Color Me Pretty: A Father's Best Friend Romance

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Bending as I stretched into downward dog, I listened to the instructor call out another vinyasa that would normally be easy for me if I’d kept up on my regular routines. I’d slacked off on just about everything having to do with exercise because I hated how people looked at me, waiting for

me to relapse as if running a mile or two would suddenly lead to me sticking a finger down my throat as soon as I got home.

Forcing the thought away, I wobbled into the next position and watched the bare feet of the older woman who taught the class come closer, stopping just in front of my purple mat. “Mind if I help a little?”

I heard snickering coming from a few familiar people surrounding me as I nodded, feeling her gentle hands get me in the proper form so I didn’t hurt myself. Once upon a time I’d been complimented in every class for my fluid movements and flexibility. I still had some of both, but it was harder after years. People commented on the way I walked with grace like any dancer did no matter how long it’d been since they last practiced, but my abdominal muscles weren’t as strong, and neither were my arms. I’d lost obvious definition that used to help me which was why I’d convinced myself that yoga was a safe bet if no other workouts appealed to me.

The problem was, I knew people were right to worry about what exercises I did. It was more than just Ripley asking me what I did to stay physically active or asking if I counted calories again. Other people were waiting for me to fail, watching me carefully, too carefully, and they had no reason to. It pissed me off. A lot.

After another twenty minutes, we ended with the typical namaste before rolling our mats up and preparing to leave. The center I went to for these classes shared rooms with other instructors, so we could never stay longer than a few minutes before the next course started.

“Bye, Adele,” one of my other classmates said, giving me a wave before walking out with her mat tucked under her arm. Her name was Brielle and if I had to guess I’d say she was mid-thirties. Quiet, but sweet. She greeted everybody even if they never offered her so much as a wave in return, but I always smiled and spoke to her if I had the time. She was one of the few people who didn’t pester me about personal things when everybody else liked talking behind my back.

Speaking of. “I was wondering if you’d come back,” Tiffany Anderson commented, stopping beside me. Her silvery blonde hair took a lot of money to keep up because she always hated the dark brown it was naturally. She kept it in a tight bun during yoga, just like she did during dance. “The girls and I were talking about reaching out to you to see if you wanted to join us again.”

I doubted that, but I smiled anyway. “It was time to try rejoining. I need some work, obviously.”

Her smile wasn’t as tight as I would have expected. “You’ll get there, especially if you expect to compete again. I noticed that your arms barely held you up and your legs shook when we did the balance series.”

My eye twitched despite trying to hold it back. I wasn’t sure why everybody thought I was coming back. Aunt Sophie had to be the reason speculation stirred. It didn’t matter how hard I tried squashing it, rumors spread like wildfire, especially when it came to dance. Spots were always limited, and it was only the best of the best who were offered a chance to prove themselves worthy of the title.

“I don’t plan on competing again, Tiffany. Whatever people are saying is just because my aunt is trying to get me to change my mind, but I won’t.”

Tiffany, who’d always been one of my biggest competitors next to Lauren, looked disappointed. Normally people were happy to know they didn’t have to worry about peers taking their spot. Not her based on the pinch of her lips. “You don’t have to compete. It’s just… Can I be honest with you? I don’t understand why you’re set on quitting. I mean, I get things were…hard for you. I’m not that much of a bitch to brush off what you’ve gone through the past couple of years. You’re talented though and it would suck to win at something because there isn’t enough worthy competition. We both know Lauren thinks she’s got every lead spot in the bag since you walked away, but everybody else knows that there are a lot of other people vying for the same roles. And that still isn’t good enough. Not when people know there’s a possibility you’re coming back.”

I stared at her blankly.

She sighed. “I get it, okay? You probably don’t care because we’re not friends. We barely got along when we danced together. But that doesn’t mean I want to get handed things without proving that I worked my ass off for them. The only way I can feel that way is if you were back.”

Again. I blinked.

“And because I hate Lauren,” she added, grinning. There was no stopping the matching grin on my face, causing us both to laugh. She had a point and I wasn’t going to ignore that. But I knew whatever her understanding of my condition was, it was not on the same level of mine.

People knew all about me. But they didn’t really know me at all. Things got bad fast and it only got worse when the media began picking me apart like they had the right to. It stopped being about the talent everybody said I had and about how I’d gotten there, as if my father had paid off people to let me participate in recitals, awards, and gain the recognition I deserved. Nobody saw the way I worked every single day, multiple times a day, or how much sleep I lost trying to perfect one single move at a time. They couldn’t see how little I put on my plate because I knew I couldn’t afford to gain weight or else I’d hear about how bloated I was, or how full I’d gotten, or how I wasn’t doing something right because I’d lost control.

So, no, she didn’t understand what it was like even if she tried to. I didn’t think she was pretending because Tiffany was a lot of things, but fake wasn’t one of them. She said how it was, even if it hurt. She’d been blunt her whole life, some would say a fault of hers, but I admired it even if I was on the receiving end. And I was. Often.

While most of that had been to my face, I knew what she said behind my back to the small group of friends she had. Some dancers, most not. It was hard to keep friends who you competed against because no matter how strong you thought your friendship was, you were going to go head to head with them at some point. Some people, like Lauren, were sore losers. Others like Tiffany said a few harsh words and moved on. Trained harder. Ate better. Worked at it until there was no reason to be beaten.

I could picture us being friends if we didn’t have dance between us. But even now, without me competing, I knew it wouldn’t happen. I’d be the threat that always taunted her, the person she’d made comments about when she thought I wasn’t listening.

Sighing, I managed a nod. “I get what you’re saying, but I can’t picture myself ever going back. Competing or not. Plus, I hear Lauren has gotten better. Maybe she’s competition after all.” I hated to think that some girls were so unworthy of not being deemed competition, but there were always people who were better or worse. That was life. Did I flaunt it? Comment on it? No. That wasn’t my place.

Tiffany hefted a sigh before looking toward the door where more people exited. “For the record, I think you’re making a huge mistake. But I’m not shocked to hear your choice. I knew Sophie was full of it when she told the ladies at the club.”

I closed my eyes for a split second. Of course, she was still running her mouth about it like gossip could change my mind. “When did she do that?”

“A week ago? A week and a half?”

I wet my bottom lip and looked at her again, tipping my head. “Thanks for letting me know. And I’m…sorry if you’re disappointed. I just can’t do that to myself.”

“Ladies,” the instructor said from where she was putting her bag over her shoulder. “We need to clear out now. You can continue your conversation outside.”

Tiffany and I walked side by side toward the door, her shoulder bumping into mine as we entered the hallway. “What if I helped you? You don’t want to come back, fine. But that doesn’t mean you should stop dancing. Not unless you never liked it, and let’s be real, there’s no way you would have stuck it out if you hated it. We all saw the way you moved, Adele. It was flawless. We were all sure nobody would ever be able to compare.”

That was the thing nobody got. Being so high on the pedestal meant the fall would hurt that much more. “I didn’t hate it,” I confirmed, adjust

ing my mat perched in the crook of my armpit. “It was something I started because of my mom and what I found passion in for a long time. But that turned into critique and then into something darker. I don’t know how you could help with something like that, Tiffany.”