Une Fleure Fanée

Week 2 Part 2 (Tuesday and Wednesday)

     The team coordinates yellow ALDC hoodies and black leggings today. I am so nervous. Putting my hair in a ponytail with a black bow, I am not sure if I am ready to face Ms. Abby. But I guess I have to. My Mom also tells me we have to try to stay off of Venlafaxine for the week and we have to just stick with Fluoxetine, so my backup meds are off the table if my mind becomes too unstable. I hope Fluoxetine will do the job.

     My thoughts have been dormant the past day or two, which is always nice. Except for the creepy "Good girl" that the thoughts said. I'm not sure about you, but I certainly don't like my brain being told what to do by you but not you. It's confusing.

     After saying a quick hello to everybody on the team, we all have to line up. My mom is staying a little farther away, not gripping my shoulder. She respects my space. I am not ready for whatever criticism Ms. Abby has about me about the group dance. And what if Mom chimes in?

     She looks at us judgingly, up and down, left and right. I'm practically shaking, my composure holding on by a string.

     Her scowl contorts into a smile as she exclaims, raising her fist in the air, "We won!"

     We all clap and cheer. Some people whoop, some people fist bump the air, but I go for the simple clap and fake smile. The pyramid is next and I am dreading it.

     Ms. Abby cuts us off, stating, "Now enough! You may have been the highest overall junior group there. But in our eyes..." her tone turns into a sour one. I start shaking my foot. "... that was not an ALDC dance. You had one goal. To come together and dance as one. And I didn't see that. There were seven soloists on that stage."

     I failed Ms. Abby. We all failed Ms. Abby. She expects us to dance together when we barely know each other. Other dancers have known each other for years, and we've known each other for a week. I don't think it's that fair, but what do I know? Ms. Abby is always right.

     Ms. Abby moves on to the pyramid. My whole leg is shaking as she wheels to the left side of the bottom row.

     "At the bottom of the pyramid is Hannah," Ms. Abby states, peeling off the piece of paper tacked to Hannah's headshot. I feel so bad for her.

     "The turns looked weak. I don't want a weak link," Ms. Abby explains, Hannah and Ann, Hannah's mom, maintaining excellent composure.

     "Next is Pressley," Ms. Abby said. "When you do a toe lift, backbend, walk over, do not step down on your foot."

     Why haven't I been called yet? Is this some kind of cruel joke? I should be happier, but I'm full of sorrow for Hannah and Pressley, and fear for where I placed.

     "Next is Lilly," Ms. Abby finally calls out.

     My heart and face sink. I don't know why. I expected myself to be at the bottom of the pyramid. I am surprised I made it to the third on the bottom.

     "'The Favorite' was third. Lilly, you were the lead, but yet you stepped out on that stage and you slipped. From that moment on, your musicality was fast." she explains, me agreeing with everything that she was saying. I have to explain.

     "I just felt, like, a lot of pressure on me because, like when we were in the pyramid you said that I've never let you down and I feel like I just let you down," I explain, my voice quiet and weak.

     "You did," Ms. Abby agrees, me biting my tongue and trying to think of happy memories to stop myself from crying, a tear slipping down.

     But just when I think it is over, Mom dares to speak about the dance, even though I told her yesterday to basically just shut up.