Une Fleure Fanée

Week 6 Part 6 (Friday)

     I wake up at three in the morning uncontrollably. I'm having a harder time falling asleep lately. Unable to go back to sleep, I start packing up the rest of my stuff quietly. I'm not supposed to be up until five. I fold the bedding and stack it onto my mattress. I put the photos in the box. All my electrical stuff goes into my dance bag. By the time I finish, it's 3:30. I can do some schoolwork.

     I get through half of my schoolwork before my alarm goes off. I look at my journal quickly. 200 calorie limit. Don't go over or you will be punished, Lilliana. I put my hair into a low ponytail and immediately reach for a hoodie out of my dresser. But I remember it's going to be hot out. I reluctantly go with a red sports bra with sheer paneling on the upper chest and red shorts without the leg part. I feel really insecure in it. You look so fat in this outfit, Lilliana. It's awful.

     After skincare and makeup and the medicine that doesn't work, I eat a couple of strawberries for breakfast. 49 calories. Mom doesn't think much of it. She thinks it's just nerves. I don't say anything to her. I just keep my head down and prepare for the competition.

     My clothes are beginning to get a bit looser, but not loose enough to be noticeable. They don't feel as tight. I perk up a bit at this realization, but my mood is severely dampened once I remember the ultimatum.

     I want another pill, but Mom will get worried and take me to a bunch of doctors to get a new medicine prescription or pull me out of the show. That's the worst thing that could ever happen.

     I'm riding alone today. I look out the window again, silent as a mouse. My suitcase is on the other seat. As I see the coach bus and the white brick building, I begin to shake. Mom doesn't notice. Nobody notices my pain. You're going to fail at this competition, Lilliana. Have fun doing exercise at midnight because you're going to be benched next week.

     I put my suitcase in the coach bus compartment and make my way to the studio entrance. Hannah and her mom are the only ones there, even though it's seven.

     "Lilly, how are you doing sweetheart?" Ms. Ann asks me, trying to be friendly.

     I shrug, looking down at the carpet. I make a small smile. I don't want to talk about it. Not right now, at least.

     Ms. Abby comes out of Studio A, and asks us, "Where are the other girls?"

     "Michelle says they are in a traffic jam and so does Joanne and Ashley," Mom reports, looking down at her phone.

     Ms. Abby mutters something under her breath before saying, "You two can stretch and play around in Studio A until the others get here."

     It's about twenty minutes before everybody gets here, and by the time the cameras are rolling, it's half an hour later than call time.

     "Since we got off to a late start, we don't have much time for corrections, so be perfect. Savannah, let's start with you," Ms. Abby barks at us.

     Savannah's solo is so good. It's musical theater, and she's the most technical dancer here. She has great emotions, and it seems like she's having so much fun while performing. It doesn't look like a performance. I forget she's acting when she's performing it.

     We clap at the end and Savannah doesn't get any corrections. She's perfect. Savannah's so perfect, Lilliana. You're a horrible dancer compared to her. She's the best dancer to ever star on Dance Moms. You think you're a great dancer, Lilliana, but you can never be as good as her.

     Next is Sarah. An acro dance. Sarah is almost as flexible as me, and she has so many gymnastics tricks in her routine. She nails them. Maybe, she'll get the gold medal like Mary Lou Retton. If I performed this routine, I would be horrible. She's such a better gymnast than you, Lilliana. Once again, we clap for her.