Today is the day we are going to Red Bank via bus. I pack everything I need. I pop a Fluoxetine in my mouth right before the bus. I sat next to Brady. He and I bonded over the last week, like a sister and brother relationship. He and I talk before the bus comes, and we talk a lot about our struggles.
His dad is in the military and his dad has a lot of anxious friends that have trauma from the wars. I talk about my struggles with bulimia. I never thought I could get so comfortable sharing my story with someone, but he made me feel secure and safe.
I want to take another Fluoxetine, but I can't, or else my body isn't able to handle it. Mom is sitting close, monitoring me so that if I have a breakdown on the bus, she would be nearby.
Ms. Abby tells us that we are part of the ALDC legacy. We are to represent ALDC. She also tells us that she's proud of us. She doesn't use the word proud very often. But of course, she has to remind us that everybody is replaceable.
My bubbliness fades as I tense up. I am terrified that I am going to be replaced. I lick my lips anxiously as I fidget around in my seat. The thoughts are telling me, Lilliana, you will disappoint her. Ms. Abby will replace you, Lilliana.
I visibly shake my head. Bus drives often make the thoughts act up. I pull out my phone and my earbuds to play music to calm my nerves as we start the 6-hour journey to Red Bank, New Jersey.
During the bus ride, I am bubbly. We talk about music that we like, favorite dance styles, our biggest awards. It is really fun getting to know more about how my new friends start dancing. I started when I was two.
We play card games, and Ms. Abby turns out to be a natural at UNO. It's the first time I feel comfortable on a bus for a long time. My Mom seems to be mingling with the other moms, and I'm glad she isn't watching me all the time.
When we pull up to the Count Basie Center to where we will compete for the first time, there are a bunch of fans out. I mean, hundreds. I grip Mom's arm. You don't deserve this attention, Lilliana. You're not special.
"Just go out there and be Lilly. Don't be anybody else," Mom whispers to me, softly ruffling my hair.
I take her advice and put on a smile. There is a ton of pressure and I have butterflies in my stomach. Ms. Abby tells us that there may be a lot of booing because people want to see us fail. But there is an abundance of cheering. So much that we all have to plug our ears. It is wonderful seeing all these fans.
"They're so many people," I say to Sarah, who smiles and nods in agreement. It is almost ridiculous how many fans we have.
I feel like I belong. Like I am important. And that is a great feeling. It brings the thoughts to shame. Ms. Abby feels electrified, and that is good. When she is happy, the day is good.
"First up, the two trios," Ms. Abby states. I whip to face her in the black metal chair as she continues, "Hair, makeup, costumes, I need it done."
My mom begins to pull my hair back into a tight bun. I shake my head and the bun doesn't fall out. Makeup is next. It is pretty natural: brown eyeshadow, black eyeliner and mascara, and a cherry red lip.
The costume makes me look like a clown. I have a red cap that covers half of my head, with some white frill attached to the cap. Everything is outlined in black. The white tutu is outlined in black at the end of the frills. There are two thin black straps on one side that go around my shoulder, and a thick black one on the other side, linking together on a shimmery black and gold section.
In between my elbow and shoulder, there is a cuff of the same tutu material with the same black outline. Below it is a red leather glove. My other arm is bare. The chest is checkered. The red leather jacket is one part, and the other was red and black checkers. Checkers in a checker pattern. The one tight I wore had the same red and black checker material.
We are practicing our trio, and Sarah can't figure out the spacing, and just overall it isn't stage-ready. The thoughts are slowly seeping in. You look like a clown, so you're going to look like a clown on stage. You will not win.
I shake them off as Mom is trying to beat Sarah's confidence down and start a feud. I want to tell her to stop. It's rude. But I would get into some serious trouble with the producers. My heart breaks when Sarah starts to have tears in her eyes and her face is reddening.
Mom calls her an intermediate. Ms. Abby is not pleased that my Mom made another dancer cry. We have to talk when we get back to Pittsburgh. If Mom is looking to cause trouble, I am going to get in trouble because of her.
I stand next to Pressley while this is going on. I'm fidgeting with my fingers, trying to stay quiet. I can't do anything that would attract attention. I need some Venlafaxine. I think this may become a pattern. That I would need my emergency medication before every competition.
Once the debacle is over, I rush over to Sarah and give her a big hug. I am not my mother. We sit down together. She puts her head on my shoulder as we watch GiaNina's trio in the dressing room.
Hannah seems a bit overwhelmed. She messes up the basic stuff like relevés. But you can't be nervous if you want to be on Ms. Abby's team. Or you at least have to internalize the feeling.
