Page 44 (1/2)

It started with a lemonade

And ended with my heart

This, my pretty reckless rival, is how our screwed-up story starts

Age Fourteen

The tiles under my feet shake as a herd of ballerinas blazes pastlike artillery in the distance

Brown hair Black hair Straight hair Red hair Curly hair They blur into a rainbow of tri for the blond head I’d like to bash against the orn floor

Feel free not to be here today, Queen Bitch

I stand frozen on the threshold ofto ht bun olden locks fall off in chunks on the bathroo with ave a daave one, not just pretended to—she’d know this, too

I wigglethe ball of anxiety in my throat Via isn’t here Thank you, Marx

Girls torpedo past les infalls with a thud My classht backs like an exclamation mark Me? I’m small and e of snapping My face is not stoic and regal; it’s traitorous and unpredictable Some wear their hearts on their sleeves—I wear mine on my mouth I smile with my teeth when I’m happy, and when my mom looks at me, I’m always happy

“You should really take gy It suits you so much better than ballet”

But Mo at my self-esteem There’s a rounded dent on its surface now, the shape of her words, and that’s where I keep er

Melody Green-Followhill is a for her first week at Juilliard when she was eighteen Ballet has been expected of me since the day I was born And—just my luck—I happen to be exceptionally bad at it

Enter Via Scully

Also fourteen, Via is everything I strive to be Taller, blonder, and skinnier Worst of all, her natural talentlook like an insult to leotards all over the world