My blood boils at her pretentiousness. “Break dancing is a valid dance form, Mother. Some of the best contemporary dance choreographers in the world incorporate breakdancing. Times have changed. You need to get with it, or people will see that you’ve become an obsolete dinosaur.”
Anger flashes in her eyes as I knew it would. Mother’s perpetual Achilles heel is she doesn’t like to be reminded that she’s aging and no one praises her like they used to.
“Yes, well, I don’t know what they think they’re doing. Doing some weird jumps and kicks doesn’t classify them as dancers worthy of Haverton’s money. They have no discipline, no drive. I will never consider them the real deal.”
“Wake up, Mother, they already are.”
“Well, since you love the riff-raff so much, perhaps you should keep them company. Shareen told me they’re staying in the shelter. Perhaps you’d prefer to sleep there tonight, Natayla, since the lifestyle has you so intrigued. Give it a try. It might suit you.”
Her challenge is bitter, and she knows she’s already won.
A million things I’d like to say to her run through my head, but I stand there speechless.
She walks away with her Lysol without discussing the matter further.
Shareen clicks her tongue and subtly shakes her head. “Seemed perfectly nice to me,” she mutters under her breath as she fans the plume of vapor away from her face.
My hunger and my drive are equally as fierce. I don’t want Dash to drive a wedge between me and my career. Mother would make my life a living hell. If I can distance myself from Dashiell, I will. But ignoring his offers of food will be impossible for me. They’re my lifeline, both my nourishment and a small act of kindness I cling to.
The following day, Dashiell runs up to me at lunch before I’ve even gotten through the line. He’s excited and starts explaining what he’s got—spoils of last night’s check. He went to the grocery store with his mom. And he’s made sandwiches. I nod and try to yank my brain and my stomach away from the contents of his backpack.
“I’m not hungry,” I manage, lying through my teeth.
Dashiell looks at me in shock. He stops mid-sentence, shifts his backpack to the other shoulder, and finally nods.
“So it’s like that, huh? We’re different. I get it.”
I want to tell him he doesn’t understand. That it’s not him, or his mom, or their situation. It’s Mother and her absolute control over everything I do. I cannot go against her because if I do, she’ll make me pay for it. I accepted long ago that close friends and confidants were not part of my life equation. Dashiell is the closest I’ve come, but he won’t be mine either. At least I’m used to sitting alone.
Dashiell turns and walks away from me slowly. My heart inflates like an oversized balloon, expanding until it hurts. The pressure in my chest seems almost too much. Dashiell looks over his shoulder once, and a huge lump settles in my throat where his name dies as it sits on the tip of my tongue.
Alone at the white Formica table, I’d eat my feelings if I could. But when I open the Bento box Mother has packed for me, I find sautéed greens and half a lemon. I try not to let the tears slip down my face as I stuff down the greens. They’re bitter and cold and slimy from the bit of oil they were sautéed in.
In the past, it’s been easier to pretend I have an eating disorder. That it’s my choice to eat like this. It’s easier to pass off than allowing others to know it’s Mother. I’m not terrified of gaining weight. I’m terrified of Mother’s reaction to me gaining weight.
When I finish the greens, I squeeze the lemon juice into my mouth. It’s so sour, and it’s a good distraction from the emptiness I feel. I want Dashiell’s quick smile and humor, his ability to look on the bright side and make me feel lighter. But my reaction to him today has ruined any hope I have of basking in his friendship. He thinks I rejected him over the one insecurity he’s most self-conscious about. Katerina would be proud she’s rubbing off on me. I’m turning into a bitch.
I squeeze the last drops from the lemon onto my tongue, then stick it back into the Bento box and click the lid closed.
I have no idea how I’ll get through Vauganova on a tiny serving of greens. And today, we have auditions for the gala. I’ve done it before. I’ll put my nose to the grindstone and use willpower to get through it.
Once inside the studio, I ignore everyone. The bunheads, the girls I grew up with, even Becker’s attempt to throw me a fist bump. I concentrate instead on warming up in the mirror and blocking everyone else out.