Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Thirty-One

It is rarely said that Tuesdays are a good day. Mondays may be a rude awakening from the weekend, but it is on a Tuesday that the hum drum of daily life finally bears down upon everyone. No longer is anyone riding off the buzz attained from the weekend, but the painfully monotonous routine is finally once again firmly established. This used to be particularly hard for Anne when she was younger, and spontaneity called for great adventures. Now, knowing what came next was good—but it still sucked when what came next was just dull.

Still, that September Tuesday had proved itself to be the exception to the rule.

School was not particularly exciting, or even good. The edge was taken off by anticipation, although it did seem to drag on, as if some mischievous fairy decided to slow down time just to make Anne miserable. But, as happened on most days, it did end, and she was once again in Matthew's truck on her way home. There weren't many words exchanged during the ride home, mostly because Matthew wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to address the day's events, and Anne liked the comfortable silence that settled between the two of them.

Then, there was more waiting. Still, it was far more comfortable waiting in the house, and in the comfort of her room.

She hopped onto her bed, digging around the canvas bag that Samantha had given her the night before. There was an empty water bottle waiting to be filled, the black leotard that they were able to find at a consignment shop, and the convertible black tights that became more translucent when she put them on.

There was still about an hour before she would have to leave to go to the studio, but she couldn't quite help herself from at least changing into the dance clothes. First the black tights, then the black leotard, as was the dress code of the studio. Samantha had told her they would pick up dance shoes if she wanted to take more classes. All in all, everyone seemed to be pressuring her to throw herself into the art. Dr. Wilson kept on reiterating how it would be really good for her to have an outlet that she could pour her emotions into, and Rachel Lynde had said that kids needed a healthy place to get all of their energy out. And for once, Anne was not opposed to the pressure—nor did she particularly need it. All of her girlish dreams came to the forefront of her mind when they signed her up for the Musical Theater class, and old dreams of Broadway invigorated her.

When she wiggled into the leotard, she walked to the dresser mirror so she could take a look at herself. The tight material left nothing to the imagination, and she could see just how much weight she had gained in the past few weeks. She looked fuller, and far more healthy. She was still thin—skinny, even—but she was no longer the slip of the girl that she had been, with her ribs sticking out because she never ate. And that just made her even more happy.

Nothing of note occurred in that hour, except that Anne was in a rare state of excitement, which was perhaps noteworthy in itself. Anne would have sped up time if she could, as the natural progression of time did not seem to be nearly fast enough for her own liking. But it did occur, as it always does, and she was soon packed away into the truck, with canvas bag on her arm.

There was something about seeing Anne in a leotard, looking like a normal little girl, that made Matthew extremely happy. And her excitement was positively contagious, like a leftover of a personality that once was and a glimpse of what it could and should be.

"So you're excited to dance?" Matthew asked. He wasn't necessarily grinning, but there was no doubt that he was beaming with her.

"Yeah," Anne grinned, her feet already tapping to the thousands of songs in her head. "You know, when I was little, I used to make up dances in my room. I just—I like feeling the music. Really feeling it," she said, her hand pressed against the glass of the car's window as she soaked in all of the colors that made up Cape Cod.