I wake up to birds chirping. Well, birds chirping on my alarm. But that's the closest I'll get to a fairytale. But instead of princess dresses, I need to put on the same red ALDC hoodie and black leggings. I need to use the same hairband to put the same blonde hair up into the same ponytail.
I need to use the same makeup to achieve the same look that I used yesterday. I take the same white and green pill, and the same navy blue pill I take every day. The only new thing I do is add more foundation and concealer than the previous day. The quantity of makeup I use on my arms will increase little by little every day. But I don't care.
You look fat in the cropped hoodie. That sliver of your stomach makes you look fat. You can't even see your ribs and you can barely see your spine through the clothing. Your arms look horrendous and your legs have no gap. You don't deserve this extra solo, Lilliana. You don't deserve to dance at the ALDC.
I hold back tears. I need to dance today. But we're going to have to dance in sexy red lace leotards. But hopefully, I'll look better in it, because I'm deviating from the diet plan, and I'm not eating until after the competition. Yesterday, was my farewell day. Until Sunday, I'm not eating.
"Let me guess, somebody is taking Pressley, Brady, and I again?" I ask as I enter the main room.
"Ms. Ashley is today. I think we're gonna do a rotation system for you guys. Pressley is already down there, so go grab your dance bag and your phone and go down there. Grab an Ensure too!" Mom informs me, and I quickly go back to my bedroom to grab my phone and dance bag.
I grab a raspberry Ensure from the computer and immediately throw it out. Mom won't be following me, so she won't know. Even if I wasn't starving, the raspberry Ensure is disgusting and I would probably do this anyway.
I run down the four flights of stairs of the apartment complex to see Pressley doing a TikTok in the lobby. It's the renegade. I see Brady get out of the elevator. Pressley still doesn't notice.
We sneak behind her carefully and begin to do the silliest faces and video bomb her while she does the renegade. She doesn't even notice until she uploads the video.
"You sneaks!" Pressley squeals angrily, laughing afterward.
"We got you!" I giggle as we notice the rain.
Ms. Ashley notices the torrential rain, and she and Pressley offer to go get the car and pull it up to the door. We thank them and sit down as she goes to the parking lot to get the car. I sit down next to Brady.
"Have you eaten anything today?" Brady whispers, careful to not let anybody hear.
"Yes," I lie, looking down in shame, fully knowing I didn't.
"You didn't eat anything, did you?" Brady asks, and I almost crumble.
"I ate some toast," I quickly lie again before I hear the honk of Ms. Ashley's car horn.
Brady doesn't question me, but I know he has some. I give him a sorry look before we brace the rain. We squeal and scream and giggle due to the wet feeling of the rain before we manage to reach the door handle. I quickly rush to the middle seat and Brady quickly gets into the seat next to me, shutting the door quickly behind him.
We fall over each other laughing for a good three minutes before we eventually calm down. Once again, the car ride is full of memes and social media. I look at the comments on mine. There are the good ones like, "Such a star!" the silly ones like, "Lilly, get out while you can! Your mom is a psycho!" and of course, "You're an awful fat dancer, find a different passion sweetheart."
You're just what the comments say, Lilliana. You're awful, and fat, and annoying, and a brat. You're ugly, and rude, and childish, and immature. You're the worst dancer on this team and nobody likes you. You don't deserve to dance with these amazing dancers. You don't even deserve to live. Just kill yourself so that everybody will finally be happy, Lilliana.
I grow very quiet. I feel an overwhelming tingle on my wrist. Pressley opens her mouth to say something, but she remembers that her mother is there, so she shuts her mouth. I show her the phone silently and she deletes the comments immediately before holding my hand and squeezing it. A hug would be too risky.
Brady looks confused but shrugs it off as we pull up to the studio. It's not raining anymore somehow. We run up to the door and quickly go to Studio A. Hannah and Sarah are both there. We all begin to chat about the group dance and solos.
"So, a jazz piece. Sassy jazz. That's different," Sarah states, and we all murmur in agreement.
"In leotards. Lace leotards," I shudder, gagging a bit with discomfort.
"You'll look great," Hannah reassures and I shrug.
"Whatever," I quickly dismiss.
"Girls, let's go! We're going to start shooting!" Ms. Abby yells despite being four feet away from her.
"All right, now, listen, we are doing a dance that is sultry, soulful. Could I give Brady different choreography within your number? Sure I could. But then he's featured again. And I don't want to do that. I want you girls to be able to win on your own," Ms. Abby states before we begin the choreography with Ms. Gianna.
