How It Feels to Fly(24)

Liar liar liar liar—

I throw on shorts and a tank top and force myself out the door.

The whole walk across the lawn, along the trail through the woods, toward the lake, I’m a ball of nerves. But I keep my face neutral.

Everyone can tell. They see everything you’re hiding.

I rub my hands up and down my arms, suddenly cold despite the typical North Carolina heat and humidity. My teeth are chattering. I clench my jaw shut to muffle the sound. The fabric of my swimsuit feels like a cheese grater on my skin. Everything hurts.

This is going to end badly. You know it is.

I push forward, feeling like my feet are stuck in cement blocks.

I can get past this. I’m stronger than this.

No, you’re not.

We reach the lake. I hear the splash first. Dominic’s in the water. Omar jumps off the dock next, followed by Andrew.

Jenna is undressing. So is Katie. So is Yasmin. I stare at them, unable to avert my eyes even though I know I should. Jenna’s reed-thin silhouette. Katie’s compact body and defined muscles. Yasmin’s flat stomach.

I don’t have any of those things.

Bianca does. Her body is amazing. And she’s talented, which would be infuriating if she weren’t also so nice. We’ve been friends for eight years, since she moved to my hometown from California. We used to have sleepovers where we’d watch ballet movies and flip through my mom’s back issues of Dance Magazine. We talked about joining American Ballet Theatre together one day. We’d be roommates in a tiny apartment in New York City and rise through the company ranks side by side.

It didn’t seem too far-fetched. We were both good dancers, but with different strengths. Bianca loves adagio work, moving through space with slow control. I love turns and jumps, spinning and soaring. But then my body changed, and hers didn’t. The unitard piece I was cast as an understudy in? Bianca was one of the leads.

As I stare at Katie and Jenna and Yasmin in their swimsuits, and as I think about everything that now separates me from Bianca—and from our shared future—my vision gets cloudy.

You’ll never look like them. You’ll never feel like them, at ease in your skin— “Okay over there, Ballerina Barbie?” Zoe is leaning against a tree, tucking her braids up under a swim cap. She smirks at me.

I open my mouth and close it, like a fish.

“Seriously, you look like you saw a ghost. You know this isn’t one of those haunted summer camps, right?”

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I sink to the ground. I close my eyes and put my hands over my ears. I rock back and forth, willing my pulse to slow down and my lungs to work.

I hear, through the pounding in my skull, someone shouting my name. I feel hands touch my shoulders, jerk away, touch me again.

I ignore it all. I go into my tiny, dark, quiet place. The place I discovered the first time this happened. Where I’m small and safe. Where no one and nothing can reach me or hurt me.

Arms around me. Thin. Bony.

A voice, soft and close, in my ear: “Hey. Sam. You’re okay. Shh. Shh.”

I open my eyes and am vaguely surprised to see that it’s Jenna who’s got me. Our eyes meet, and she gives me a small nod.

“Excuse me, Jenna.” Dr. Lancaster comes into my field of vision. She sits in the dirt next to me. Jenna scoots away. Dr. Lancaster leans in close. “Do you think you can walk with me back to the house?”

I look around. At Katie’s scared eyes and the furrow between Jenna’s brows. At Zoe’s wrinkled nose—like what just happened to me smells bad. At Dominic, who’s gaping, and at Omar, who’s bouncing in place and muttering to himself: “I don’t like this. I don’t like this. I don’t like this.”

Me neither.

I nod in answer to Dr. Lancaster’s question, and it’s like the blood and the air rush back into the vacuum of my body. It feels so overwhelming and amazing that I start crying. Loud, gulping, heaving sobs.

Dr. Lancaster stands and lets Andrew help me to my feet. His grip is firm, solid. “I’ve got you,” he says. It makes me cry harder.

“Let’s go.” Dr. Lancaster wraps one arm around me. “Andrew, Yasmin, do you have everything under control here?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Andrew says, and Yasmin echoes him.

I go with Dr. Lancaster, leaving a shocked silence in my wake.

THE PANIC FADES fast.

Usually, after something like this, I’m so drained that I can barely function. But this time, it’s different. Maybe it’s Dr. Lancaster’s arm across my shoulders, weighing me down with her concern and care. Or maybe it’s the fact that I am now, indisputably, the craziest person at Crazy Camp. I can feel anger building inside me. It’s a hot, sharp, vicious thing.

I want to throw something. Or hit something. I want to lash out.

This is new.

It feels horrible and satisfying, all at once.

“Can you tell me what happened back there?” Dr. Lancaster asks.

“You tell me.” I drop onto the sofa in her office, arms crossed like a shield.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, so yesterday, you’re somehow able to see every little thing about me, but today, you completely fail to notice when I’m about to have a meltdown.” My voice is jagged. “Excellent therapy camp you’re running here.”