February 2025
In January, I booked my first volunteer trip. I wanted to do something that was useful. I had seen many parts of the world, selfishly only for my own pleasure, and I needed to do something that would benefit other people than myself. It was easy to convince Evie with her big heart to come with me. For a month we prepared for it before boarding the plane to Sri Lanka to help 20 other people teach children, nuns and monks English, while also helping the sea turtles.
Before leaving, I applied to summer classes at an American university. Evie would spend the summer in Los Angeles doing some dancing gigs again. That way we could spend some time there together, like we had before my injury. I wasn't sure if I would get in, but it was worth a try. My grades weren't amazing, but I had the money to pay for it and wrote letters to the schools. It was just summer classes anyway. But first we were spending three months away.
We came to Sri Lanka and got our rooms assigned. They were shared with other volunteers and were very simple. No air conditioning, water should not be drunk from the tap, thin mattresses in the beds. But I was okay with all of that. I was there to help people in need.
The first day, we were introduced to the others and then shown around where we'd be working and around Colombo. It was a beautiful place, and there was a nice beach to surf on while we had some time off.
The second day we were off to work. We started by watching while they took care of hurt sea turtles, protected their eggs and made sure the new babies could make it safely to shore. Seeing the babies crawl out of their shells was one of the coolest and most wholesome things I've seen. We helped scare off the birds to make sure the turtle babies could make it into the water.
The third day we were introduced to a group of children in a school and we got to follow them for a day. We saw them do their school work, we noticed they teach dance in schools and I was in awe of the beauty of the way they danced. The fourth day it was our turn to teach the same group of children English with activities, accompanied by a teacher that could translate for the students in case they didn't understand.
Days went on and we spent our days between the beach, a veterinary clinic and schools. I adored working with the kids and it was fascinating working with the turtles. We had the weekends off where we explored and went surfing, or went out with the other volunteers. We made friends with the others, especially the girls we shared a room with.
Time sort of disappeared over there. We did things we enjoyed and we did something that helped other people. I didn't even think of home.
—
March 2025
"Are you sure?" Evie asks, and I nod my head, looking at myself in the mirror.
She picked up the scissors and she cut off exactly where I showed her, right above my shoulder. My hair had previously gone down my back, reaching almost all the way to my ass. But it was getting difficult to deal with and it was too hot to have it down but it was annoying to deal with my hair every morning. So I decided to get rid of it. I knew Pascale wouldn't be happy, she's always done my hair, dyed it and cut it. She's always loved my long hair and ordered me not to cut it.
A few days earlier I had dyed Evie's hair darker. She had been blonde when she was younger but her hair got darker as she grew older, and it was annoying keeping up with the salon visits to keep it blonde. She got sick of it, and she trusted me to dye her hair brown for her. Darker than her natural color even. My mom would call it rebellion, but she's a little old school like that and thinks that what you do with your hair matters more than it does. Evie's mom loved it though, it made her look more like her rather than her dad.
I liked being in Sri Lanka. No one there cared enough about who we were, so no one felt the need to post any photos of us. No one knew where we were or what we were doing, like they previously had. Those twitter accounts updating our every move had nothing to update on us for weeks. It was nice. No one could say anything about us.
Of course, I wasn't supposed to care about it. If anyone asked, I didn't care about it. There was a time where I didn't care about what people thought or said about me. During the time when I was happy and no one could get to me. Either because it didn't matter, because I was confident enough then, or because I was so up on a high that I was sure people were just jealous. They always say that people who say all those negative things are always jealous. But I don't really care about the hate as much as I care about the people micro analyzing everything.
"She looks paler and skinnier... I hope she's okay."
It comes from a place of concern, which isn't necessarily bad, but when you feel okay, maybe even feel like you look good, and someone says you look sickly, you feel beaten down.
Don't look at it. Don't read it. Don't let it get to you. Turn your comments off. Just don't look. When people are talking about you, isn't it just burning in you to know what they're saying? Besides, they're everywhere. They are everywhere. The comments, the tweets, the messages. Everywhere.
That's why my goal is to stop caring. To feel confident and secure in myself to be able to read it and shrug it off. I need to feel happiness and confidence again, but I don't know how. I'm starting to find happiness. I think. What if I'm just running? What do I need to be happy?
A purpose. Something to do. Something I can do for a long time. A career, something I enjoy and a path to take. I was just floating around in existence without a direction. Nothing to work towards. When I was dancing, I had something to work towards — being the best in my sport. I was good at it too. I needed that again, to feel happy. I need something to work towards. But I can't dance anymore and I don't know what to do instead.
I was sitting on the beach one evening, with my short hair not bothering me as it would have done when it was long. I was practicing my drawing, like I had done a lot when Evie and I first started traveling. Maybe it could be my next thing. The thing to step in instead of dancing.
Mom had sent me a photo earlier that day. Charles had gotten a puppy with Madeline. I think it's his but she's going to help him take care of the dog while he's away. I don't understand how he thinks he's going to be able to have a dog when he's barely home. Madeline will be stuck at home with his puppy while he's away working.
