Spin City

Chapter 2

Spin City 2

Kyla's POV

"Kyla, do you know why we do this every week?"

I roll my eyes and pick at a hangnail that's nearly bleeding. What kind of question is that? I come here every week to talk. Marissa listens and then asks more questions that I don't want to answer and probably shouldn't. I'd be gone if Jenny didn't want me here, if she didn't take me in at my lowest point ever. One of her conditions, though, was that I have a session every week with her shrink.

"I don't know why we do this, Marissa. I guess you want me to talk about all the stuff that's done."

"I can't do my job if you don't talk. That's the whole point. You talk. I listen. Now, I asked you to tell me about dance. What was it like when you were younger?"

I shake my head and sit up straighter. A sharp pain shoots down my leg and I wince, gritting my teeth. I hold onto my hip, trying to keep a straight face.

"I don't know," I say. "I took classes with Jenny, starting when I was five. I got a discounted rate. My mom was the janitor for Jenny so I was able to take a few classes. At that point, it was just dancing for fun and teaching basic coordination instead of actual technique, but Jenny always says that she saw something in me, even back then."

"So you took classes with Jenny for years then, until you went to New York."

"Yeah. She trained me and so did her son, Jeremy when I was in high school."

"What was training like, when you got older?"

I sigh. She really wants me to talk about everything. I think back to those long nights in the studio with Jeremy, how I was failing Algebra but continued to train until eleven most nights. He would push me to keep going, keep getting better. I still have dreams about running suicides in the gym and every time I thought we we're done, he'd push me to keep going. But, he's the main reason I got to New York.

"You were good?" Marissa asks when I don't say anything.

"I was obedient to the point of insanity. Submission at it's finest," I say.

"Obedient," she repeats and writes that down on her notepad.

I stare at her, tightening my fists. She's really getting on my last nerve and I can't stand talking about all of this stuff. She's overanalyzing everything. Good dancers have to be obedient. None of this matters anyway. All of this stuff that happened leads to one thing, and that's my injury. My main focus should be getting past this injury, getting back in shape, getting back on pointe, not rehashing my whole life to an old lady in an office that's too warm and smells like vanilla.

"I have a doctor's appointment today. I should really get going before too long."

"Oh, okay."

She straightens her notes like always then places them in her lap and looks up at me. I fidget under her inquisitive glare. She glances down at my hip. It's another week in the books that she didn't ask about the injury.

I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. I'm suddenly reminded of the sketches in my purse. They're sketches of my ideas for the costumes for my competition jazz class. I couldn't find anything online or through our costume suppliers, so I asked Jenny if I could design them and have someone make them if I could stay within the budget. She said it was fine so now I just have to show my designs to the moms. I dread that. I think back to the many costumes that Jenny made me with her own two hands. I think about all the work she put into them when I didn't have the money to buy them for myself.