How It Feels to Fly(49)

“I miss you, Samantha,” she says, softening. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear your voice too.” I have to force the words out. My chest is tight.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“Well, yesterday we went to the Biltmore Estate—”

“That sounds like fun. But I meant, what kind of discussions are you and Dr. Lancaster having? Have you been given any strategies to deal with your panic? Your summer intensive starts in two weeks, you know. You need to be ready, especially since you’ll be joining a week late. All of the other girls will have a leg up.”

“I know.”

“Have you been exercising every day? And have you been improving your eating habits? I don’t want to hear any more about spaghetti and meatballs. . . .” She says that last bit in a joking way, but I know she’s completely serious.

I answer her questions. But I don’t tell her everything.

I don’t tell Mom that Dr. Lancaster and I talked about her. Or how much I’ve been thinking about the things she says to me. Or how anxious this call is making me.

I also don’t mention Andrew. Not even in the context of a random guy I might like. Mom wouldn’t approve. She didn’t like me dating Marcus, either. It may have had something to do with him asking me out while she was finalizing her divorce from Dad, but that wasn’t the only reason. She likes to remind me that boys are a distraction from what really matters. She says I’ll have plenty of time to date once I’ve joined a ballet company—which is probably not even true. I think she was a little relieved when Marcus broke up with me.

And that hurt. A lot.

When Mom starts in on ballet gossip—which of my classmates start their summer intensives today, which choreographers Miss Elise is planning to bring to our studio in the coming year, how many students my intensive accepts into the school’s year-round program annually—I can’t listen anymore.

“Mom,” I say, stopping her midsentence, “I have to go.”

“Your first session doesn’t start until eight thirty. We still have seven minutes. And I’m already at work.”

“Dr. Lancaster is calling me,” I lie.

“Oh. Well, we’ll talk tonight then.”

“No, we won’t.” I surprise myself by saying it. And I immediately start backtracking. “We have a weird schedule today. I’m not sure what time I’ll be available—actually it’s that way all week, and I’d hate for you to keep calling and missing me—so, um. Why don’t we just talk on Saturday?”

“Saturday.” Mom sounds so disappointed.

“I’m eating well, I’m working out every day, and I think I just”—I gulp and come out with it—“I need a little space. While I’m here.”

“Space.”

“Yeah. So I can figure everything out.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line. I want to fill it, but I force myself to hold out. I’ve said what I need to say, and I absolutely don’t want to make things worse.

“All right,” Mom finally says. “If that’s what you need. But I’m trusting you to stay on track. And to be honest with me.”

“I will. And thanks.”

“Have a good day, Samantha. I love you.”

“I love you too.” I hang up and sit there for a few seconds, feeling exhilarated and relieved. And antsy. I’ve never stood up to Mom like that. I’ve never felt like I needed to. I meant what I told Dr. Lancaster: Mom and I are a team. But maybe it’s okay to need to take a break from your teammate. To have some time apart. To get some air.

I close my eyes and do some of the breathing exercises Yasmin taught us on Friday. I don’t know what the day is going to bring, but I don’t want to start it feeling wound up like this. In fact, I want to set a goal for myself. “I will not have a panic attack this week,” I whisper. “No panic attacks.” Inhale. “No panic attacks.” Exhale.

I’m interrupted a couple minutes later by a knock at the door. I jump to my feet, brushing myself off and straightening my tank top. I swing the door open.

It’s Andrew. “Hey. You okay?”

I nod, trying not to look like my entire body has lit up because he’s standing in front of me. Even though it has.

“I’m glad.” He holds out a mug of black coffee. “Thought you might need this.”

I take it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Missed you this morning.” He bumps my shoulder, and I grip the coffee so it doesn’t slosh.

He missed me. I feel my smile widening, and I bring the mug up to my lips to hide it. “Yeah, I had to talk to my mom. . . .”

“I know. Yasmin said she sounded upset. Everything all right?”

I think about the six days of freedom I have in front of me. “It will be.”

“Awesome. Well, we better get in there.” He nudges me again, and we head into the Dogwood Room.

“Good morning, Sam,” Dr. Lancaster says as I sit between Dominic and Zoe.

“Morning. Sorry I’m late.”

Dr. Lancaster looks at my coffee. “Did you get a chance to eat?”

“No, but I’m okay—”