"Wake up!" Mom says, turning on the lights, waking us up sharply.
She's already dressed. Thankfully, it had been an uneventful night. No dreams. No nightmares either.
I yawn, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. We have to be on the bus by seven. It's five. I want to sleep, but I have to get ready. I go first, dressing in oversized clothes that I packed to hide my fat body.
Good choice with your clothing. Good job, Lilliana. Nobody can know that you are fat. The thoughts are turning back into urges that aren't my own. This isn't good. They're turning back.
Maybe I just need my Fluoxetine. I take the bitter pill as I brush my hair and put it into pigtails. I have to brush my teeth, but not for long, afraid that I would take the toothbrush too far on purpose.
I shakily stumble out of the bathroom. Mom raises an eyebrow at me. I lie, giving a thumbs up to her. Mom brushes it off. Maybe I am not having a near relapse. Maybe I am just tired.
After Hannah gets ready, the parents start packing as I hear Savannah's mom arguing with Sarah's mom in the room next to us. We think maybe Ms. Georgiana has irritated Ms. Kristich and it will pass quickly.
But after five minutes, we hear crying and hair tugging. Hannah and I huddle up together as Mom and Hannah's mom go to grab the kids. Sarah and Savannah are in tears. I quickly grab the emergency bag that I have in my suitcase. I open up my Kleenex tissue compact container and hand each of them hastily a tissue.
"M-Mom's putt-putting too much pressure and Sarah's mom t-tried t-to stop and..." Savannah curls up into me. I rub her back, drawing stick figures on it.
My own problems will have to wait. I don't matter right now. Two friends of mine have experienced a horrible event. But my mind twists the scenario unfolding into that I don't matter at all.
Whatever. Sarah is being comforted by Hannah. The hotel staff is now in the other room and the producers are there
Eventually, everything is over. We are all a little shaken. Sarah and Savannah stay with us until we get on the bus. I pull at my hairband excessively, snapping it against my wrist for the entire bus ride. I can tell it affected the others. I really hope this won't affect our performance.
Mom does my hair on the bus. It is ringlet curls tied back with a pink ribbon. There are a lot of people cheering for Ms. Abby, so I'm hoping that'll put everybody in a good mood.
There is a lot of tension between Sarah and Savannah's moms in the dressing room, going as far as them starting to argue in the hallway. Personally, I think it is very unprofessional as we all share uncomfortable glances at each other. This is about dance, not about your personal issues.
Brady's mom goes out there to calm down Savannah, who is in panicked tears. Pressley's mom covers for Brady's mom, doing Brady's makeup in the meantime. I don't know what is going on. I just want to take a million Fluoxetine pills. That will make everything better.
But I can't, because I have to get ready for my solo. A pink dress with many ruffles that make me look like a pretty doll who can do no wrong, which I guess is the style we are going for. I am also busy trying to follow the conversation that is happening between Ms. Paolantonio, Ms. Georgiana, and Mom.
"I didn't do anything to her, right?" Ms. Georgiana asks.
The other moms shake their heads.
"Erin's just a little wound tight," they all conclude as I begin to do my makeup.
Savannah still hasn't come back by the time Ms. Abby and Ms. Gianna have come in. Get ready for Ms. Abby's sweet mood to sour.
"Good morning, Ms. Abby," we all say in unison, sounding like little kindergarteners in circle time, learning to spell our names on a chalkboard.
"Abby, there's already issues," Mom slowly informs Ms. Abby, her smile starting to frown as Mom is spraying my hair.
"Wha-what issues?" Ms. Abby asks.
"Erin came up to me in the hotel room and said, 'Don't say anything to me about my daughter.' And then she accused me of being a pathetic mother and walked out," Sarah's mom explains.
Ms. Abby doesn't say anything for a moment but begins to drone on and on, "Alright, ladies, I don't know what's going on, but the whole thing with these kids coming from all over the country was that they dance together as one. They're a family." Savannah and Erin come back into the room.
"And like every family, there's arguments, but also like a family, you have each other's back. So I don't want one child ostracized, and out there, and you can't do that," Ms. Abby points at Savannah as she nods.
"No, I told her to do it," Ms. Kristich defends Savannah, who I can tell just wants to get this over with.
"Yeah, you don't do that," Ms. Abby instructs. "When you yell, you're not only upsetting your child, you're upsetting everyone."
