Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
And then…then I break into the Fox dance. I kid you not. With the groovy smile and ridiculous moves. Mom snort-laughs now, following me with the camera.
The video goes on for a few more seconds. I stand in line with the rest of the girls—stand out with my outfit and uneven ponytails—and dance with all of them.
I’m not the best in the class. I’m not even the third best in the class, to be honest. But the entire time I’m dancing, I look…thrilled. Filled with joy.
The smile doesn’t drop from my face, not for one second, even when Ms. McFadden corrects me over and over again.
The video ends, and immediately I want to watch it again and never watch it again at the same time. It is so bittersweet to see the way it all started—not with the pressure of Mom’s projected dream. With the pure simplicity of a girl who simply loved to dance.
Untucking the AirPods from my ears, I deposit them in Daria’s open palm.
“You always enjoyed the journey and didn’t care so much about the endgame,” Daria says quietly. “Remember when we went on vacations, to resorts, and there would be lame dance parties at night for the kids? You always danced in those. Everybody else thought they were too cool for it. Not you. You did the Macarena like nobody’s business.”
“I did,” I croak out. “It’s such a catchy song.”
Both Daria and me burst into a laugh-cry sob.
“What happened?” Daria croaks.
My gaze flutters to where Mom is asleep. Only she isn’t asleep anymore. She’s been listening to this entire exchange, judging by the tears in her eyes.
She is watching us, pressing a tissue to her nose.
“I happened.” Mom leans forward on her elbows, grabbing my arm. “I did this to you. The same way I did it to Daria. Put so much pressure on you. Once I realized you were both so talented, I wanted you to have everything I hadn’t been able to get. Daria was more assertive, though. She stood her ground when I tried steering her in the ballet direction. But you, Bailey…”
Mom looks down, wrecked. “You always aimed to please. I should have been much more careful with you. I pushed and I pushed. And look what happened. You ended up with a broken leg too. Only in my case, it was an accident. In yours, you did it to yourself. They put a rod in your tibia, Bailey.” Wow. They’re both really bad at pep talks. “Because of me. I—”
“Not because of you,” I cut her off. “Because of me. I have to take accountability for what happened. Yes, you pushed me to succeed. To go to Juilliard. But I could’ve shut you down at any point. You wouldn’t have put up much of a fight.”
“Yes, and lived your adolescent years feeling like a complete failure,” Mom says, not ready to let herself off the hook. “I’ve been a terrible mother to both of you.”
Daria tips her head back and laughs. “Marx, Mom. So dramatic.”
“One of my daughters ended up being abused by her principal, and the other became a drug addict,” she reminds us.
“We’re a family of winners.” Daria pumps the air.
I have to smile a little too. Because if she finds it amusing, maybe I could one day too. I mean, Daria seems happy with her life, and back in the day, it seemed like hope was gone for her.
This is my moment of epiphany.
Apparently, motivation doesn’t come from rock bottom. It comes from seeing all the things I’m going to lose if I don’t turn my life around. My family. My passion—yes, dancing is still my passion, even if it didn’t work out with Juilliard.
Lev. I’ve been so horrible to him. To everyone around me.
I want to be that girl in the video again. To dangle upside down, break into silly dances, wear neon-colored tutu dresses.
I want to be happy. Even if happy means not being the most successful girl in the room.
Even if my happily-ever-after doesn’t include big stages, a shelf full of trophies, and worldwide recognition.
The door opens, and Dad walks in. As I suspected, he is holding a coffee cup holder with fresh coffees for him, Mom, and Daria.
At the sight of me awake and at all three of us crying, his eyebrows shoot up.
“She’s awake.” He drops the coffee on the floor. All three cups explode, brown liquid spilling everywhere. No one in the room even bats an eyelash.
Somehow, I find it in me to smile. “I’m back, Dad, and I’m never ever doing this to you again.”
He rushes to me, dropping to his knees by my bed, kissing the back of my hand, even with all the needles inside it.
My dad is crying now. The big Jaime Followhill. The rulebreaker. The man who pissed all over tradition, and expectations, and married his high school teacher.