And if she didn’t convince her mom? A scholarship would be pretty darn essential. But she knew how people would view a girl like her saying she wanted a scholarship.
Katrina gave her a look full of pity. “Competitions are about more than money, Lillian.”
She remembered everything Katrina had told her before. Competitions were about inner strength just as much as outside validation. Confidence and self-worth. All of which Katrina obviously thought Lillian lacked. “I know I’m good.” She dropped her water bottle back into her bag. “I don’t need other people telling me it’s so.”
Katrina put a hand on her shoulder, and Lillian fought the urge to shrug her off. She wasn’t a touchy-feely person, probably because she couldn’t remember the last time her mom even hugged her. “You are a brilliant dancer, Lillian. The best student I have ever had. I won’t pretend to think I have anything to teach you about ballet, but maybe it isn’t confidence you need, but something else.”
“What?”
“I don’t think you’ll learn the answer to that question until you step outside your comfort zone, and this competition could provide you with that opportunity.”
Lillian stepped away from Katrina. “Well, I’ve signed the paperwork, so we’ll see. Now I just need to find a choreographer.”
Katrina clapped her hands together in excitement. “I’ll send your mother some recommendations, though I’m sure she knows a few herself. Anything you need, just ask, okay? I’m going to head out, but you can use the studio until the janitor has to lock up.”
Katrina left her to the empty room, and Lillian could finally breathe. She wasn’t like everyone else—like her mother—social interactions exhausted Lillian. All she wanted was a dance studio and blissful silence.
Rubbing her hands down the muscles of her bare legs, she warmed them up before pulling a pair of leggings from her bag and yanking them on. In class, she looked the part of the perfect prima ballerina with her tight bun and expensive leotard.
But here, on her own, she could loosen up.
She could play.
Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she relaxed her legs, trying to shake off any lingering weariness from the class. Her eyes skittered to her bag in the corner where the gate pass sat in the side pocket. She looked to the clock above the door. Six PM. She had half an hour before she was late.
The question was… did she care?
Not when it came to dance. She bent to where her phone rested on the front desk and turned on Spotify. Her favorite playlist started up through the Bluetooth speakers, and she launched into a series of turns, each one quicker than the one before.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her eyes fixed on a divot in the wall, each time coming back to it to keep from getting dizzy. The music picked up, and so did her dance. Spins were easy. She’d been doing them since she could walk.
Some of the jumps, however…
She ran halfway across the room before leaping into a grand jete, her legs stretching into a split, but she came out of the move a half second too late. She stumbled on her landing and cursed herself.
Too high. She’d jumped too high.
Yet, she’d wanted to, to push herself to the limit and see which boundaries could be moved or broken altogether. It was part of who she was.
“Again,” she muttered to herself.
This time, she didn’t get the height, but she tried to turn as she jumped and stumbled backward on the landing before falling on her butt.
She could hear her mom’s voice in her head. If you can’t be extraordinary, it isn’t worth doing.
And what was Lillian? Ordinary? Average?
She knew that wasn’t true. Every girl in her class wished they could dance like her, but it still wasn’t enough for her mom. It never was. So she pushed, harder and harder, hoping it wouldn’t break her.
She kept trying until her legs burned and her lungs cried out for air.
You’ll never be the dancer I was.
Yes, her mom had said that to her too. More than once. That was what happened when one was raised by a dance prodigy. Daria Preston was revered once, now she was part of ballet history.
And she’d never forgiven the world for moving on without her.
You’ll never live up to the Preston name.
Those words kept Lillian out of competition after competition. She’d never tried, never let herself fail. If she didn’t try to win, she couldn’t lose, and maybe her