"That's not my intention at all-" Erin begins before Michelle cuts her off.
"But you called me a pathetic mother in front of my child."
Savannah's mom gives up, saying "Okay, you win."
"I know, but it's almost like you're the one upsetting her, because you're embarrassing her," Ms. Abby says.
And just like that, it is over. Ms. Abby tells us to get our makeup on as I pop in my mouth half a Venlafaxine. I am very nervous about my dance. I kinda hope I will lose so that Savannah's mom won't yell at us if Savannah loses.
I suck in my stomach as Ms. Abby passes by before going to the audience. She pinches my stomach still, indicating that I am still not skinny enough. I sigh in defeat.
"Hey, Lilly, are you okay?" Sarah asks.
"Oh, yeah, I'm just a little overwhelmed by the whole fight that just went on," I lie through my teeth, adding a small chuckle at the end.
I hope that the Venlafaxine will calm my thoughts. No not, thoughts, they've turned back into urges. I can just run to the bathroom to calm them, but I want to trust the pill that hasn't failed me for two months more than the unstable urges that are just there to tear me down. Or are they?
We are backstage, me with my wire hanger. Pressley and Sarah have done their solos, and Savannah is called first with her solo, "Metamorphosis." She seems very nervous. It will make or break her. I watch her dance to the song "Butterfly" by Rupert Pope and Giles Palmer.
And she performs perfectly. She nails each move and she shows the emotions on her face. This is going to be hard to beat. I step up as she steps off all happy, anticipating my solo to be called next.
GiaNina goes to congratulate her on her first solo with the Abby Lee Dance Company. She did amazing, despite the mamma drama this morning. I know her mom would be proud of her.
I just have to internalize Crybaby from the Crybaby album. Her mom was a psycho, and Crybaby was also. I have my inspiration. Now it is time to knock this dance out of the park.
"Next up on our Dream Maker stage, please welcome Lilliana with 'Mommy Dearest,'" the announcer calls out.
I walk out, cheering and applauding flooding my ears as the spotlight shines on me as I sit cross-legged, holding up my wire hanger. Here we go. Time to nail this. It is just me on that stage. No thoughts. No urges. Just Lilly.
My eyes wide dramatically, imitating a psycho. No psycho really looks like that. I should know, I was one of them in the inpatient unit. But I have to perform and conform to Hollywood's stereotype of a psycho. The song "Safe Place" by Three Laws began to play.
I am a little fast at times, but I perform and execute well, minus the single attitude turn. Hope Ms. Abby doesn't notice. I manage to fit myself into the hanger through the air. I look like a broken doll, pain spreading through my face, all concealed with a smile at the end.
Everybody, in their makeup for Haka, is telling me I did so good. My urges say otherwise, screaming at me Savannah did so much better! You failed! You deserve no award! If you get the Top 10, I'll be surprised!
"I tried so hard," I whisper, more at the urges than my team. I grip the railing, trying to ground. I smile, masking my discontentment with my dance. Out of breath, I follow everybody back to the dressing room to get ready for Haka.
"You did so good, Lils!" Mom exclaims, me masking a smile.
I don't believe an ounce of what anybody is saying. Savannah did so much better than me. Why am I so self-deprecating? I probably didn't suck in my stomach enough. That has to be it. I did everything else perfectly except suck in my stomach. I pinch a bit of my fat as Ms. Abby wheels in, a gaped smile laced across her mouth. She's happy. Maybe I didn't do as bad as I think.
"Alright listen," Ms. Abby orders. "Savannah today you proved that you can perform. I think you were a little bit off your music, so don't rush."
"Lilly," Ms. Abby began. I gulp, shifting on to Mom's lap. "Lilly, your faces and your eyes and your mouth is huge on stage, but you did a single attitude turn. I saw you do a triple in the studio. A single attitude turn is intermediate work. A triple attitude turn is advanced work."
I knew she wasn't happy about my solo. I mutter back, "I will work on it." Ms. Abby seems content with that answer.
"All right, everybody. Get your makeup on because we need to get ready for the war," Ms. Abby states, her fist pounding into her palm to add significance.
It is like war paint. Very unblended. Yellow and red streaks and white dots are added to the face. I put on my slim terracotta dress that can't conceal anything, making me feel insecure. After that, we put white dots on my legs as Mom sewed in my turban. Brady puts orange color in his hair.
