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)
I press my finger to my mouth to motion for Thalia to stay quiet.
She looks a little confused but doesn’t argue. Daria, however, is in a hella confrontational mood. “Bitch, I made my way from NorCal because your ass embarrassed me. You better open up or we’re gonna have a problem.”
I swallow but don’t answer.
“You know I can take you, Bailey,” Daria warns. “I weigh more and these coffin nails are sharp at the edges. Don’t try me.”
Thalia and I remain still for a full minute, not even breathing. I feel so horrible doing this to my sister, but again, my anxiety doesn’t let me face her a minute sooner than I absolutely have to. To see the disappointment on her face when she sees me…my injuries…my scars—I just can’t take it.
“Oh, screw you, Bails. For real now!” She kicks the door in frustration. “Out of all the things you could’ve become, you chose to become a coward.”
I can practically envision Daria throwing her hands in the air and trudging back upstairs. My eyes sting with unshed tears, and it feels like my inner organs are made out of lead, they’re so heavy.
“Wow. Harsh words. Daria really is as bad as everyone said she was, huh?” Oblivious to my internal meltdown, Thalia does a backbend bridge, raising her feet up in the air into an unsupported candlestick, all the way up to a perfect handstand.
She’s in better shape than most people at Juilliard, and I can’t stop staring. I feel like a pile of haphazardly arranged bones and cell tissue in comparison.
“No,” I say quietly. “She’s not bad at all. She’s…” the best. “She’s amazing. She’s my sister.”
“Sorry.” Thalia slants her gaze my way, not even breaking a sweat. “What’s up? Do I look bloated? Ugh, I feel so self-conscious. Lev hasn’t touched me in over two weeks.”
I want to vomit. No, I need to vomit. Not that I didn’t know they were having sex beforehand. I mean, they’re together. Maybe I should be happy because he hasn’t done it with her since I’ve been back?
My head is such a mess, I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore. The only thing I know is that this hurts even more than my body does.
Thalia glides to a sitting position, frowning. “Bailey, look at you, you’re green. Ohmigod, I’m so stupid.” She puts a hand over my back, rubbing in circles. “I totally forgot Lev is like a brother to you. It’s probably so gross to hear about him doing the nasty with his girlfriend.”
“It’s fine.” I attempt a smile.
“Kind of like hearing your parents having sex in the other room when they think no one’s home. I mean, don’t you call his dad Uncle Dean and shit?”
I hold my stomach, about to barf. “Yup. Point taken. We can change the subject now.”
“Daria?”
I shake my head harder.
She looks around helplessly, trying to find a topic to sink her teeth into. “This studio is huge! Please tell me you’re taking advantage and practicing here until your legs break, ha-ha.”
She hops up, walks over to the edge of the room, runs into momentum, and does the Biles on the hardwood. Triple twisting, double back, perfectly executed. I’m still on the floor, malnourished and wilting. In a desperate attempt not to look completely useless, I try a simple front split. My lower back snaps loudly—crap, did I break a small bone?—and it feels like someone shot me there.
“Ugh,” I grunt.
Thalia tilts her head in confusion. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I pull my legs into crisscross applesauce. “It’s just…Marx, the pain is just so persistent. I thought I’d be way better by now.”
Thalia huddles toward me, concern flooding her face. She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we should stop. Juilliard is not worth killing yourself over. It’s a great prospect but at what cost?”
I nod, breathing sharply through my nose. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Not everyone is cut out for competitive sports. I mean, Lev and I are kind of similar in that way that we don’t let the pressure get to us. It takes a certain personality. Not everyone has one.”
I stare at her blankly, feeling hot and cold and cloudy-headed all at the same time. She snaps her fingers, her eyes lighting up. “Hey, did I tell you about my friend Fern, who dropped out of Texas Christian University’s ballet program? She became a Zumba instructor. I can’t tell you how fulfilled she is today!”
But I don’t want to become a Zumba instructor. I want to do ballet. And Juilliard is where you do it professionally, so it’s a stepping stone I cannot skip. It’s what I’ve worked for since the day I was born. I have no other identity.
Being a ballerina is the only thing that matters. I clutch on to Thalia’s arm just when she is about to stand up.