I didn't say anything, but I realized then that it wasn't going to last a lot longer between them. She'd get bored. The lack of time together will make them both think longer about the relationship until one of them realizes they can't do it anymore. Probably her, because she'll get bored of sitting at home by herself, taking care of his home and his dog. Of course they'll be able to bring that dog with them when he's not a puppy anymore, but until then it'll be strenuous.
Maybe they got the dog for the same reason some people have babies. As a final resort to make the relationship work.
I put my pen down and I stop myself from thinking I know anything about their relationship. I shouldn't be so negative about their relationship. Charles is my friend and Madeline is super nice to me. I can't think negatively about them and their relationship. They could probably make it work.
"New hair looks so good on you, Bianchi," Miles, one of the American volunteers, says as he approaches from behind, walking through the sand with his sneakers. "Mind if I sit down?" He asks.
"Thank you," I start, then I motion at the sand next to me, "go ahead."
He sits down and takes his sneakers off and turns them upside down so all the sand runs out of it. Both of us chuckle a little at the amount that runs out. Miles is tall, tanned, has green eyes and shiny brown hair. He's typically American as well, and from what I've gathered he comes from generational wealth. He's said he's doing this as a way to get away for a few months before life starts for real. I had pressed my lips together when he said that, because life will never start "for real" for him, because he will never have to struggle to get what he wants the same way as a lot of other people do. I probably won't either, but at least I know I'm privileged enough to not have the same struggle as a lot of other people on this trip, and I don't say things trying to be like them to fit in either.
But he's polite, he's helpful, and he has that charming smile. Straight teeth, probably from years of braces. Those pointy teeth on the side look like they could glimmer, like in cartoons, when he smiles. Therefore he's liked by everyone, despite sharing some out of touch comments once in a while. I try to stay away from him. Some of the things he says make me frustrated in ways I can not explain and I'm worried that one day I won't be able to bite my tongue and it'll ruin the good vibes in the group. So I don't engage in conversation with him very often.
He looks at my drawing before I manage to put it away, and he takes it out of my hands, without even asking if he can look at it. Again, I'm silent and I let him look at it.
"Who's this?" He asks.
"My brother," I reply, "I try to draw from memory, but I think I'm mixing every person I've ever met into the same face," I sigh as I take it back to look at it again. It certainly doesn't help that I haven't actually seen him in years. Not in reality, seeing him move, smile, talk...
"What was his name again? Jules?" He asks, pronouncing the S like many English speakers, especially Americans tend to do. I nod my head.
Jules had come up in conversation at one point and I had quickly explained that I lost him in a car crash. I never mentioned Formula 1. I didn't want that to be the center of any conversations. I wanted it out of my life just for the little while I was away.
"But it looks more like his best friend... or maybe my best friend," I say, squinting and being able to see both Lorenzo and Arthur in the face, maybe a hint of Charles as well. It's the hair.
"Must be difficult... to lose a brother like that," Miles says. I nod, but I don't reply and I hope he gets that I just don't want to talk to him about it. "I have two older brothers... Theo and Freddie... they're a pain in the ass and they make fun of me relentlessly, but I don't know what I'd do if I'd lose them."
"No one knows what they'd do until it happens," I replied shortly, closing the sketchbook and putting it back into my tote bag. "And you can't imagine what it's like either, until it happens to you," I add to save him the whole 'I can't imagine what it's like' speech that I've gotten a million times before.
Miles turns to look at me, a strand of hair escaping his perfect hair and blowing in front of his eyes. He looks a little confused. "You don't like me very much," he concludes after a moment.
I sigh heavily, "I just don't want to talk about my dead brother."
"Right, I'm sorry," he says quickly, putting his hands up next to his head. I sigh again and I look at the oceans clashing against the beach.
"And you have this way of pretending like you're not dancing your way through life without having to worry about the one thing that worries most other people, money. You will never have to worry about debts, or not having enough money for food or rent... still you talk like you have to go back to an everyday life that is equal to the people who work 12 hour shifts for minimum wage," I ranted, as if he opened that door by realizing I don't like him. I may as well tell him why.
Miles nods along as I speak, then says: "Do you have to worry about paying rent?"
"No, but I-"
"Then how come you're offended and not them?"
My eyes furrow but for a moment I don't have the words to form a full sentence, because in my head I was thinking how stupid he was to even say something like that. Looking back, I keep thinking about what he said a lot more. He had a point.
"I'm not offended! I just don't like your out of touch attitude!"
"Out of touch?"
"Yes!"
Miles nodded, "I'm sorry you feel that way about me," he started, then he stood up from the spot next to me, and looked down at me. "You're a really cool girl, I thought we could be great friends, but I see that's not in the cards then... cool drawing though."
Then he walked away.
—
April 2025
Miles and I didn't talk much after that conversation we had at the beach. We hung out with the same people, we worked in the same place, but we didn't talk unless we had to. Sometimes he said things that made me want to argue with him, but I'd just bite my tongue and ignore it. From time to time I thought he said things on purpose just because he knew it pissed me off. But I refused to react on it and give him the satisfaction.
