly, come on. No carpool. Let's go!" Mom shouts, still a little agitated.

     Not wanting to upset her even more, I very quickly grab my ballet stuff, my phone, my duffel bag, and my water bottle, and Mom doesn't even notice I haven't eaten breakfast. Successful.

     Mom keeps speed walking in the hallway, down the stairs, and to the car. I have to run to keep up, but I don't mind. Getting extra exercise. We're not even late, but Mom keeps rushing.

     "Mom, slow down!" I yell, and it's like she snaps out of a trance.

     "I'm sorry, but I'm just stressed. We don't need extra members on this team," Mom grumbles, and I relax a bit.

     I can't look at the street. It makes me too nauseous. I feel weak and dizzy, and so tired. This isn't the life I want anymore, but I don't want to recover. It'll make me fat again. I've been through it once, and it's so hard. Not worth it. When we get to the studio, Brady and Tricia are in the lobby.

     "How are you feeling, Lilly?" Tricia asks.

     "Cold, so cold, but other than that, okay, I guess," I answer, joining Brady into walking into the dancer's den.

***stacey***

     "Stacey, it's May and Lilly's feeling like she's wearing a swimsuit in January. What is going on? Hasn't she been taking iron pills?" Tricia asks me.

     "Yeah, I don't know what's going on," I admit.

     I have been noticing Lilly looks a tad different. She still looks a tad off. She's been locking herself in her room for hours on end, and either looks like she's going to freeze or she's going to pass out.