"Let's go. Let's go," Ms. Abby yells, and Mom hands me half a Venlafaxine. Even though I am supposed to have the tablet with food, I just down it. I don't really use food with my pills. I hug her and say my goodbyes as we go to the waiting sides.
Making sure to stay warmed up, I stretch. The thoughts are acting up, but I distract myself with stretches. I hear clapping and cheering. I can't look, but I assume it is Ms. Abby and our moms walking down the aisle. Ms. Abby hasn't competed in two years.
Dance With The Devil is up first. I watch intently. Overall, they are great. They dance in sync, and the spacing was great. The song, "Be My Devil" by Tony Lee Stafford Jr, Michael Dennis Smith, and NineOneOne is a great song choice. But Hannah fell out of her turn. That is scary. Ms. Abby definitely caught that. Hannah's road to being a permanent member is going to be rocky.
Brady's with me, Sarah, and Pressley. I can tell everybody is nervous. My bubbliness is non-existent as I pace around, waiting for us to go on.
"Good luck guys," Brady says and I smile at him and nod. I don't want to talk, because I'm afraid I will have a breakdown.
Our number is called. We walk out and hit our beginning pose. The song "For King and Country, Part 1" by Andrew Blaney starts to play and we dance. Everything was going great. I'm hitting my moves when suddenly, our jump is out of sync. The thoughts have a perfect moment to flood.
You're worthless, Lilliana. Everybody is watching, and you failed. I let the thoughts get to me and I fall out of my aerial. I manage to keep my composure and finish the dance, even though my musicality is fast. I am still a little shaken.
I want to cry. I let down the ALDC. I let my trio down. Ms. Abby is going to yell at us, and it was because of my fault. I want to throw up. I want to cave. But our group dance is coming up very shortly. I can feel the rays of disappointment beaming off of Sarah and Pressley. They are never going to forgive me.
As my mom is cutting the cap out of my hair, Ms. Abby wheels in. She greets us, and I look down at my feet.
"So, Lilly," Ms. Abby begins. I hate being singled out, and she has done it often. "What happened out there?"
"I stumbled when I landed my side aerial," I mutter quietly.
"And you just went right back to the switch and the walkover."
"I... didn't want to make it too obvious that I fell."
She doesn't pester me anymore, but I can tell she is a little disappointed in me. Scratch that, Ms. Abby is really disappointed in me.
We all have to start getting ready for the group dance. We all are wearing these white dresses with jagged ends, as well as those hats with laces that widows wear, but in white.
I am terrified. I want to stay with Mom. But I have to perform on stage. I won't let the thoughts take control of my ability to dance in the group dance. We all shake out our nerves before we are called to the stage. This is my chance to redeem myself.
As "Passages" by the Three Laws plays, Brady walks over our bodies at the beginning. Brady is the center, and we are all broken-hearted over him. I use my emotion well, and the blood seeps into our white costumes like they are supposed to. I don't know how our parents did it. They design our costumes, and they are able to design and alter costumes to make sure blood seeps out. Everything goes perfectly. I redeem myself. Ms. Abby claps her hands above her head.
There is a notable shift in my personality. I am a lot more bubbly and talkative. Then comes the awards.
"In third place for the Junior Duet/Trios, The Favorite," the announcer announces, and my heart drops.
A third-place award is the worst award you get other than not placing entirely. We stand up for our award. We have to smile and look pretty. But the thoughts are making it difficult to smile. You disappointed them, Lilliana. Others have to suffer thanks to you.
In second are these two girls named Taylor and Kelly from this group called Middletown Dance with a dance called Encouragement. We got beat by nobodies. What a great feeling. Ms. Abby looks angry. Dance With The Devil needs to get first, or else Ms. Abby's big comeback is dead, and we aren't going to be respected. Aren't going to be feared.
"The top overall Junior Duet/Trio. Give it up... for Dance With The Devil!" the announcer yells, and all of our faces light up. We all sit back down, covered in blood. At least one of us got first, so Ms. Abby wouldn't be angry at all of us.
The announcer is going to tell us who won the group dances. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as I look down to the ground, covered in blood, clasping my teammate's hands, and hoping for a miracle.
"Third place: Hollaback Girls from Starlight School of Dance." Not us.
"Second place: It's close. So close. Cool Yule." Half a point difference. If we win, it's going to be crazy.
"The top overall Junior Group Dance. Give it up... for Broken Hearts from Abby Lee Dance Company!"
Yes! We won! We set a good reputation for the ALDC. I'm really happy that we won. I'm glad that we pulled it off. But I still lost my trio, and now Ms. Abby won't think of me as a good dancer and I let her down.