He was nice to Evie all the time, so she couldn't understand how I didn't like him. I hadn't disliked him before. Maybe the conversation we had humbled me in a way, leaving me to feel ashamed, or maybe guilty for something, and I didn't like him because of that. It's hard to tell why I didn't like him back then, I didn't really have any solid grounds for it
He also left earlier than we did. He had been there longer than us. On the day he left, I found an envelope on my pillow. I opened it and found a bunch of hundred dollar bills in it, along with a note that said.
"Since you're such a saint, make sure to help some people financially."
I gave them to the volunteers I knew didn't have a lot of money and spent most of their savings to be able to come. There was no way for me to return the money anyway, and I never told them where they came from. I just left the money on their pillows with anonymous notes telling them to keep them.
—
May 2025
Evie and I were done in Sri Lanka, about to pack up and go home to let other people come and help out. Our hair was lighter, skin more tanned, flaking from some sunburns, a lot of experience gained and some new friends made.
On our last night, the older kids at the school had begged us to come to some school dance thing they hosted at the beach. We got there, and they had a bonfire, a BBQ, fruits, lemonade and they were dancing around the beach. The girls were dancing a cultural dance called Kandyan dance, which we had seen when they taught it at school. We looked on as they danced, and I was in awe of their big arm movements, and occasional bigger steps.
Normally they would wear headpieces, but these girls were just doing it for fun. Eventually one of the girls came over and she tried to teach us the steps. Evie and I tried our best but only ended up half-good at it. A lot more went into it than what it originally looked like. None of our other dance skills could help us, and it showed, because the girls laughed at us as we tried.
The day after we got on a flight and we flew home. We were ripped away and put back into reality. While it wasn't as bad as a lot of other peoples' realities, it gave me this pit in my stomach to land in Nice, to get into a cab and then be driven all the way back to Monaco. I was dropped off at my parents' house and I was met with big hugs and lots of kisses on my cheeks. Well, after my Mom had a very over dramatic reaction to my hair.
Charles was on his way home from Miami when I made it home. My dad told me he had been on the podium. He had a terrible qualifying but fought a lot and ended up gaining 10 positions and finishing second. Dad said it had been great to watch.
I saw him come visit his mom on Wednesday. I heard the roaring of his engine, so I looked out the window, I saw him get out of the car with his dog, and he walked into the house. Knowing he was close by, I got out of the house, went for a walk around the city. I walked up and down the hills and stairs of the city. I walked along the port until I couldn't walk any further without walking on private property, and my only options were to stop there or go back the same way I had come. So I sat on the concrete wall, watching a seagull standing on one of the big rocks and I looked out at the ocean.
The ocean was quiet, still, and the sun had just set which made the surface look pink. Mom had texted me, asking me to come over to Pascale's. I didn't even bother telling her I was out. I didn't know why I got like that. Avoidant. There was no reason for me to avoid Charles, still I always seemed to do it. Again and again. Even when things were good between us. I couldn't seem to understand it.
Mom called me, Dad called me, probably because my mom ordered her to, then Arthur called, probably because my mom had asked him about my whereabouts. That's when I gave in and I made my way home. I walked slowly, and I made it back thirty minutes later.
I must have impeccable timing, because Charles was outside with his dog sitting next to a bush. He saw me as I got closer, and his jaw fell open a little bit and then he smiled as he walked up to me, focusing on my hair.
"Tu as coupé tes cheveux!" You cut your hair! He exclaims. "Maman l'a déjà vu ?" Has Mom seen it yet? he asks.
"Non," I chuckle. "Je me cache d'elle," I am hiding from her, I admit to him.
"Je voudrais aussi," I would too, he laughs as he nods. I look down at the dog, just sitting next to him, still tiny. Charles picks him up. "C'est Léo," This is Leo, he said, smiling.
I smiled a little as I reached my hand out to let him smell it a little bit, but he quickly became uninterested, so I pulled it away. I didn't know what to say, because I really didn't think that it was a good idea for him to get a dog when he's away so much. Lewis has Roscoe because he has a dog sitter long term in his brother, but Charles relies on Madeline being there forever, because I doubt Pascale is going to want to take care of that dog all the time.
"Où est Madeline ?" Where's Madeline? I asked.
"Elle est en vacances avec des amis," She's on a vacation with friends, he replied, suddenly avoiding my eyes. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again, "Nous prenons du temps séparément," We are taking some time apart, he admitted and I gave a slow nod.
"Désolée," Sorry, I replied awkwardly. He didn't have to tell me that, but he just shrugged.
I heard Pascale approaching from behind him, so I pretended to hide behind her. He chuckled and pretended to use Leo to help cover me, but she had already seen me and was walking over with open arms, talking about how I had spent days in hiding instead of coming to see her. She was in the middle of her sentence when I finally walked past Charles and she could see my hair. She immediately gasped, took two steps back and she put one hand over her heart and the other over her mouth.
