How It Feels to Fly(55)

I can’t change the ballet world. And I can’t change my body—at least, not as much as I want to. I’m stuck with these fourteen extra pounds weighing me down.

Unless you do something. There are ways. You know that. You’re just too weak— I don’t want to think about that. I won’t.

DR. LANCASTER AND I spend our forty-five minutes together talking more about body parts. Specifically, whose would I trade for mine? At first, it feels weird to be talking about Jenna’s slim silhouette, Zoe’s legs, Yasmin’s abs, Katie’s shoulders and upper arms, but I can see the picture coming together in my head. It’s a collage—apparently that’s my thing, now—of a dancer in arabesque, made up of so many perfect pieces. Frankenstein’s Ballerina.

I know what Dr. Lancaster wants me to say: that I’m more than the sum of my parts. But I don’t believe that, and I don’t feel like lying to her. I’m too anxious about my cooking challenge tomorrow. Andrew’s sweatshirt is the only thing keeping me together.

And Andrew himself.

As Jenna and I are stretching out on the floor after a punishing ballet barre, Andrew walks in. He crouches between us. I sit up straighter, sucking my stomach in. I grab his hoodie and wrap it around my shoulders so he won’t take it with him.

“Just wanted to give you a heads-up,” he says. His eyes have a mischievous gleam. “Yasmin and I have something fun planned for tonight.”

“What?” I whisper.

“If,” he says slowly, “we were to sneak out of the house later and go for a late-night swim at the lake, would you come?”

I gape, feeling his words like a punch to the gut.

A swim. At the lake. After what happened last week—

He touches my arm. “Sam. I get it. But I think you should come.”

I still can’t find words.

“I want you to come.” He’s looking at me like Jenna isn’t even there. Like we’re the only two people in the room, in the house, on the planet. “It’s a Perform at Your Peak tradition. Our peer advisers did it for us, and we’re doing it for you. We want you there.”

“I, um . . . okay.” I gulp. Nod. “Okay.”

“Midnight. Meet at the back door.” Now he looks at Jenna. She nods too. “Great,” Andrew says. He gets to his feet, using my shoulder to push himself to standing. When he walks away, it feels like he leaves an imprint of his hand behind.

I rub the place where his hand sat.

“How’s that sunburn?” Jenna has a small, knowing smile on her face.

“Sore,” I say, sliding into my right-side split so I don’t have to look at her.

She doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t ask me any questions I can’t answer.

THAT NIGHT, AFTER washing my face and brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas—swimsuit underneath, wrapped around me like a bandage, squeezing me like a vise—I’m under the covers watching the clock tick toward midnight. Zoe, meanwhile, is sitting on her bed in her pink bikini top, shorts, and swim cap, like nothing about this needs to be sneaky.

“Are you trying to get caught?” I ask her.

“By who? Dr. Lancaster’s in bed. Andrew and Yasmin planned this whole thing.”

“But what if—”

“You worry too much, Barbs.”

I scowl at her, sending all of my swimsuit anxiety her way. “Why is Andrew even letting you come along?”

“Because I made him. I said I’d wait until you all left and then wake Dr. Lancaster up.”

“For real?”

“No. Although I could. Might actually get on her good side, for once.” She pulls her knees to her chest. “I don’t know why Andrew’s letting me come along. Maybe because he’s a nice guy. Why don’t you ask him? You two seem tight.”

I don’t rise to her bait. We sit in a tense silence until the clock on the desk says 11:59. Then Zoe jumps to her feet, grabbing her towel. “C’mon.”

She opens the door soundlessly and peeks out. There’s no one in the hallway, but we can see Dominic and Omar disappearing around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. Zoe and I follow, and when we get to the kitchen, Andrew and Yasmin are there with Katie, Jenna, and the guys. Andrew opens the back door and, putting a finger to his lips, ushers us outside.

I make my way to his side as we jog across the dark lawn. “Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” I ask. Like that’s the only thing on my mind.

“Yeah. This is totally safe. And y’all need to do something normal. Teenager-y.”

The way he says “teenager-y” makes me deflate a little bit. He’s in college—practically an adult. And I’m sixteen. But then he looks down at me and I see the white flash of his teeth as he smiles.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

If he’s glad, I’m glad. “Me too.”

But when we reach the lake, the anxiety I’ve been ignoring settles in. I pause where I crumpled to the ground a week ago. I take a step backward. Then another.

“Everything okay?” Andrew shines his flashlight at me. “Are you about to—”

“No.” And yet, while I’m definitely not having a panic attack, I can’t move another inch toward the water. I sit down on a log that’s close to where the trail from the woods meets the dock and watch everyone else strip down, jump in, paddle around.