We all cheer as we enter our dressing room. I have to keep up this bubbly persona. Ms. Abby wheel in, cheering too. She was happy. I am relieved that she isn't mad when she wheels in.
"Congratulations to the trio that placed first! For two days, I thought that was great," Ms. Abby claims. We all clap while GiaNina, Hannah, and Savannah high-five.
Mom has the sudden audacity to ask, "Abby, Lilly placed third in her acro trio. Do you think it had something to do with the age group?"
I whip my head behind and glare at her. Not now, Mom. You don't need to instigate drama when Ms. Abby is happy.
"I don't know," Ms. Abby shrugs it off. "But I do know that the group dance-"
"Abby," Mom remarks. Stop Mom. I shuffle closer to Pressley, scared that something is going to happen. "This is the first time that Lilly's gotten third with anything, and it was the week that I said 'I don't know if we want to do acro anymore.'"
"I don't tell you how to do my job. Don't tell me how to do mine," Ms. Abby snarkily decrees.
"She can do the acro, but she doesn't have to do acro every week," Mom began to argue. I grip Pressley's arm, scared about what is going to happen.
"She doesn't have to do any dances this week!" Ms. Abby announces and then looks at me.
"Do you want to dance here?" she asks me. I nod. Of course, I want to dance so badly at the ALDC.
"Then you do what you're told, you shut up and you smile," she tells me. It is at this moment that I know that I am headed down a path with Ms. Abby that I don't want.
Ms. Abby and Mom keep arguing about how my Mom is making excuses, and then Mom brought up how she is complaining, which Ms. Abby hates. She hates whenever we complain, and now she is complaining. But you don't insult Ms. Abby. My breath becomes shaky. I know my Mom doesn't want me to be type-casted, but I'd rather be typecast than not dance for Ms. Abby. I had enough.
I go over to my Mom and whisper in her ear, "Stop. You're making it worse."
Ms. Abby kept yelling at my Mom to stop pushing her, or I wouldn't dance anymore. Luckily, my Mom shut up.
"I can't believe you just did that," I scold my Mom, trying not to crack.
"It's not like she's mad or anything," Mom tries to reason. She's a therapist, she should know emotions! I lost it.
"Yes, she is! And now I'm never gonna get another dance or anything. And if she's only mad at you, then she won't give me anything because she doesn't want to deal with you," I claim quietly, wiping tears from my face.
"Attention everybody!" Ms. Abby yells as we all turn around. "Just because we won right out of the gate, doesn't mean we're all winners. The real competition starts next week."
~~~~~
I stay as far away from my Mom on the bus. I sit alone, listening to Melanie Martinez on my playlist. Her voice is soothing and was often the thing that kept me from relapsing. Specifically, Tag, You're It. I feel like I'm constantly playing tag in my brain. Except the intrusive thoughts are IT. GiaNina sits down next to me.
I don't talk much. I am beaten. The thoughts are overwhelming. Your mom doesn't want you to succeed, Lilliana. You'll never make friends if you keep disappointing Ms. Abby. You probably were her favorite, Lilliana. But you aren't skinny enough to land the side aerial.
That isn't true. But my thoughts like to put me down and find my insecurities.
You need to throw up. Who cares if you've been clean for nearly two months? Nobody will. You have no one.
Thanksgiving, ugh. That wasn't fun. But, the main point was that I was alone according to my thoughts. But I wasn't. GiaNina puts her arm around me. I wasn't alone. I lean into her. She wants to comfort me. But her trio won. She probably just feels bad for me. But I can't care less.
"Are you okay, Lilly?" she asks, rubbing my shoulder.
"My Mom just makes it worse," I confess, recoiling a bit, my thoughts returning.
"She just wants the best for us," GiaNina reassures.
I nod, wanting the conversation to end. I fall asleep, being jostled awake gently by GiaNina.
She and I are carpooling back to the apartment complex. GiaNina sits away from me. I think she realizes I need my space, and I am grateful. I just curl up and look at the window, watching the raindrops fall on the car. The pattern of the gentle rain keeps me sane and it is relaxing to me.
I don't talk to my Mom. I don't have dinner either. I just sleep, my emotions jumbled in my brain. But my thoughts aren't beating me down.
You didn't have dinner tonight. Good girl, Lilliana. Very good girl, Lilliana. What? Why are the urges praising me for not eating? I shake it off as I attempt my best to sleep, emotional and exhausted and just... confused in general, with all these racing thoughts coursing through my head. I just need to sleep. I just need to sleep this over and rationalize and sort out the events from today tomorrow and figure out what the hell happened today.
~~~~~