"Mon dieu!" My God! she exclaimed as she slowly approached to look closer at my hair. "Tu ferais mieux de me dire que tu as quelque chose de coincé dans tes cheveux qui t'a fait tellement les couper," You better tell me you got something stuck in your hair that made you cut it so much, she said.
"Quoi? Tu n'aimes pas ça ?" What? You don't like it? I asked with a little laugh.
"Tu es superbe... mais vous avez coupé 30 centimètres de cheveux sains !" You look great... but you cut off 30 centimeters of healthy hair! She replied.
She did get over it, and it did grow on her throughout the evening I spent in their backyard along with my parents, Lorenzo, Charlotte and Charles. Leo was sleeping peacefully in Charles' pocket on his hoodie. But she kept staring and running her fingers through it. Eventually she came to the conclusion that she liked it like that, while my mom sighed and begged her not to encourage me. She was joking of course, but she did make it known that she liked my hair longer.
Half of Monaco is like a construction site from early April until the end of the Grand Prix weekend. Grandstands are up, paddock is built, commentary boxes and barriers are put up. It's more difficult to get around. There's a lot of stairs, hills and underground halls to avoid crossing streets. There are guards around the whole paddock area all the time, telling people where to go, making sure no one vandalizes the place or sneaks around the garages.
There are a lot of teenagers that look like they would anywhere else but with designer bags. There are toddlers with birthday parties they won't remember, still more expensive than other people's apartments. The kids are dressed up as if they were going to someone's wedding rather than a 2 year old's birthday party. People walk along the water to see the yachts, and I like to see what they're all named. Some of them are good, others funny. Sometimes they have names that make me wonder who they're named after. A daughter? A wife? A mother? I think it would be nice to have a boat named after me. Not a yacht per se, but a sailboat, or even just a small boat that you row.
There's one place that weirdly doesn't have a lot of people, which is the long walkway above the yacht club, overlooking the ocean on one side, and all of Monaco along with the yachts on the other side. I like to go there. I bought a pizza with Arthur one day and we sat there. We've always used that spot, because it doesn't attract as many tourists.
Arthur finished his part of the pizza and he laid down on the wide wall, his head closest to me. I watch seagulls fighting over his leftover crust that he threw down onto the small path of pavement below us before the ocean. He kept his eyes closed.
"On devrait probablement aller à Imola," We should probably go to Imola, he said suddenly.
"Pourquoi donc?" Why is that? I muttered, a bit distracted by our surroundings, looking at the many houses in the distance, all going up the mountain behind it. There's a helicopter closing in from Nice as well.
"Je doute que Madeline soit là et Charles a besoin de tout le soutien qu'il peut obtenir maintenant avec Hamilton comme nouveau coéquipier," I doubt Madeline will be there and Charles needs all the support he can get now with Hamilton as his new team mate, he stated.
"Il semblait plutôt bien réussir à Miami," He seemed to do quite well in Miami, I replied before taking another bite of my pizza.
"Cela pourrait montrer aux gens que vous êtes toujours amis... inciter les gens à arrêter de spéculer," It might show people that you're still friends...make people stop speculating, he argued.
"Je me fiche de ce sur quoi les gens spéculent," I don't care what people speculate about, I replied tiredly.
Arthur sat up and turned around to face me, "Tu ne veux tout simplement pas y aller parce que tu as peur que ce soit gênant," You just don't want to go because you're afraid it'll be awkward.
"Je ne vois pas l'intérêt d'y aller ! Il a Joris et Andrea comme soutien... vas-y si tu veux," I don't see the point in going there! He has Joris and Andrea as support... go if you want, I replied.
Arthur sighed, and then laid down again. He closed his eyes and he stayed silent for a while, then he started singing some song about me being a coward. I slapped his forehead, I tried to get him to shut up by shoving crust in his mouth but even through his coughing he kept singing it. I glared at him and he started pushing my shoulder.
"Je viens de rentrer, je ne veux plus voyager si tôt," I just got back, I don't want to travel again so soon, I said.
He kept going.
"Tu es assez grand pour y aller seul !" You're old enough to go alone! I tried.
He kept singing it.
"Arrête de m'ennuyer!" Stop bothering me!
"Tu pourrais aller voir Lewis," You could go see Lewis, Arthur pointed out.
—
We arrived in Imola on Saturday afternoon. We had watched qualifying on the way from the airport and Charles had gotten another pole, Lewis was right after him. It made for a great race the next day. Arthur hadn't told Charles, because he thought it would be fun to surprise him. We knew he'd be arriving at the hotel later that evening, and we asked Joris to let us know when he'd leave the track.
We got the text and walked down to the lobby. We sat down on a couch and waited until he walked in. Arthur whistled at him, which caught his attention. He saw Arthur first, chuckled, then he saw me and the smile went away for a second. Suddenly his demeanor changed. He walked over, scratching the back of his neck. Then he quickly greeted us, looking around anxiously.
"Depuis combien de temps es-tu assis ici ?" How long have you been sitting here? Charles asked.
"Toute la journée," All day, Arthur lied.