Poor Brady. He has to watch us dance while he's just forced to be in the corner of the dance room, pacing back and forth to keep himself warmed up.
"Can we all stand in second? Just try this for me," Ms. Gianna asks and makes us all stand in a line, bending our waists to a ninety-degree angle and placing our left hands on each other's shoulders.
After a couple of corrections, Ms. Gianna continues, adding, "And then, let's take this arm up and we sit right here."
After learning a bit more of the choreography, we run it. There's no particular storyline, and it's a lot more mature. I definitely enjoy the dancing itself, but wearing a lace leotard lays heavy on my mind. You're going to look so ugly and fat in that lace leotard if you don't get down to 60 pounds, Lilliana.
Midway through learning the piece, Ms. Michelle walks in, party hat still in, and announces, "I just want to tell you what this text said."
I furrow my eyebrows in confusion on why she's interrupting the rehearsal, but Ms. Abby doesn't object, so Ms. Michelle continues. Ms. Gianna motions for us to take a five-minute water bottle, but we all intently listen to the conversation.
"So I get a text, and it's from Studio 19, that just said, 'Hey, um, we're coming to Lancaster, we're entering 14 numbers, and karma's a bitch,'" Ms. Michelle reveals.
Fourteen numbers? Are you kidding me? Fourteen chances to beat us?
"Just don't worry about it. Go and be a lady and be positive and be respectful. And don't worry about it," Ms. Abby advises.
Ms. Abby. Talking about respect? Crazy. She just tells the truth, Lilliana. After all, honesty is the best policy unless your name is Lilliana Belle Ketchman.
After we're dismissed, Ms. Abby wheels over to a producer and confesses, "I have to go. I hate this music. I don't want to put these kids on stage with this music. It's horrible. I don't like it, and I'm leaving. Goodbye. I don't like it, I don't like it. I don't like it," and then she wheels out the door.
"What-was that about?" Gia stutters, speaking for all of us.
"Probably about my old studio," Sarah mutters, barely keeping it together.
"Uhh, well, I guess we have two options. I can do an extra jazz class and then lunch, school, and then home, or we can just do lunch and school," Ms. Gianna offers.
"Jazz," we all shout in unison.
"Ok, good thing I have an extra combo I was going to use for next week's class already prepared. Brady, you can also join if you wish," Ms. Gianna reports, and Brady eagerly gets in a spot towards the back.
After taking two hours learning a quick jazz combo, we have our three hours of required school. Once again, I finish earlier than most of the kids. The only other one done is Sarah. I can tell she's stressed about something, but I'll just have to ask her at lunch.
I decide to get in another math class so I can get a headstart on tomorrow's lesson before the dreaded. Man, that salad looks good. But, I can't eat until Saturday. Don't even think about dancing, Lilliana. You don't deserve to eat.
"Lilly, are you going to have anything to eat?" Elliana asks me and I glare at her.
"Just eat a little bit of lettuce, come on," Hannah encourages, but I shake my head no.
"Stop!" I say, trying to keep my anger and my voice level at bay.
Stop acting like a little child, Lilliana. They don't know what they're doing, but don't act like a baby while enduring them.
"Hey, it's okay, Lilly. Don't push her," Brady scolds the other dancers, but still manages to comfort me.
None of the other girls and Brady talk to me, sort of isolating me from the rest of the dancers. Are they afraid to talk to me? On one hand, I want them to talk to me too. Just because I have raging mental health problems doesn't mean I want my friends to interact with me. Your "friends" don't want to hang out with a fat bitch, Lilliana.
On the other hand, if I become more distant as I have with Mom, I may be able to get away with much. But they notice stuff too much.
"Kids, time to go home!" Ms. Gianna yells, and I quickly go to the bathroom to throw away my lunch.
"Lilly, when are you going to eat? You probably haven't eaten all day," Brady whispers to me as we walk out.
"When I don't have to worry about that lace leotard," I scoff, quickly putting my dance bag in the trunk.
***brady***
She looks like she's lost twenty pounds, she doesn't need to worry about the way she looks. But she doesn't want Ms. Abby to comment about her body. So she's starving herself. And didn't she have bulimia early in her life? Why did Ms. Stacey even put her on this show?
I give her a big hug and lift her into the minivan, even though she can do it herself, making her giggle a bit. I just want the ten-year-old to be happy. She has a long life and such a bright light that's going to eventually get cut if she doesn't want help. But there's not much you can do when the person doesn't want help and you made a promise not to tell anyone.
She's like my sister. I know that Pressley feels that way too. It's our job to protect her. But every time I see her not eating a meal (which is every day) or I see her sob because of some comments or I see her get insecure about a particular costume, I know I've failed to protect her.
