Page 21 of Give Me Strength

I am infamous for being Bluegrass’s wealthiest loner, and I like it that way. I don’t believe in buying friendships, so I keep my head down and mind my own business. That’s not to say there haven’t been two-faced sharks circling the wagon. Most of them have backed off, but some still push their luck.

It was worse when I was a freshman. Aunt Bonnie always pointed out how unbearably naive I was about how the world worked. A harsh lesson to learn at age fourteen, but a necessary one. By sophomore year, most of these so-called friends screened themselves out of my life as they realized I didn’t do cliques or teenage drama, my purse strings weren’t as loose as they liked, and Russ wasn’t letting anyone hitch rides with me. Mrs. Torres didn’t take too kindly to the house being used as a crash pad for unruly teenagers claiming to be my friends, so she either stopped letting them in or called the cops to deal with them.

Janice is right, I am pariah-lite. Sure, it gets lonely sometimes, but I have ballet to keep me occupied. If and when I have the time, the only other teenagers I hang out with outside the studio are other dancers. Things will be different when I’m off to Bayard next year, I’m sure of it. I just have to get accepted first, and everything else will fall into place.

Bonnie tucks her phone into her back pocket and rounds the counter. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some fresh air.”

I follow her outside and we sit on the front steps, the chilly evening breeze stirring the air. I pull my knees to my chest, feeling small and vulnerable.

“What’s really bothering you?”

“Taking a break from ballet,” I admit, my voice trembling. “The soles of my feet are fine, but Mrs. Janice insists I finish the remaining three weeks left on this break. Principal Shirley agrees with her. The only concession she’ll make is modified participation in group classes. No private classes and no competitions. What if it ruins my chances of getting into Bayard?”

Her eyes soften as she takes my hand, her grin firm and reassuring. “Lynn, even if that were true, which it isn’t, you are a legacy. And it’s okay to feel scared and uncertain. At eighteen, you’ve faced more than most people do in a lifetime. Taking time off doesn’t mean you’re giving up on your dreams. It means you’re taking care of yourself.”

“But what if I fall behind?” I blurt out, the anxiety bubbling up. “What if I’m not good enough? Ballet is all I have left. It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore, and three weeks is an eternity to be away from it.”

“But you’re not away from it. Not really.” She squeezes my hand and then pulls me into a comforting embrace. “Change is hard, but you are a lot stronger than you look. Grief is a heavy burden, and it’s okay to not be at your best right now. It’s okay to take the time you need to find your footing again. Your talent and dedication won’t disappear just because you’re taking a break. Bayard will still be there, and so will your dreams. Right now, you need time to heal, physically, emotionally, and mentally. That’s what this break is for, and there’s no rushing the process. It’s not just about your body; it’s about your heart, too.”

I catch a sniffle. “Have you and Janice been exchanging notes about me?”

“Why do you ask?”

“She said the same thing to me last week. Almost verbatim.”

She presses a kiss to my hair. “Hmm. Great minds think alike.”

“A break is not what I need.”

“You’d be surprised at what you need. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I agree with Janice. Unless someone forces you to take a break, you won’t take one.”

“Aunt Bonnie!” I should give her some slack. She’s been my rock these past few weeks, but even she can’t fix this.

“Let’s find a way to dance that honors your mother’s memory. She would want you to find solace in your dance again, not more pain.”

Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away. “Maybe I like pain.”

“No ballerina likes pain. They tolerate it.” She gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “That said, I think living with Gilbert will be good for you.”

A knot in my throat makes it difficult to speak. We sit there in silence, her arms around me, grounding me. I lean into her, letting the warmth of her embrace seep into my bones.

Her phone rings, breaking the silence. She answers it, her voice low and calm. I can only hear her side of the conversation, but it’s enough to make my stomach twist. She hangs up and looks at me with a mix of concern and forced optimism.

“That was Gilbert,” she says gently. “We’ll have to take a rain check on that pizza and salad. He’s invited us to dinner at his home tonight.”

I nod, trying to push down the anxiety bubbling up inside me.

Ready or not, that trial starts tonight.

9

ASHLYNN

The drive to Gilbert’s house is quiet at first, the silence heavy with unspoken fears and doubts. With my cheek pressed to the window, I watch the familiar streets of my childhood slip by. The medium-sized, cozy houses with neatly trimmed lawns slowly give way to larger homes with manicured gardens. Each passing block feels like a step further away from the life I know and a step closer to an uncertain future.

“How are you feeling about tonight?” Aunt Bonnie asks, breaking the silence that hangs heavy between us.

“Not sure how I’m supposed to feel,” I admit with a shrug. “It feels strange going back to that house. In my mind, it’s still Rachel’s house, you know? Mom and I spent so much time there, and I have so many memories there. Mostly happy ones, and now… painful ones. Speaking of,” I turn to face her, “Why did Dad punch him?”

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