"Joris nous a envoyé un texto quand tu étais en route," Joris texted us when you were on the way, I replied, noticing he didn't need that joke, as he was clearly stressed about something and I didn't know what.
Charles sighed, maybe of relief, and then he looked at me, "Je dois te parler," I have to talk to you, he said.
Silently, I followed him outside, away from the others that looked after us suspiciously. I didn't know what he wanted to tell me, but I knew it wasn't good. So I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for him to start talking. He put his hands in his pockets and then looked inside.
"Je n'avais pas prévu de venir," I wasn't planning on coming, I said before he had the chance to start. I had a feeling he didn't want me there.
"J'aurais juste aimé le savoir avant," I just wish I knew beforehand, he kind of mumbled. "J'ai amené Madeline, j'essaye d'arranger les choses..." I brought Madeline, I'm trying to fix things.
"C'est super," That's great, I replied quickly.
"Ouais, c'est..." Yeah, it's... he started, looking down at his feet. "Le problème, c'est que... elle n'aime pas que nous soyons si proches..." The thing is... she doesn't like that we're so close...
I was taken aback and I just stared at him, not sure what to say to that. She knew we were close before. Yes we were even closer then because we were together, but she must know we grew up together. I look down at the ground and I realize he's asking me to leave. He's asking for space, to make space for his new girlfriend, which is reasonable I guess. It just sucks that I have to be the one moved to the side to make that space.
"Okay," I replied with a slow nod.
"Elle m'a demandé de ne plus vous voir en dehors des moments où nos familles se réunissent... Je lui ai dit que non, mais ce n'est peut-être pas le meilleur moment pour moi de repousser les limites," She asked me not to see you anymore outside of times when our families get together... I told her I won't, but maybe it's not the best time for me to push the limit, he says, as if he can make me feel better.
He's choosing to be with a girl that doesn't want me to be in his life. I understand to a degree, but my heart was breaking inside, knowing little Céline wouldn't understand why he would choose someone else over her. All these years of friendship and we've come to a situation where we're not each other's first priority anymore. We have to think about our partners.
"Je ne vais rien gâcher pour toi," I won't ruin anything for you, I replied, knowing my tone of voice was a lot colder than what I was feeling inside, then I started walking back inside.
"Elle s'en remettra, c'est juste pour un petit moment !" She'll get over it, it's just for a little while! he called after me. I knew he felt bad about asking me to leave, and asking me to stay away,
I swiftly turned around, "Je m'en fiche, Charles !" I don't care, Charles!
"Je suis désolé," I'm sorry, he said.
I nodded and turned around and walked inside again. I walked past Joris, Andrea and Arthur and took the elevator up to the room. I allowed myself to cry for five minutes as I packed up all my stuff again. Then I took a deep breath just as Arthur came in and started packing as well. Charles had told him what happened and he refused to stay if I couldn't.
Late on Saturday evening we just left Imola and went to Bologna. We spent the same time there we were supposed to stay in Imola. We rented an AirBnB, and we ordered junk food for dinner and ate it on the floor while just catching up on a lot of missed time. We played board games and looked around the city that I had seen once before. I loved Bologna. I had loved it the previous time as well.
And even though I had felt so unimportant as Charles threw twenty five years away for a relationship he'd had for just over a year, that was with a woman he couldn't even wait until I moved out to start seeing openly. Arthur made me feel so much better as we were in Bologna together. It didn't feel like my world was ending, which it probably would have if I had gone home by myself and let myself spiral.
—
During the Monaco weekend, I spent all my time at home. Everyone went to watch the race. I had a pass, but I stayed away upon Charles' request. Madeline was probably there and I didn't want to step on anyone's toes. I'd just have to live with the "with one guest noticeably missing" afterwards.
The first day of the race weekend I slept in. The house was empty when I came downstairs. There was a bunch of mail on the kitchen island and some packages with my name on them on the floor. I sorted through the envelopes and found some with my name on them. I opened them mindlessly, my thoughts on other things, like the racing going on in town where everyone I know is hanging out. I felt left out, even though I was the one who chose not to go. I was only following Charles' wishes.
"Céline Bianchi, we regret to inform you..."
Put it in the trash before I could read about it.
"Céline Bianchi, we regret to inform you..."
Another one in the trash.
"Dear Céline Bianchi, congratulations!"
I nearly threw it in the trash, but then took a double take. My grades aren't amazing, but they were enough to give me a spot at a decent school for some summer classes. It was better than nothing, and it would help me if I ever wanted to get into some other school and get a degree, if I ever found out what I wanted to do.
Relieved and happy, I sat down on the stool by the kitchen counter, and I read the letter over and over. I was happy and I had no one around me to tell. Everyone was watching Charles while he's racing. Shamefully, I was resentful about that at that moment. Normally, I would just be happy that he got to do what he worked so hard for and I would hope for him to win. But when I sat there, alone, with no one to tell my happy news to because everyone was with him, after he had asked me to stay away, I wasn't happy for him .
That same day I walked upstairs and I started packing my bags and I booked a plane ticket to Los Angeles. Evie would already be there, and we'd be staying in the apartment we got together some years before.
