Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Everyone was surprised to see Willow back in New York.
The girls she lived with were delighted to see her when they came home from rehearsals.
She tried to listen attentively and make all the right noises as they ran through all the usual moans, and smile brightly when they told stories about some of the usual suspects in the company who drove them bananas.
They fell into normal life, went out for dinner, drinks, dancing, all getting ready together.
It felt like she’d been away for months, she was so unused to the bright lights and the noise and the traffic.
More often than she’d like to admit, she’d think about what Dylan was up to, imagined him lying in that hammock watching the sun set behind the mountain.
She saw the Company physio who said, “You’ve made good progress, Willow, well done.”
Willow wondered if she was hearing her right. “You really think so?”
“You just need to keep on doing what you’re doing.” She made some notes on her file, then added, “Don’t rush it, though. I’m surprised to see you back here. I don’t want you to be tempted to do too much too soon.”
Willow shook her head. “I won’t.”
“Make sure you don’t.”
But she couldn’t help herself. She went in every day to do her exercises and her training.
She watched enviously as everyone filed into Company Class in the morning to do their pre-rehearsal warm-up routine together, she heard the piano and the gossip.
She saw everyone disperse off into rehearsals, and she sat with them at lunch, though realized she didn’t have much to contribute.
One morning, Willow decided to brave Company Class.
It was usually her favorite time of day—she loved the bustle of the room, the chatter, the live music with the piano.
Everyone had their usual spot at the bar.
Today, however, someone else had taken hers, not expecting Willow to be there, but they moved the moment they saw her.
Willow tried to get the girl to stay, but she refused.
All around her, everyone was asking Willow how she was, so pleased to see her back.
There were some new people that she didn’t recognize, but they clearly knew who she was, trying to get a good look.
She didn’t want to thrive off the recognition, but she did.
This was her place. This was where she belonged.
She was reminded of Zoey and all her little friends at the class she’d led, she felt a momentary pang of guilt for having canceled the following session.
When the class began, Willow knew to take it easy.
She knew exactly what she could and couldn’t do.
It started off really well, she was between two of her friends, the class leader was one of her favorites, the music enveloped her.
She relished being back, could forget everything else.
No thoughts of Dylan, nothing about her dad.
But then she had to pause, let one of the combinations pass her by.
Then another. She did moves she could do instead, but then she found herself getting in the way of the others so she waited.
And in that time, she started to step out of herself and see the class for what it was—professionals getting ready for their day.
She wasn’t meant to be there. She didn’t belong.
She felt suddenly conspicuous, foolish for believing this would be a good idea.
She thought of Zoey and all her friends treating her like some kind of celebrity, the new girls in the class whispering that Willow was in the room, yet how quickly she could be put back in her place.
She wanted to leave, realized immediately what the physio had meant when she questioned her return—this wasn’t the right setting for her to recuperate.
This was the competitive environment where she would push herself too hard in order to fit in, in order to prove that she was well enough to perform.
It was exactly what had led her to this very predicament in the first place.
She could feel her cheeks getting hot. She wanted to leave but didn’t want to draw attention to herself, so she waited it out.
Tried her best to go along with everyone, laugh off her inabilities, but time went painfully slowly.
In the end, she went and sat down on the bench, back against the wall, pretending that she was just there to drink in the atmosphere and enjoy the music.
When her eyes welled with frustration at the sight of everyone else—fit, healthy—perfect—she rubbed her face with her hand, pretending to have an itch on her cheek.
But just before the class ended, she had to duck out, head down, because the tears spilling onto her cheeks could no longer be hidden by feigning an itch.