Mom and Dad were best friends through their teenage years. High school sweethearts who got married early, had me early, and then split up because it didn’t work out. My stepfather is a nice guy from what I can tell, but he and Mom are always gone and busy, so I wouldn’t know if he wasn’t. And their love story was far less adorable, and much more sordid.
He cheated on his wife with Mom and left his partner of twenty years, three kids, the white picket fence and two dogs to be with her and travel the world.
Call me selfish, but I need Apollo too much right now to let romantic ideations get between us. I don’t know which way is up. Do Iactuallyhave a crush on him? Or do I need an escape from the potential fact that my dreams might be crumbling right in front of my face?
Who knows?
Certainly not me. I’m not about to risk a sixteen-year friendship on near death experiences and Disney dreams.
“Edith?” I snap my eyes up to meet Pen’s questioning stare. “Are you in there? Pain? Do we need drugs?”
Definitely not. They make me floaty and weird, like my body isn’t my own. But the pain gets pretty bad so I don’t really have a choice.
Sighing, I blink back the brewing tears.
“What is it?” She sits next to me, cradling my hands in her lap. I met her in Bitches Brew, the campus coffee shop on the first day of my first semester, and the rest is history. We bonded over our mutual love ofTed Lasso, musicals, and Chris Pine—the most delicious of the Hollywood Chrises.
“Are you stewing? Do you need a distraction?”
There is no one with a purer heart than Penelope. “I need to dance.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows a couple times before her eyes fill with tears, too. “It’s been four days since you got home, E. You’ve got to be kinder to yourself. This isn’t going to be magically fixed overnight.”
I grunt. “Fuck patience. I can’t afford to lose this time, Pen. You know what it took for me to get here. This is my last chance.” It’s not my senior year, so it’s not quite my last chance to audition, my last chance to get a contract and make this a career. But it’s close enough. If I’m not good enough now, when there are sixteen-, seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds who are already getting contracts, I’ll never make it.
But I finally felt like I had a real shot. Last year the new artistic director really took an interest in me at my auditions and told me, specifically, to come back this year.
I don’t bother to fight the tears coursing down my face. Apollo offered to pay for a therapist as well as a nurse. I told him I didn’t need someone poking around in my brain, but once again, he might be right.
Sometimes I hate him and his stupid rightness.
“Progress is slow, painful, I get that. It must be so frustrating for you to be cooped up in here like this. Especially when you love performing. But you’re strong, determined... as much as I believe you’re going to get through this.” Her gaze turns sympathetic. “Edie...”
“No.” The word lodges in my throat. She doesn’t believe I can do it. Of the few people in my life I can rely on, I assumed Apollo and Pen would have faith in me, would push me through these dark days and help me get back on the stage. From the downturned curve of her lips, she’s already given up hope that I’ll ever dance again.
It crushes my heart like an aluminum can.
“The doctors said it’d be highly unlikely, E.” She shakes her head. “You’re determined, there’s fire in your belly, but can we please focus on trying to walk again before you set yourself up for heartache? Please?”
A fresh wave of tears pours down my cheeks. “I’m going to get better.” My voice shakes, but I try hard to inject confidence into my words. “I’m saying it now. Manifesting. The last audition of the season is in March. I’m going to dance on that stage.” Shrugging, I bite my lip. “I put the sixty bucks for the audition in an envelope with the date on the front and pinned it to the wall above my bed. I’m going to make it happen, Pen.” Sniffing, I wipe my nose with my sleeve.
“You have to pay to audition?”
“Savage, right?”
“I...” She shakes her head. “I had no idea. I figured you auditioned, got picked, and danced.”
I snort. “Hot shot hockey players get paid to play while we dancers gotta pay to play. It is what it is.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and I’m sure I’ve finally won her onto my side.
Worrying her lips between her teeth for a beat, she sucks in a deep inhale. “Okay, but.” Raising both hands, palms out like she’s surrendering, she holds my gaze with hers. “Devil’s advocate. What happens if you’re not well enough for the audition? What happens if you can’t dance? In March, or ever again, Edith?”
“Don’t be like that, please.” Her soft voice makes everything worse.
I don’t want her sympathy, her pity, I don’t need her negativity, or her to play devil’s advocate. I need my friend to believe in me.
“Please, Edith. I don’t want you to set yourself up for failure.”