June 2025
I went to Los Angeles a week before classes started. Evie was practicing and it didn't really hurt anymore to see her do the thing that I loved. At least I didn't think so. I was fine with it in the beginning. Or at least I was neutral. If I didn't think too much about it, I was completely fine.
Classes started. I had chosen a math course, because I had sucked at it before, and my grades sucked so I used this match class to work it up and maybe make up for my previous math grades. I also chose to take a Spanish class. I started learning with Isa, then she broke up with Carlos, and then I tried learning with Mateo, and I'm not seeing him anymore. But I still wanted to learn, so I took the class hoping to finally learn it.
It took me three match classes to freak out, feeling like I had gotten in way over my head. There's no mathematical gene in my body. I was always very good at writing. Languages, like English, French and even Swedish. Psychology, history, anything that required me to write. I had the highest grades in those classes. Writing, gathering information by reading. That's what I'm good at. I found myself sitting at the kitchen table after school, whispering the equations to myself trying to beat them into my head. Halfway through the equation I'd have to start over. I tried to make it make sense in my head but it just made me feel stupid.
Evie would come home and I couldn't focus. Sitting on my bed would give me a headache. I would go to the library at school and sit there until it closed. I would try to solve them, check the answers and realize that I did something wrong once again. It would drive me crazy.
One evening I sat there, and I was close to tears. I just wanted to get through this. I wanted to be able to do it and I wanted to understand, but after two weeks I was behind no matter how much I worked and tried to keep up and understand what we were doing. With my head in my hands, I held back tears just staring down at another equation I couldn't solve.
"Bianchi?" I heard in front of me. I looked up, and I saw green eyes and perfect hair and not long after that a rich smile. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," I replied to Miles. "I thought you went to Harvard."
"Brown," he corrected me, and I gave him a quick nod. "I didn't think you studied at all... especially in the states."
"Summer classes," I replied shortly, shutting my book, deciding to be done for the day. I wasn't doing any progress anyway and I didn't want to be there if Miles was. So I started gathering my stuff and putting it all back into my bag.
"How's Evie?"
"Good."
"What classes are you taking?"
"Math."
"I'm here as a tutor... didn't exactly have the grades to tutor at Brown," he said, following me as I started walking out.
"Good to know, I'll try to find another tutor if I end up needing one," I replied. I could use a tutor, but turns out he's not actually that qualified, so definitely not him then.
"I'm actually good at math though," he said, and I cocked my head to the side.
"I bet you are."
"Céline," he finally said, stepping in front of me. "Let's act like adults."
"Miles," I sighed. "I am not holding a grudge or anything... I'm just not interested in being your friend," I explained and watched his face fall into confusion, as if he couldn't understand how someone didn't want anything to do with him. I pressed my lips together and then walked around him and continued out of the library.
The sun had set and it would be dark soon so I had to walk quickly to get home before it got too dark. I heard jogging behind me and then Miles grabbed my arm to stop me again.
"Why not?" He asked with an awkward chuckle. "What about me makes you not want to be my friend?" He clarified. I sighed, rolled my eyes and continued to walk.
"We don't have anything in common."
"I think we have more in common than you think," he replied as he walked beside me.
"I doubt it."
"Don't pretend like you weren't a little debutante girl," he said as if it was humorous.
"We don't have debutante balls in France," I replied.
"Monaco," he corrected me. I stopped abruptly to look at him with furrowed brows, knowing damn well I had told him that I was French. I always tell people I'm French to make it a bit easier. To not get as many questions or have to explain where it is or that it's a country. "You have a whole Wikipedia page."
"Do I have to get a restraining order?" I asked.
"No," He shrugged. "I just like to know who I'm dealing with, especially if they're going to judge me for having money... funny you didn't mention the Dior in your closet, or the yachts, the Ferraris, or the million dollar smile you put on while wearing fancy gowns at prestigious galas."
I scoffed, "I didn't judge you for having money, I judged you for being entitled."
"I want you to tell me that you've never complained about anything in your life while you were dating a millionaire."
"I never complained about having to work to someone who has to work double the amount for half as much!" I exclaimed, tensing my eyes into him because I was really trying my hardest not to scream at him for all the stupid things he's said since he came up to me a few minutes ago. "If this is your way of making friends I understand why you're lacking... leave me alone Miles, and stay away from my Wikipedia."
After that I walked away as fast as I could, and I told Evie about this whole encounter while laughing over a glass of wine that night.
—
I was hanging on by a thin thread to the math class. Everyone was better than me, and seemed to get it immediately. I was falling behind. Every time I understood something, we'd move on and I'd have the same issue. My professor had suggested Miles as a tutor but I refused. So I tried to see the other tutors. None of them were there to actually help. They would get paid either way. They were just there to get to live on campus and they were out partying all the time. Miles was definitely there for the same thing.