Ms. Abby says an inappropriate joke. Brady laughs and I chuckle. He isn't supposed to get that joke. Neither am I. But hey, what can you do? I had to hang out with kids that believe in Satan for a week and kids that tried to kill themselves. They tell you all kinds of stuff.
Ms. Abby calls Hannah up for her toe so she can inspect it. Ms. Abby calls her a weak link. Tough love, I guess. Hannah just has to tape it up and keep it clean.
Ms. Abby then calls us over to discuss something about the haka dance.
"This is a haka. This is not seven soloists. This is a team. You'll win together and you'll lose together. And when you lose, that means we lose. And we don't like to lose," Ms. Abby shouts.
We have to get backstage for the haka. I am fierce. I felt fierce. But I know playing dress-up won't hold back the urges for much longer. We are last on the stage. The finale before the award ceremony. We have to close this competition. My palms are sweating as we are called onto the stage.
"For our final entry of the day, please give a big round of applause for 'Haka' from the Abby Lee Dance Company!"
There are cheering and applause. We have two songs for this dance. "Tribal Dance" by Emre Ramazanoglu and Geoffrey James Pidcock Holrodye, as well as "Tribal Fear" by Dan Graham. Suck in your stomach, I am reminded quickly before the music starts. Everything goes perfectly except our facial expressions and the fact that Hannah goes into her penché at the wrong count, however. Poor Hannah. Just when she catches a break, something else goes wrong.
Ms. Abby seems pleased when we hit our ending positions, and scream, "Ha!" looking fierce as we are applauded off the stage.
We nearly collapse on each other when we get off the stage. It's very comical. The urge doesn't course through me. Maybe Haka scared it off.
Hannah is freaking out about her mistake. She is a weak warrior in Ms. Abby's eyes before the competition and Ms. Abby is definitely going to dock her. But we have to comfort her.
"If she does yell at you, you know she's only yelling at you to make you the best dancer you can be," GiaNina reminds Hannah.
I like how she words it. Hannah's a good dancer, you have to be to get on the elite team. And you can always improve no matter what. The "if" at the beginning adds some uncertainty to the conflict in question.
We don't have time to see our mothers before we are called to the awards as we walk on stage.
"All right. Starting with our top four 9-11 soloists. In fourth, Kalani with 'Cages of Bones'" the announcer announces. Relieved that it isn't me or anybody else from the ALDC, my hopes start to rise.
Sarah got third with her dance called, "Mission Possible."
"Your second place... Lilliana with 'Mommy Dearest.'" I heard as my heart sank. I let Ms. Abby down again.
You are weak. Second? Second is the first to lose, Lilliana. But I guess you were always a loser. I tell myself, "Looky pretty," as I smile big. So fake.
"And your highest-scoring 9-11 soloist will be Savannah with 'Metamorphosis.'"
I am happy for Savannah. It's her birthday today too, so a win on her birthday is probably the best present during competition season.
Pressley got third in the 12-14 soloist for her dance "Possessed." We sat down, continuing with the 9-11 group routines.
"Your third highest-scoring group," we all clench hands, praying, "'Dog Days' from Next Generation Dance."
We unfurl for a quick moment, relieved that it wasn't our group dance that is called for third place.
"Second is going to... 'Wild Party' from Next Generation Dance," the announcer shouts. Poor Next Generation Dance.
"And your highest-scoring 9-11 group here today was..." the announcer began. I bite my lip, grasp my teammate's hand, look down to the floor, and pray.
"'Haka' from Abby Lee Dance Company!" the announcer said into the microphone. I am elated.
It doesn't matter that Hannah goes in a little early overall. We still won. That shuts my urges up. I am good enough. In a group. With a boy as the lead. I'm not good enough at all, am I?
The moms are waiting in the dressing room, waiting to take off the itchy headpieces that are on our heads. We set our trophies on our stations. My emotions are this close from teetering to the deep end. You're not good enough, Lilliana. You only win when you have a boy as your lead, Lilliana.
"Congratulations," Ms. Abby says, wheeling towards me, pinching my stomach fat. Of course, my Mom is looking at Pressley's mom so she doesn't notice. Neither does anybody else.
She wheels back around to the front, stating, "Now that was a clean sweep. Savannah, congratulations. You were the overall high score winner." Not only did she win her age group, she won the entire thing.
