Chapter Twenty-Six
El
After being sick for three whole days, I was finally feeling better and back in the studio.
But I kept fucking up my routine.
My mind was in shambles. I had less than a week left until I’d be performing on stage and finals started tomorrow. Not to mention that Matt had been taking up ninety-nine percent of my thoughts since Friday, when he came over to take care of me.
My dance was en pointe, and there was a turn combination that I was struggling to nail. I hadn’t had any problems with it until now, so I could only attribute the hardship to being so unfocused. I kept feeling like I was tripping over my own feet throughout the whole dance too.
Ever since I’d decided I was going to tell Matt how I felt, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wondering when I’d do it. Worrying about what I’d say.
The song I was dancing to was a confession in itself, but I had no idea if he’d catch it or not.
Skin hot with my bun falling out, I heaved, bent over. I’d already run the dance five times all the way through. Each time was getting more and more brutal, lungs on the brink of catching fire. My feet were throbbing. I could feel new blisters forming.
Dance was a demanding sport and extremely rough on the body. Misery was part of the art. That’s what I’d be reminding myself later when I had my feet soaking in ice water.
Concentration still lacking, frustration was setting in.
I didn’t know how many full-outs I had left in me.
A two-and-a-half-minute dance, especially one en pointe, felt like running two-and-a-half miles at full speed.
Every muscle in the body had to be used every second, and neglecting one would prevent even the simplest moves from being executed.
The counts to the music were meshing together, hums from violins all sounding the same.
Typically, while practicing, I’d pretend like I was on stage during a full-out. It helped me dance harder, cleaner. But I hadn’t been doing that today.
Because I knew that Matt would be attending this performance, and that scared the shit out of me.
I couldn’t remember the last performance of mine that Matt was in the audience for. It must’ve been years ago.
All these feelings and thoughts and worries about Matt were popping up. I’d say they were new, recent developments that had been snowballing since my arrival to Cedar. But that would be a lie.
The reality was— these were emotions that had always been there. I was just now finally allowing myself to feel them.
My time in the studio had run out, and a few of the other girls had to rehearse their trio. I had faith that with two more practices this week, I’d have my shit together.
If I could dance at my junior year recital with a sprained wrist or perform flawlessly on the state floor back in high school with the stomach flu, I could make it through this routine with no hiccups.
At least, I hoped.