I saw Alex a few times, saw his daughter that usually forgets me between every time I see her, considering I don't see them a lot. She's getting bigger and bigger, her hair his getting longer and she's starting to speak. Her name is Vanessa, they call her Nessa, even she calls herself Nessa. I guess it's easier for a little child to say. But after a few visits she'd start to recognize me. Eventually she'd get excited to see me. Alex's wife became a friend of mine as well, and I'd go over to their house a lot more to not drive myself crazy between Evie dancing all day and trying to understand math.
"How's that math class going?" Alex asked one evening as I was on the floor laying a puzzle with Nessa. I sighed and shrugged.
"I'm not failing, but I'm very close," I replied. "I'm not good at it."
"Then why put yourself through it? Do you need it for your future?" He asked.
"I don't know what I need for my future," I muttered, giving a piece to Nessa and pointing to where she should put it. She put it down then applauded herself while laughing so I applauded her as well.
"Well, maybe choose something that doesn't require math," he suggested lightheartedly. "Your Spanish class is going okay, isn't it?"
I nodded and shrugged. "I think I just need to accept the fact that nothing is going to be as thrilling as dancing..."
Nessa placed the final piece of the puzzle so I applauded, sat up and grabbed her, tickled her as she laughed that beautiful toddlers laugh, like a melody to my ears. She immediately began climbing on me, so I just let her while Alex looked his daughter with the smile of a proud father.
"You could work with kids," He suggested.
"I don't think so," I replied.
"You're great with them!"
But I'm far from stable enough to work with kids every day. I party, I'm irresponsible and I get pregnant that I have to abort while there are women who struggle to get pregnant. I shouldn't work with kids. I'm nowhere near a role model.
Elsa, Alex's wife, came to get Nessa off of me to take her to bed. I hugged her goodnight, and then I laid on my back on the floor, straightening out my back after the long housr studying at the library. Alex stayed on the couch and looked at me.
"What are you doing?" He asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Straightening out my back," I explained, confused.
"No! Céline..." He said, leaning forward. "What are you doing here? taking a class you don't even want to take for no reason... you should be doing something you love!"
"I don't know what that is! I loved dancing but that got ripped away from me!"
"No it wasn't!" He argued. "There are plenty of things you could do within the dance world that isn't competing!"
"How am I supposed to watch other people do what I can't every single day?" I asked, sitting up, looking at Alex. "How am I supposed to do anything when I can't see people dance and I can't?"
"Have you danced since the injury?" He asked.
"No! What's the point?!"
"You can still dance, C, you're just not supposed to do it competitively..."
"It's not the same if I can't push myself to get better at it... I can't dance on the same level again..." I muttered.
"You're just going to avoid the one thing you love because you no longer have the guts to try?" He asked. I was shocked, because I hadn't expected to get my ass handed to me by Alex. He sat back again, and I stood up, ready to run away from the conversation like the coward I was. "Céline... get off the ground, dust yourself off and stop wasting all your potential because something bad happened to you."
"I'm trying."
—
A week later, a week of avoiding Alex while licking my wounds, I walked out of class and I saw him waiting for me. He stood there, leaning against his car. I slowly walked over to him, looking around to see if Elsa and Nessa were around too. I would've prefered it. But they weren't.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
He stepped to the side and he opened the passenger door for me. I just stared at him, not really keen on getting into that car without knowing where we're going. He motioned at the seat and I finally got into the car and let him close the door for me. He walked around the car and got in behind the wheel.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"We're ending this god damn depression you're in, because you have too much potential to just sit around moping," He muttered.
We drove through the city, and eventually I started to realize where he was taking me, which just gave me a stomach ache. My heart started beating as I felt like throwing up while he pulled into the parking lot of the dance studio we used to practice at. He parked the car, and then stepped out. I just sat there, staring at the building. But he walked around the car and opened the door for me.
"Come on," he ordered. I still sat there, my heart pounding in my throat. He held his hand out and I finally got out of the car without taking his hand.
Slowly I followed him into the building, being hit by that familiar smell. He walked me straight to the studio we'd practice in, held the door opened for me. I could barely step in until he put his hands on my shoulders and guided me inside, placing me in front of the mirror where we had practiced. I looked the same, almost, but I wasn't the same person. I had aged significantly. I was more gray, lifeless compared to then.
It was my fault. I just didn't want to realize it then. It was easier to just say that it was the sadness and the trauma I went through that made me that gray. It did put me in that position, but did I really do anything about it? Was I really trying to get out of that? I was traveling the world, I was doing other things to pass time. But was I processing what happened? Move past it? Or was I just running from it? I found things to distract me from it, rather than work through it.
Alex placed me right in front of the mirror, walked up to the speaker and plugged his phone in. I sighed and looked at him with a pained expression. Moments later he started playing Waves by Dean Lewis. The song that put me here. The choreography was the best we've ever done. It was meaningful, moving, and emotional. We'd struggle to ever make something as good again. But it's also the song that was playing as my dreams and goals shattered along with my kneecap.
"Alex..." I begged. I didn't want to hear it again.
"We're going to dance," He replied.
"I don't want to."
