Page 9 of Give Me Strength

“But it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. But I… it’s been five years since my Mom died. I know I should be used to it by now, but I just feel so lost.”

Her eyes meet mine, her face softening with understanding and sorrow. “There is no ‘getting used’ to the loss of a parent. Grief is powerful, and it’s okay to not be at your best right now. You need time to heal, both emotionally and mentally. Physically, too.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, it’s time to take a break. What matters is that you heal properly. We’ll start by taking a break from the intense routines and focusing on your recovery.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “What about Bayard?”

“What about it?”

This cannot be happening. “Doesn’t the Bayard Admissions committee like to keep tabs on applicants while deliberating?”

“No—”

“If word about this ‘break’ gets back to them, my application will be tossed in the thrash. My career would be over before it ever started.”

“That’s not even remotely close to how that works, and I wouldn’t worry too much about them right now, Ashlynn. You’re a legacy. They’ll be stupid not to have you. And knowing you, you’ll make up for it in other ways. With your talent and passion, the sky is the limit. You’re a brilliant dancer but must take care of yourself.”

Her words are a balm to my wounded spirit, until she finishes with?—

“…what isn’t smart, however, is using a graveyard as a stage.”

I can’t help the scowl that forms. “I didn’t?—”

“There’s video, Lynn,” she interjects.

“Someone filmed me?” My gaze narrows. “Who?”

She lets out a weary sigh. “Wynter Martin.”

Oh.

My anger deflates and I nod, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. If Wynter recorded me, I know it wasn’t meant to be malicious. She is the last person who could do that.

Unlike some people I know.

Like Mrs. Janice said, it’s a cutthroat school.

If anything, Wynter probably wanted to know why I didn’t dance like that at my Bayard audition.

Which Mrs. Janice confirms by adding, “I watched the video.”

“It was stupid of me, I know.”

“Yes, it was. But it was also brilliant. I’ve seen your best work, and they all pale in comparison. Don’t tell Principal Shirley this, but I plan on sending it to Bayard so they can include it in your application packet. Hopefully, that makes up for what I’m about to do next.”

My blood runs cold. “Are you benching me?”

Mrs Janice stands, offering me a hand. “Come, let’s get you some ice packs for those feet.”

“No time, I have to get to my lawyer’s office. Are you benching me?” I ask again, taking her hand.

“Not exactly. But I am forcing you to take care of yourself. We’ll create a plan for your recovery, and you’ll come back stronger than ever.”

As I limp beside her, I realize that admitting my vulnerability doesn’t make me weak. Still, it does make me human — something Mom and Rachel used to tell me. You are enough, she would say when I got frustrated with parts of a routine.

Then again, people say mothers offer reassurances to be kind, and teachers do it because they want something.

---