***lilly***
Ms. Ashley puts on a little bit of music before she takes a phone call on the phone. Finally, we can talk without moderation without the risk of her hearing us.
"I'm exhausted," I grumble, laying my head on Pressley's stomach.
"You don't have any energy because you need to eat," Pressley scolds.
I roll my eyes before I whisper back, "Nice try. You want me to be fat for the competition, don't you,"
"I want you to be healthy," she whispers before she strokes my hair sympathetically.
I feel bad for disappointing Pressley, but the intrusive thoughts are always there to remind me what I'll be gaining. You'll be pretty and skinny if you don't eat, Lilliana. The people that drop you don't care about you wanting to lose weight. The people that tell you to eat want you to be fat.
Eventually, Ms. Ashley ends the phone call, and we have to speak either in code or we have to just ignore the subject. We choose the latter and look at the dying trend of the Duolingo face, dying ourselves, but with laughter.
"Alright, Lilly, Brady, all of the moms are going to get their nails done so you guys are going to camp out at Lilly's place until we get home," Ms. Ashley reveals to us.
We all nod in understanding before we make our way all the way up to the fourth floor.
"Am I technically your babysitter?" Brady asks jokingly as I unlock the door to my apartment.
"I guess so. I'm only twelve, Lilly, you're ten, and you're fourteen," Pressley points out, and I giggle, plopping down on the couch with the others.
I turn on some random cartoon, and I grab two packs of banana chips and toss them to them.
"Want a banana chip?" Brady offers and I shake my head.
"I told you, I'm not eating until Sunday," I complain, leaning back.
"Lilly, that's dangerous. You're only ten, you're gonna have serious health complications if you don't eat something," Pressley argues.
"But I'm gonna look fat in the lace leotard," I whine, tears forming in my eyes.
"Lilly, you're too skinny. You look like you've lost twenty pounds-" Brady begins.
"Only 19.3 pounds," I correct him, and he rolls his eyes.
"Look, nothing we're gonna do is change your mind, but please, try," Pressley pleads, tears forming in her eyes.
"Don't cry!" I gasp, giggling sadly to try to lighten the mood.
We giggle sadly before going back to watching the cartoon. She grasps my hand tightly and squeezes it. Somehow, we have ended up watching SpongeBob at this hour. We're not complaining, though.
"So why did Ms. Abby just randomly leave in our dance rehearsal?" Pressley asks out loud, still munching on her banana chips.
"Well, Ms. Michelle did show that text from Studio 19," Brady speculates, and Pressley stops looking at the TV and throws him a confused look.
"Why- why- why would that matter?" she slowly asks, furrowing her eyebrows.
I sigh, before I answer, "They're rivals. And Ms. Abby won't ever admit she's scared about another studio. And from what I hear, they're worse than the Candy Apples."
"Plus, Sarah danced there," Brady adds.
We all shrug in unison before we hear the door open. Has it already been a couple of hours? Sure enough, it's been two hours. Pressley and Brady give me a hug before they leave. I'm starving for dinner. But I can't eat anything. If you eat until Sunday, you will be a horrible dancer on stage, Lilliana. You're going to lose the group dance for everybody because you will be too fat and look awful in the leotard.
"Lilly, we're just having some more salad. And, now you can even take it to your room if you like," she reveals, pushing to me a plate of the salad.
"Thanks," I giggle, racing to my room.
I really wait ten minutes before I race to the bathroom, flush the shredded lettuce and shredded carrots down the toilet, and then bring the plate back to the kitchen counter. I then return back to the bathroom to take my shower.
I weigh myself. 60.4 pounds. Even though I didn't eat anything today, we only danced for like, three hours, so only losing three-tenths of a pound. This is the least amount of weight you've lost in one day, Lilliana. How could you be that stupid to not lose weight, Lilliana?
It's still weight that has been shredded off, but it's not enough. I cut myself six times this time. Less than yesterday, because I feel a little less guilt, but I haven't lost enough weight, so the tingle, the urge is still there. They don't really bleed a lot, but enough I need a couple of band-aids.
Today has been odd. Why did Ms. Abby just wheel out of rehearsal? She's our teacher. I can tell Mom is annoyed too, due to the loud and animated phone call she and Ms. Yolanda are having, to the point where I can hear the other part of the conversation through Elliana's and I's shared bedroom wall.
I don't have a hard time falling asleep, but I guess I may have a hard time staying asleep, demons conspiring in my head, filling my head with slain unicorns, eroded mermaids, and dragons that just may burn my skin.
~~~~~