How It Feels to Fly by Kathryn Holmes

mom to send me here .” I infuse that last word with as much contempt as possible.
    â€œAnyone else?”
    â€œThe costume designer who made my new tutu too tight, on purpose, so that I’d have a reason to lose weight. Like I wasn’t trying to do that already. And all the girls at ballet who gave me diet tips with these fake-helpful smiles, like they were doing me a favor. And the choreographer who wouldn’t cast me in his piece because of how I might look in a costume. Like he couldn’t possibly pick a different costume direction. Like his vision was more important than the dancing.” I pause. “I would’ve kicked butt in that piece.”
    â€œI’m sure you—”
    â€œAnd I’m angry at George freaking Balanchine!”
    â€œBecause?”
    â€œBecause it’s his fault the ballet world is obsessed with who can be the skinniest. It’s his aesthetic. He’s the reasongirls like me can’t—of course, he was a genius, but this is all his fault. If I could time-travel, I’d make it so ballet was always about the best dancer, no matter what she looked like.”
    Dr. Lancaster is nodding. “Who else?”
    Marcus . His name floats into my mind, taunting me. I shake it away.
    Bianca . No, that doesn’t make sense. She’s my closest friend.
    I’m not angry with either of them. They’ve actually been there for me through most of this—at least, until Marcus dumped me. So maybe I am mad at him. But not Bianca. And anyway, I don’t want to tell Dr. Lancaster about my breakup.
    â€œI’m angry at my brain for not being able to handle, like, life ,” I finally spit out. “For screwing up everything I care about. I am so, so mad at myself.” Saying it out loud makes me shake with emotion.
    â€œAll of this is good,” Dr. Lancaster says.
    â€œGood?” I turn on her. “Nothing about this is good .”
    â€œExpressing your anger is good.”
    â€œHow does it help me?” I answer my own question. “It doesn’t. At all.”
    â€œIt will. I promise.”
    â€œI don’t want promises. I want results.” Now I sound like my mom. And thinking about how she’d feel, seeing me like this, makes my voice crack. “You’re supposed to fix me. Not make me even more of a wreck! Two panic attacks in threedays—at therapy camp!”
    â€œSo what can you learn from those two panic attacks?”
    â€œNot to trust you! Or this place. To keep doing what I was doing, because that works better than anything you can tell me.”
    â€œDo you really believe that?”
    I nod fiercely. But the anger is dying down. I drop back onto the couch, hugging the nearest pillow to my stomach.
    â€œI’ll tell you one thing I think you can take away from what just happened.”
    She waits for me to respond. I don’t.
    â€œYou need to tell someone when you feel overwhelmed, rather than bottling it all up. If you’d mentioned to me, or Yasmin, or Andrew, or even one of your peers that you were having anxiety about swimming, we could have done something to prevent that anxiety from becoming a full-blown panic attack.”
    I grunt at her.
    â€œAlso, now that your panic is out in the open with your peers, I think you’ll find it easier to talk to them and rely on them going forward. You don’t have to be a brick wall. You’re allowed to be vulnerable.”
    â€œBeing vulnerable won’t help me become a professional ballerina.”
    â€œWhat about Juliet?” she counters. “What about Giselle? What about Ophelia?”
    â€œOphelia?”
    â€œFrom Hamlet .”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œOr Odette,” she goes on.
    â€œI wasn’t talking about that kind of vulnerability,” I argue. “I can be strong in real life and still dance a sad role.”
    â€œYes. Exactly. I agree.”
    â€œSo why do I have to let everyone