“That doesn’t answer my question. Is ballet fun for you?”
“Is it about fun?” I’m still evading the question. She definitely notices, but I can’t admit that it’s not fun for me.
“It should be, at least a little bit,” Mae says. “I mean, sure, there’s a lot of pressure. We’re constantly comparing ourselves, and I bet everyone has had a nervous breakdown at some point because it felt like they were incapable and everyone else was better. But I think most of us know why we put all this pressure on ourselves. Do you?” she asks gently, sliding off the barre and coming over to us.
I don’t want to answer; everything in me resists. But maybe it’s finally time for the bitter truth. Especially for me to admit it to myself. I exhale sharply. “No.”
“It isn’t supposed to feel like that,” Zoe says quietly. “Why are you here?”
My eyes burn, and I blink frantically. “My mom went here, and I was hoping I could... find a part of her here if I did something she loved. But I can’t do it. I’m not like her. She was so good, andI’m just a failure. But I don’t know where else to go,” I choke out. I guess that’s the real truth.
Zoe and Mae are silent, probably not knowing what to say. I get it. I wouldn’t know, either. You can’t just dismiss it or sugarcoat it. I really don’t know where else to go.
“I can’t move back in with my grandmother. She’s not interested in me, and I... I don’t know how to deal with her,” I blurt out, almost like Zoe’s question set something free inside me, and now everything is bursting out all at once. “She’s not part of my family. She never visited us; she was never there. She didn’t even call on birthdays or holidays. I have no one. My life in LA is over, and there’s no one I can talk to, orwantto talk to. This feels like the only home I have left. Except for Easton’s house, but I screwed that up. Now I’m losing him, even though that’s the last thing I want. And—” I break off because suddenly I can’t breathe.
My chest feels terribly tight, and my heart is beating too fast. Not from exertion, like during ballet practice, but from panic. Only when Zoe reaches for my hand do I realize I’m shaking. I’m shaking and I can’t stop. My eyes are burning, my skin feels too tight, and my stomach is rebelling.
I have nowhere to go. I’m losing the only person who matters to me because I’m scared and don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I want or who I am—and, even less, who Iwantto be.
“Rayne, take a deep breath. Slow down.” Zoe’s voice sounds distorted and distant. Her hand closes tighter on mine. It’s warm. “Breathe deeply, okay? Breathe with me. Look at me. Come on, look, and breathe with me.”
She sounds so calm. Why? And why is my heart beating so fast? Why can’t I breathe? I have to breathe.
“Hey.” A hand under my chin makes me lift my head. Familiar, amber-colored eyes. Her gaze is as calm as her voice. She takes a breath, and somehow I manage to do the same.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Everything is okay, even if it doesn’t feel that way. You’re okay. Everything is fine.” She keeps talking. I don’t understand every word she says, but her voice is my anchor because voices always help me, and gradually I calm down again.
My pulse slows, my lungs expand, and I can breathe again.
“I’m sorry—”
“No,” Zoe interrupts me. Her smile is warm. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
I want to argue, but I decide not to.
“Shall we go over to the dorm? We could cozy up in bed and eat ice cream,” Mae suggests. “And then we can talk about everything, if you want.”
I find myself nodding.
“Let’s go.” Mae grabs my hand, then she and Zoe pull me to my feet. Silently, we gather our things and head over to the dorm.
We each make a quick detour to our own rooms to change and then meet up at Mae’s. She’s the only one of us who has a mini fridge with a freezer compartment in her room.
“Three cheers for my mom and her constant concern for my feet,” Mae says with a grin, bending down to the freezer, where a container of Ben & Jerry’s and various ice packs are lying.
“We love your mom,” Zoe confirms, nudging me toward Mae’sbed as she walks over to the dresser and connects her phone to the Bluetooth speaker. Then the two of them join me on the bed, one on either side. Mae opens the ice cream and hands us each a spoon.
“So...” Mae says. “Do you feel like talking about your mom?”
“No,” I blurt out, my pulse racing again. Everything inside me resists the idea of talking about my mother. If I start now, I’ll fall apart.