Une Fleure Fanée

Week 1 Part 4 (Saturday and Sunday)

     Today is the day we are going to Red Bank via bus. I pack everything I need. I pop a Fluoxetine in my mouth right before the bus. I sat next to Brady. He and I bonded over the last week, like a sister and brother relationship. He and I talk before the bus comes, and we talk a lot about our struggles.

     His dad is in the military and his dad has a lot of anxious friends that have trauma from the wars. I talk about my struggles with bulimia. I never thought I could get so comfortable sharing my story with someone, but he made me feel secure and safe.

    I want to take another Fluoxetine, but I can't, or else my body isn't able to handle it. Mom is sitting close, monitoring me so that if I have a breakdown on the bus, she would be nearby.

    Ms. Abby tells us that we are part of the ALDC legacy. We are to represent ALDC. She also tells us that she's proud of us. She doesn't use the word proud very often. But of course, she has to remind us that everybody is replaceable.

    My bubbliness fades as I tense up. I am terrified that I am going to be replaced. I lick my lips anxiously as I fidget around in my seat. The thoughts are telling me, Lilliana, you will disappoint her. Ms. Abby will replace you, Lilliana.

     I visibly shake my head. Bus drives often make the thoughts act up. I pull out my phone and my earbuds to play music to calm my nerves as we start the 6-hour journey to Red Bank, New Jersey.

     During the bus ride, I am bubbly. We talk about music that we like, favorite dance styles, our biggest awards. It is really fun getting to know more about how my new friends start dancing. I started when I was two.

     We play card games, and Ms. Abby turns out to be a natural at UNO. It's the first time I feel comfortable on a bus for a long time. My Mom seems to be mingling with the other moms, and I'm glad she isn't watching me all the time.

     When we pull up to the Count Basie Center to where we will compete for the first time, there are a bunch of fans out. I mean, hundreds. I grip Mom's arm. You don't deserve this attention, Lilliana. You're not special.

     "Just go out there and be Lilly. Don't be anybody else," Mom whispers to me, softly ruffling my hair.

     I take her advice and put on a smile. There is a ton of pressure and I have butterflies in my stomach. Ms. Abby tells us that there may be a lot of booing because people want to see us fail. But there is an abundance of cheering. So much that we all have to plug our ears. It is wonderful seeing all these fans.

     "They're so many people," I say to Sarah, who smiles and nods in agreement. It is almost ridiculous how many fans we have.

     I feel like I belong. Like I am important. And that is a great feeling. It brings the thoughts to shame. Ms. Abby feels electrified, and that is good. When she is happy, the day is good.

     "First up, the two trios," Ms. Abby states. I whip to face her in the black metal chair as she continues, "Hair, makeup, costumes, I need it done."

     My mom begins to pull my hair back into a tight bun. I shake my head and the bun doesn't fall out. Makeup is next. It is pretty natural: brown eyeshadow, black eyeliner and mascara, and a cherry red lip.

     The costume makes me look like a clown. I have a red cap that covers half of my head, with some white frill attached to the cap. Everything is outlined in black. The white tutu is outlined in black at the end of the frills. There are two thin black straps on one side that go around my shoulder, and a thick black one on the other side, linking together on a shimmery black and gold section.

   In between my elbow and shoulder, there is a cuff of the same tutu material with the same black outline. Below it is a red leather glove. My other arm is bare. The chest is checkered. The red leather jacket is one part, and the other was red and black checkers. Checkers in a checker pattern. The one tight I wore had the same red and black checker material.