"Lilly," Ms. Abby says curtly, giving her eye contact. "You were second, and you know how I feel about second."
Nothing else. That's it? That can't be right. Huh, maybe it is. Whatever. I guess either her expectations have lowered for me or she's letting me off the hook easily.
"All right, the group routine was quite dynamic. Hannah," Ms. Abby begins, immediately targeting her, "how did you think you did?"
"I think the dance went well besides the fact that I went early on the penché part," Hannah replies.
I suddenly see a piece of hair fly in front of my face. Not a single strand. A whole chunk of my hair. That strand of hair makes this whole persona of stability crack and crumble.
"You cut my hair," I whisper to my Mom, about to crack into crazed hysteria.
She examines quickly, noticing the chunk missing. I am done.
"What is that?" Ms. Abby asks.
Mom hadn't meant to do it. More hair starts to fall out. Mom cut out a lot of my hair. My teammates are trying not to laugh, and I just walk out of the room.
I walk out, in tears, praying the camera team won't follow me. Mom tells them not to as I walk out.
Ms. Abby is saying something to me. Everything's mixing. Colors are swirling together. I'm going to throw up. Yes, Lilliana. You just need to make it to the bathroom and then you'll feel better.
The camera team follows me because of course, they do. It's reality TV for goodness sake. But I can't throw up on national television. Everybody will already know I'm an ex-bulimic before this episode comes out. I don't need a relapse.
Mom is right behind me. I run to the bathroom as Mom is trying to explain, the camera team unable to follow us any farther. But the mic packs still work.
"Whatever. It already happened. Obviously, it was an accident. It's not like you were trying to just cut my hair off," I reason with Mom.
I sit upon the sink, too small to see my hair in the mirror without sitting on the sink. There is a sizable chunk of my hair missing. I curl up against the wall sobbing. Mom hands me a makeup wipe so that I can wipe off this tribal makeup while I'm crying.
The outburst evolves into me just crying about getting second place, which is the real reason this whole fiasco occurred. First to lose, Lilliana. First to lose, fat bitch.
Ms. Abby wheels in just as I ask, "Can we just go home? It's obviously not working out for us. Might as well just go."
"Excuse me. Hi. What's going on, sweetie?" Ms. Abby asks, the cameras now following us into the bathroom. This has to be a violation.
Not being able to confide in her about everything, I outline, adding some dramatization for the TV show, "I'm freaking out because I lost half my hair!"
"No. Okay, you have good hair. You didn't lose half of it. How do you think I felt when Dee brushed it," Ms. Abby comforts, now making herself the victim in the process, "and brushed it and brushed it, and brushed it, and it just kept pulling out, pulling out, pulling out, and I was devastated? And then I thought, 'You know what? But I'm alive.'"
"I don't really care about the hair coming out-" I start to tell the truth, "I didn't get first place."
"I know, but we thought you were great," Ms. Abby refers to the other moms and herself. I don't believe her. I guess she can sense my disbelief as she continues, "We both did. Uh, no. I'm serious. And aah! You don't rub out," the conversation digresses to the way I am taking off my makeup.
"You rub in, 'cause that's gonna stretch all that skin, and then, it's gonna get saggy and baggy. Just look at your mother," Ms. Abby reminds, trying to add a comedic effect.
It doesn't work. Mom is annoyed at Ms. Abby. I just had an anxiety attack and she is trying to critique the way I take off the face paint.
"I just feel like I let you down two weeks in a row," I confess, the full truth spilling out of me.
"No you didn't sweetheart, you didn't let me down. But every time you step on that stage, people expect more, Lilly. They saw you last year. They saw you win, win, win, win. They want more from you. Understood?"
I nod, wanting this conversation to be over. Why can't she have saved that for the pyramid in a couple days? Can't she just say that I didn't let her down? Because I am now certain I have let her down. More certain than before. Why does she always have to follow a positive with a negative?
I would've cried more, but my tear ducts run out of water. I follow Ms. Abby out. I can tell she is starting to worry. I am her star dancer and I was failing. I've cracked. I'm supposed to be the backbone. I'm the only one that's danced here before. This doesn't look good for the new team.
On the bus ride back, the team names the small stump of hair that survived Mom's ambush Fredrica. But I just want to go to sleep. I'm too tired and disappointed in myself.
~~~~~