How It Feels to Fly(85)

“Not quite what I meant, Sam.” Dr. Lancaster’s voice is tight.

“Maybe not, but it worked! I didn’t get to stay at the intensive—obviously, I’m here now. But I got invited to another program, and I think I’m going to go.”

I’m talking fast. If I’m about to get dragged out of this room and driven home in disgrace, at least I can tell Dr. Lancaster how much I appreciate her first.

“I couldn’t have gotten through today without you, and without this place. I did some of Yasmin’s breathing when I got anxious, and I said my power statement in the dressing room before class, and I didn’t run away even when I wanted to. Even when I was so intimidated by all of the other girls there. How perfect they looked. That’s all really great progress, right?”

“Yes, but the fact remains that—”

“And I had . . . I guess you could call it an epiphany? I really don’t like feeling like things are out of my control, and they have been for so long, and I was trying to make everything better, but I couldn’t. But today, I took control. And the crazy thing is, it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to, but maybe it worked out the way it was supposed to. Or maybe there is no ‘supposed to,’ because things just happen and you deal with them and keep moving forward—”

“Sam—”

“And maybe I have to figure out what I can control and what I can’t, so I can focus on the right things.” I’m out of breath. “Is that right?”

Dr. Lancaster presses her fingertips into her temples where her blond hair is graying. “Zoe, would you wait outside for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Zoe stands. “Thanks for the adventure, Ballerina Barbie. And keep in touch. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say at the end of summer camp?”

I laugh. “I will. I promise.”

Zoe nods at me, salutes Dr. Lancaster, and then leaves.

“Well,” Dr. Lancaster says as the door clicks shut.

“I’m sorry, again. Not that I went, because like I said, I had to. But for all of this.” I gesture at the door, at everything outside this office. I can’t hear my mom yelling anymore, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. She only yells when she’s really, really mad—and the silence that comes next is the eye of the storm. “When do I have to leave?”

“As soon as we’re done here.”

“Oh.” I wait for her to tell me to go, but she doesn’t speak again right away.

Instead, my phone buzzes. I glance at the screen. It’s a text from Bianca:

Just out of rehearsal. WHAT’S GOING ON?!?! Your mom left me four messages. Call me!

“Something important?” Dr. Lancaster asks, in a voice that must be the closest to sarcasm she’s able to get.

“Yes,” I answer honestly. Bianca is important. More than I’ve let her know. “But I can answer it later.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss with me?”

We spend a few minutes talking about how I felt before ballet class, during class, and after. I finally tell her about my nasty inner voice. How it’s still there, always there, and how sometimes it’s louder and sometimes it’s softer, and how this morning I was able to start telling it to stop. And we touch on my issues with control. My epic realization that maybe everything—my anxiety, my body image issues, all of it—comes from wanting to feel in control.

“So now that I figured that out, am I cured?” I joke.

“I’m going to recommend that you keep speaking to a therapist when you get home. I have a few contacts in your area. I’ll send you their names and numbers.” She makes a note on her legal pad. “If your anxiety persists, you might also benefit from medication to help you manage it.”

“Oh.”

“But overall, I’m pleased with your progress. The girl I met two weeks ago would never have done what you did today.”

“No kidding.”

She’s quiet for a few moments. “You know, I studied dance for a number of years growing up. I truly do love ballet. It’s such a wonderful art form.”

My mouth drops open. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because we weren’t here to talk about me; we were here to talk about you.” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Would knowing I used to dance have distracted you?”

I think about that. “Yeah, probably.” I needed her to be impartial. Otherwise I never would’ve opened up.

“Regardless, my experience wasn’t like yours. I wasn’t going to be a professional dancer. I didn’t have the talent. But my love for the art form eventually led me here.”

This is game-changing information. But whereas with Andrew, I had to rethink every conversation we shared, I’ve just learned that Dr. Lancaster understood me better than I ever gave her credit for. “Thanks for telling me now,” I say.

“You’re welcome.” She stands and shakes my hand. “Best of luck.”

MOM WANTS TO get on the road immediately, but I can’t leave without saying good-bye. I tell her I need to make sure I didn’t forget anything upstairs in the bedroom or bathroom, and wave for Katie and Jenna to follow me.

“So?” Katie hisses the second we’re out of sight. “How did it go?”