Page 37

Today it feels like nothing works anymore, even though I’m healthy. My head only hurts from the miserable crying, that’s all. I’m simply exhausted, emotionally drained. I feel too much, and at the same time, I’m completely empty.

But I know the others would talk if I didn’t show up. They’re probably already talking because I didn’t join them last night to celebrate. If I call in sick today, they’ll know why. They’ll gossip about it, laugh maliciously, and they wouldn’t even have to do it behind my back because I wouldn’t be there. I can’t let that happen. I have to pull myself together.

But my limbs are heavy, my muscles still aching as I swing my legs out of bed. My body is resisting this day, resisting having to face them and dance, even though I don’t have a goal anymore. I have nothing to work toward.

Except to improve, of course.

I have to improve because I’m not good enough. I have to improve so I can find my place in the world of ballet after I graduate, since I can’t do it now. My eyes flood with tears again. I blink, but I can’t hold them back. Somehow I make it to the bathroom, take a shower, and get ready. I dry my hair, tie it back in a tight bun that makes my scalp tingle, and am just about to start with my makeup when there’s a knock on the door.

I don’t know who to expect, but when I open the door, Katie is standing there. She’s the last person I expected to see, besides maybe Susannah. I stare at her in surprise as a sympathetic smile crosses her face, which I really don’t want to see.

“Good morning.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask. What a stupid question. As if she doesn’t stop by my room all the time. But today of all days, and especially before breakfast, I wasn’t expecting her.

“I wanted to see if you’re okay. You didn’t come back yesterday.”

I just shrug and don’t answer. My mind is too empty, and it’s completely incapable of coming up with a plausible excuse. I don’t have to lie, because it’s very obvious why I wasn’t there yesterday.

“Are you going to let me in?” She jerks her chin toward my room. I want to say no and send her away, because I can’t talk about what she’s probably here to discuss. But then something in me just gives up.

“Sure.” I exhale heavily and back into my room. She follows me and closes the door quietly behind her, almost cautiously, while I sink back down onto the little stool in front of my makeup mirror and somehow manage to pick up where I left off. I reach for my brushes and makeup. My hands are shaking. I hope she doesn’t notice.

“How are you?” Her voice is gentle.

I freeze in mid-motion, my heart stumbling. I feel cold, even though I really should have expected the question.

“What do you mean?” I ask, my brain not cooperating. I should have just said “Fine,” and the subject would have been dropped immediately.

“You know.” The pitying expression in her dark eyes makes me grip the brush a little more tightly. I can’t escape her gaze. She’s standing directly opposite my mirror.

I force myself to smile. “No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”

“Come on, Lia. How are you? I know you wanted the role.”

“Everyone wanted it,” I argue.

“Sure. But we were all pretty sure you’d get it.”

Katie leans against the wall and looks at me intently, waiting.

“You were wrong.”

“Yeah, obviously.” She sighs, sounding a little frustrated. “Did Pearson tell you why he chose Susannah instead?”

“No,” I lie. The word comes quickly and harshly from my mouth. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “I would have if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not,” I say with a little too much annoyance. “It’s his decision. Why should I question it?” I add, my voice now a little softer and less venomous. Get it together, Lia. Just pull yourself together.

“Maybe because you want to know?”

I shake my head. “I don’t,” I lie again. One lie after another, each tasting more bitter on my tongue. Why can’t she just leave me alone? What good will talking about it do? It won’t change anything.

“I’m fine.” There, I finally said it. It’s a lie, of course, but what else can I say? That I cried all night? I think that’s pretty obvious. That I hate my life and my friend too, because she got what I wanted? What kind of person would that make me?

“Really? You’re fine? You’re not disappointed? Sad? Angry?” she says skeptically. “And you really don’t want to know why Pearson chose Susannah?”