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because I’m clearly not wasting away, because that’s what a healthy and sane individual would believe. “Yeah. I’ve been in treatment longer than she has, though. I mean, in our group at least.”
    â€œWas it hard?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œMaybe you could mentor her.”
    â€œI think maybe we . . . I don’t know. We’re coming at this from different places, judging by stuff we’ve said in group. God, I should not be telling you this shit.”
    â€œYou’re telling me about you. It’s okay.”
    And then he puts his hand on my back. The small of my back, just kind of . . . puts his hand there. It’s big and warm.
    I say, “I don’t think she’d have that voice still if she’d been throwing up for a few years.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œI know. It’s gross. Shit.”
    He taps his fingers over my spine.
    My spine. He doesn’t know he’s doing it.
    I lean back into his hand. “Motorcycle tonight, right?”
    He nods and sits up, gives one of my dreads a little tug. “Motorcycle tonight.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    The four of us (oh God, I’m a “four of us”) are leaving the community center by way of the damn third floor, and ugh, shit, I forgot I lingered after last time and that’s probably why I didn’t see Miss Michelle’s class letting out, but here they are now, tights and leg warmers and gym bags, pretty, teeny little white girls (this is why I thought Bianca might be a dancer) spilling out into the hallways, and more than a few of them give me a “Hi, Etta,” or at least nod in a way that isn’t all hateful, so all in all, these past five minutes have had more positive interactions with more humans than I’ve had in, like, months, but I’m still trying to get Bianca and Mason and James out of here as quickly as possible— Okay, keep moving, nothing to see —because really the last thing I want to do is talk about this.
    And then of course, of course , Miss Michelle goes, “Etta?” And damn it, why can’t I have some name she wouldn’t immediately know was me from hearing the girls, you know? No one’s going to be like, Etta who?
    â€œUh, hi, Miss Michelle.”
    â€œHow are you, sweetheart? God, it’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?”
    â€œYeah, that sounds right. Uh, how have you been?”
    â€œOh, same old, same old. One of my girls broke her ankle, so I’m sending a whole bunch of them over with flowers and they’re being catty about it.”
    â€œCatty dancers? I never.”
    â€œHow’s BN?”
    Uggggh. “It’s great. It’s really great.”
    â€œI miss you like hell here, but you know what? Seeing you in Cinderella in August made me so glad we let you go!”
    â€œOh. . . . You came to Cinderella ?”
    â€œOf course! I didn’t see you in The Nutcracker , though!”
    â€œRight, I had to drop out, kind of last minute. It was a medical thing.” This is so valid that it shouldn’t even be a lie, except that it is.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry to hear that. Are you doing better now?”
    â€œYeah, I am.” All right. Not lying still feels good. Maybe I’m not going to hell or whatever.
    â€œWill I see you in Alice ? When’s that, April?”
    â€œOh, maybe. I haven’t auditioned yet.” Half lie! That’d be that “yet.” There will be no Alice audition in my future.
    â€œI’m sure you’ll get in. You’re still the most talented girl I’ve taught, Etta.”
    Oh God this is the most awkward thing I’ve ever experienced. This is Crowning Moment of Awkward. “Thank you,Miss Michelle. I really appreciate it. I need to get going. . . .”
    â€œRight, of course. Merde! ”
    â€œHa, yeah. Merde. ”
    I usher Bianca, James, and Mason down