"I can't force you to, but I want to remind you that you can do it, you just won't. That's on you. You made this whole choreography on your own, and it's still one of the best ones ever. It's been recreated by the best dancers in the world and they don't come near what you did with it..." He started. "You made one of the best choreographies ever, imagine what else you could do... you could use other people's bodies to tell your own stories through dance, like you did with this one!"
"But I want to dance it myself," I said with tears in my throat.
"Then dance!"
"I can't!" I shouted back at him. "I haven't danced since it happened! How the hell am I supposed to do this choreography now? There's no way!"
"You haven't tried it!" He argued.
"Alex! How do you expect me to just let you haul me around when last time you did it, you dropped me!" I yelled even louder, for the first time ever saying those words to him. He didn't have anything to say for a moment and I was shaking in front of him, holding back tears. "You dropped me and I will never be able to finish telling my own damn story with that stupid choreography!"
"I know! And I live with that every damn day!" He finally shouted back, sounding like he might start crying as well. "I am trying to make up for it because seeing you in this damn state is driving me insane knowing that it's my fault you're like this!"
He walked back over to the speakers and he pressed pause so the room fell silent again. He composed himself and then turned back to me. He took a deep breath.
"I am willing to practice with you until we get this choreography right again, so that you can finally finish it," he finally said. "If you're willing."
I looked at the ground, still breathing heavily. I dried away the only tear that managed to escape, and I crossed my arms over my chest. I didn't see the point, but maybe it could help Alex move on from it then it would be worth it. So I looked back at him and he was waiting for my response.
"Okay... let's do it," I replied silently.
And we got to work. There were tricks we had to relearn and parts of the choreo that were fuzzy in our memory. That evening we tried to get back into dancing with each other. We tried to get everything to be in sync again. But I couldn't let him lift me. He was physically able to, but I would shake, not be able to keep a stable core.
Alex told me it was okay, that we'd get there eventually, but I saw that he was frustrated and that he was hurt that I couldn't just trust him again. Everything else is muscle memory and will easily be learned again, but the trust isn't as easy.
After class I would meet up with Alex and we'd go to the studio and practice, then I'd go home and I'd sit until late at night with my math. Evie would get up around 1 AM to get a glass of water and tell me to go to bed, taking my books from me. I'd take them back then get another hour in. I still wanted to finish that math class. I didn't want to quit.
Eventually, Alex and I got closer and closer to nailing every move, but there were still some elements missing that we couldn't figure out what they were, so we called in Elsa, who's a retired dancer herself. She would point out details and help us fix them while carrying Nessa on her hip. We also called Evie in, since she's currently a dancer. She helped us with some other parts.
But it was the final move that we couldn't land. It was easier for me to get up, standing on his shoulders and then jump to let him catch me, than it was to let him lift me into the air to then put me on his shoulder. I could never keep my arms steady or core strong for it.
Evie kept pushing us to get it right. She even did it with him to see where it went wrong, if it was his fault we couldn't get it or if it was my fault. It was mine. I was scared of being dropped again.
"He's not going to drop you again," Evie said as we were driving home from practice when she had been advising.
"I know," I muttered.
"Then what are you scared of?" She asked.
"I don't know, I'm scared of falling," I replied with a shrug. "Everytime we do that final move I just remember what it was like falling... I guess my body wants to keep my knee."
"Even if he did drop you again, you probably wouldn't go through the same thing again," Evie replied, pulling into the driveway of our apartment building. "You were very unlucky on how you landed, the chances of you landing that way again are slim."
"Not impossible though."
"You can't think like that! You need to believe he can never drop you. You can't think about falling, or your knee, or what happened last time. You have to think about what you want it to look like," Evie said and I just nodded.
I kept what she said in the back of my mind as we tried it over and over and over. After two days of trying, I got sick of failing. In my head I imagined what it would look like once we got it, and I tried my hardest, and we finally nailed it. Elsa was there for it, and so was Nessa. Elsa applauded enthusiastically, making Nessa applaud as well even though I don't think she knew what for.
When we had nailed it once, it was easier to nail it again and again. We practiced until everything was perfect again.
Then one day, Alex told me to come in on a Saturday, so I did. He had called a videographer. He shook my head and said it was nice to meet me while I was just confused. Alex explained that the videographer is going to film it, then we can post it to youtube and make sure people finally get to see the final product that they didn't get to see before.
So we performed the dance over and over, letting the videographer move around and try different angles. He'd ask us to move slightly or try different things. Nessa and Elsa came by with lunch in the afternoon and then the work continued. The dance, over and over, perfect every single time.
"That's all I need," the videographer said sometime in the late afternoon.
"Thank you," Alex said and they worked out payment and some other contact information for when the final video was ready.
I sat down on the floor in the middle of the room, trying to catch my breath, looking around and realizing that I had the best times there. They had come to an end once again. Alex would continue to dance with his other partner, and I would go back to trying to finish that math class I was damn near failing.
I had to find a way to continue dancing. I wasn't sure how but I just needed a way to do it.
//
I was going to keep going and finish the whole year in one chapter but, even though I know a lot of you like the long ass chapters, it felt excessive phahaha