How It Feels to Fly(88)

I told her about Andrew.

And I apologized for pushing her away. For being a lousy friend.

Then we both had a good cry and made plans to spend an entire weekend together when we get home from our intensives.

“I can’t believe you never told me what Eliana did to you!” Bianca says now. “But don’t worry. I already started telling the girls here not to trust her. She’s going down.”

I laugh. “Thanks.”

“So what’s new with you? I want to know everything.”

I give her the same details I gave my mom, but Bianca-fied. That mostly means adding which of the guy choreographers and dancers are hot, so she can look them up online and judge for herself. I’m telling her about the Argentinian dancer who’ll be teaching us flamenco when she interrupts me.

“We don’t have to talk about guys if you don’t want to. If it makes you anxious.”

“It’s okay.”

“Obviously, we’re not talking about what’s-his-face—”

“Andrew.”

“I know that,” she says, sounding exasperated. “I didn’t want to say his name because we’re not talking about him.”

I can’t help but smile at her logic. “Oh. Right.”

“And since Marcus turned out to be a—”

I cut her off. “I don’t want to say anything bad about Marcus.”

“He dumped you. It doesn’t matter why. That makes him a loser in my book.”

“Yeah, but . . .” I think again about our late-night phone conversation. “He’s a good guy. And I wasn’t in a good place for a lot of the time we were together.”

“But you’re in a better place now, right?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Good. And you know you can talk to me?”

“Yeah. I’ll try.”

“Do or do not,” she says solemnly. “There is no ‘try.’”

“Are you quoting Star Wars at me?”

“Just dropping some Yoda wisdom on my BFF.”

I check the time. I have one more phone call to make, and then Suzanne wants to introduce me to some girls she danced with at an intensive last summer. We’re supposed to go out for frozen yogurt at a spot around the corner from the dorms, and I’m actually thinking about having a small cup. A kid-sized serving. Just to see what happens.

“Gotta go,” I tell Bianca. “Talk soon?”

“Definitely. Love you, Sam-a-lam-a.”

“Back atcha, B.” It’s the phone sign-off we’ve shared since middle school. It wouldn’t feel right hanging up without it.

I plug my phone in to charge and then dial “Thelma.”

“Barbs. ’Sup?” Zoe says when she answers. “You talk to Kwan or Bear yet?”

“Nope. Just you.”

Zoe, Jenna, Katie, Dominic, Omar, and I have had an ongoing email chain since everyone got home from Perform at Your Peak. Somewhere in the middle of the thread, we came up with our Crazy Camp nicknames. Zoe named herself Thelma after our Thelma and Louise–style road trip. I’m Barbs, since I’m coming to grips with maybe not being a ballerina after all. Jenna is Kwan, since she got Zoe to admit that striving to be like one of the greatest female figure skaters of all time wasn’t really a bad thing. Katie is Bear, after Mr. Bear, her good-luck charm—and because it’s funny to give the toughest name to the tiniest, bubbliest person. Omar is Bruno, thanks to that Bruno Mars hat he bought at the general store, and Dominic is Chunks, not only because he once threw up on the fifty-yard line but also because he’s the opposite of chunky.

“Status report?” I ask Zoe. She told her parents a few days ago, in no uncertain terms, that she was not playing tennis in the fall. They were angry. They threatened to ground her, to take away her phone, to send her to another therapist. But she didn’t back down.

“All quiet on the Western Front,” she says.

“Meaning?”

“I’m still getting the silent treatment. Like they think if they just wait me out, I’ll change my mind. But Andrew said—” She stops. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I know she’s been in touch with him. She emailed me about it a week ago. And it stung, for sure. I shut down my computer and cried a little. But then I stopped crying. I pulled myself together. Not in a bad, I’m-ignoring-my-emotions kind of way, but in a good way. A healthy way. I felt what I was feeling, and then I moved on.

I asked Dr. Chen about transference in our second session. I told her what Zoe told me about being in love with your therapist. Dr. Chen said it’s not that simple, but that we can talk about my feelings for Andrew—why I fell so hard and so fast—if I want. When I’m ready.

I don’t know when I’ll be ready. I do know that I’m better off being single for now. Maybe for a while. I can’t rely on someone else to make me feel good about myself. I have to learn to do that on my own.

“Sam?” Suzanne sticks her head in the door. “You almost done?”

“Yeah,” I tell her. Then, to Zoe: “I have to go. My roommate wants to hang out.”

“I hate her already.”

“Well, she’s no you. She hasn’t even insulted me yet. Can you believe it?”