𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡 - 𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙧 - discontinued

the quiet game

|4.3|

"all right girls, off the bus, off the bus!" abby yelled as i opened my eyes groggily and reached for my backpack. "let's go, let's go! soloists change first. pressley, sarah, get into your costumes. your mothers can do your makeup. we're running behind schedule." abby rolled through the crowd, waving and smiling. her grin collapsed into her familiar grimace as she ushered everyone into the dressing room.

i couldn't help but feel disappointed and let down, because the rush of competition adrenaline was coursing through me, but it didn't have anywhere to go. i wasn't dancing. and even though it wasn't like abby had taken me out of the number, it still felt like a punch to the gut. i wouldn't be dancing for another two weeks. it was torture.

"willow!" sarah waved me over. "hey. hi. i am so stressed out right now and i am about to have a breakdown and so can you please do my makeup because my hands are tooooo shaky for me to do it myself." 

"you're okay, sarah." i started her makeup. "don't think about the dance. think about something else."

"okay. okay. i'm okay. if i don't win i'm going to get murdered but it's okay. it's okay! okay? okay!"

"how about this. forget winning. no matter what the results are, if you make it through your dance, we'll go get mcdonalds, okay?"

sarah grinned through her almost-tears. "you just want french fries." she wagged a finger in my face. "you don't care about my dance."

i laughed. "of course i care. i want you to do amazing. i also want french fries. make both of my wishes come true, okay?"

she threw her arms around me, which was slightly shocking because sarah and i weren't that close, but i sank into her comforting hug.

"you are the most amazing friend ever, willow. it's no wonder everyone loves you. it's just- i can't help being jealous, sometimes. no matter what happens you always land on your feet. like, have you ever experienced a tragedy in your life, ever, other than your ankle? there was this one time where i lost all of my mom's designer burberry things in the airport and she screamed at me and we missed our flight to japan, which wasn't even the worst of my tragedies. you're so perfect and angelic that somehow i doubt you even have to go through stuff."

i knew she meant well, and she said it with admiration instead of bitterness, but everything inside me pulled taut with the insensitivity of what she just said. have you ever experienced a tragedy in your life, ever? have you? i have, sarah, and it was much bigger and much more devastating than being yelled at by abby. while she was losing her burberry backpack, i was losing my other half.

i pushed my anger away. she couldn't have known about grace. she was clearly anxious and clearly rambling, because the things she was saying didn't even sound like they were coming from the sarah georgiana i knew and lovoed. that didn't stop me from wordlessly pulling away and finishing her makeup before i spoke again. 

"you'll do great," i said, trying to keep the ice out of my voice. "get us that mcdonalds, okay?"

"you're the best." she rushed away to run her solo in front of abby.

"willow! a little help?" pressley waved me over. "can you zip up my leo?"

"pressley, i can zip up your leo!" ashley called from across the room. "don't make willow hobble over on her crutches to help you."

"it's okay, ashley." i laughed, zipping up press's costume while admittedly struggling to lean on a crutch while wiggling the zipper. pressley looks stunning in her pink leotard, but there was a tension in the air involving the obvious fact - that pressley's ballet solo entitled "leap of faith" really didn't suit her. she was being set up to fail, and it was only a matter of time before someone brought it up. 

as if on cue, ashley shouted above the din of stressed dancers. "so, abby, how come sarah gets an acro dance that suits her perfectly and my kid gets sassy jazz that's about a millimeter away from hip-hop? she's a musical theater kid, a hip-hop kid, a contemporary kid, even sassy jazz. she's incredibly versatile and yet you put her in a dance that is basically lyrical to what? humiliate her?"

"ashley, i don't understand where any of this is coming from. pressley's been working hard all week. she likes her solo, don't you, pressley?"

pressley nodded silently and looked away. "see? this is the problem. mothers speaking for their kids. frankly, ashley, i don't appreciate your attitude. i am doing so much for your kid and this is how you repay me? accusing me of sabotage?"

"i wasn't accusing you of sabotage, i was just wondering why you didn't give her a style that better suited-"

"PRESSLEY CAN DO EVERYTHING BUT BALLET, SO WHY DO I GIVE HER BALLET? TO MAKE HER BETTER. BALLET IS THE FOUNDATION, AND YOU AS HER MOTHER HAVE FAILED TO GIVE HER THE BALLET EDUCATION SHE DESERVES IN NEW YORK SO IT IS MY JOB AS A DANCE TEACHER TO GIVE HER THE EDUCATION SHE NEEDS. YOUR KID DOESN'T DO BALLET AND THAT'S PROBABLY THE REASON WHY HER LEGS AND FEET ARE SO TERRIBLE!"

"how DARE you question my parenting." ashley screeched. "and my kid has great legs and feet! you can work on her legs and feet in class if you see fit. you're just putting her on that stage to humiliate her and you know it. why not give her a hip-hop number and then do some ballet and technique in class? that would make SO much more sense." ashley was doing her best to stay as calm as possible, gritting her teeth and letting out the kindest, most censored version of what she really wants to say to abby, which was probably more along the lines of ▇▇▇▇ you, ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇!!!

 abby plastered on her shiny, fake smile usually used for taunting the moms. "i have a great idea." the room fell silent, waiting for the kicker.

"let's play the quiet game, ashley! first mother to talk loses." she said it so sarcastically, dripping with such patronization that all of the mothers looked like their heads were about to explode. the quiet lasts for about five seconds. 

"you disgust me." ashley threw down everything in her hands and stalked to the door. just as her hand brushed the silver handle, abby called out, "okay, ashley! your kid doesn't get a solo. you lost the quiet game!" she said it excitedly with a huge fake smile plastered across her face. ashley whirled around so quickly that i barely saw the movement.

"don't you dare pull my kid's solo because of a dumb game." she said, her voice dangerously low.

"too late!" abby set down her phone. 

"abby. you didn't really pull it." ashley said, trying to convince herself that abby wasn't as cruel as she really was. i glanced over at pressley, who had silent tears running down her pale cheeks.

"i did." abby grinned, sounding pleased.

ashley grabbed her new louis vuitton bag, took pressley by the arm and said, "thank you for your time. we won't be returning." her voice cracked as pressley shook her head in disbelief and protest, trying to wrench her arm out of her mother's grasp.

the room stayed in a stunned silence for the longest three minutes of my life.

and then, finally, abby spoke, her voice hoarse and smile gone. 

"let's go, girls. we need to reblock the number."