Practically Ever After

by Isabel Bandeira

  “I know the feeling,” I said with a smile. Physical therapy was amazing but I was the type who would do an exercise twenty times if someone told me to do only ten. “What’s the therapy for?”

  “Ruptured and repaired Achilles tendon, and a few bones in my foot and ankle are fused together with little metal plates.” I felt my eyes grow wide and my shoulders go up in an involuntary cringe and Natalie added, “Want the gory details? I don’t mind, unless it bothers you.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said quickly, maybe a little too fast. I hated to admit it, but all the time spent looking at Oliver’s project and doing research on hands for mine had made me extra curious about this type of stuff. It was weirdly fascinating, not in a train wreck sort of way, but in a ‘understanding a super complex system’ way.

  “You know how subway doors are supposed to open back up again if something gets caught in them?”

  I nodded. “Yes?”

  “Well, one time, they didn’t. The sensors must have malfunctioned and the subway kept moving and I had been in a rush to get on the train and—” She gestured at her leg, “—voilà, career-ending injury.” Before I could say anything, she tapped at her ankle. “I can’t do pointe, so professional ballet is out. It’s hard to find even modern or contemporary companies and choreographers willing to deal with a dancer who can’t fully articulate her foot and is a little shaky on one side…” she trailed off before smiling at me, “but we haven’t given up yet. Drina won’t let me.”

  I tried hard not to stare, instead forcing my eyes back to hers, which were just as hard not to stare at because of the dark ring circling an almost cat-like amber. “I…can imagine.”

  “Because she’s still one of my best dancers. Stubborn, but good,” Drina said, making her way into the room with an armful of CDs. She was still old-school enough to use them in her classes. “If we can just get that Achilles of yours close to where it was, I bet companies will be falling all over themselves to take you. If that figure skater, Zhao, can get an Olympic gold medal after rupturing his Achilles and Alex Wong is still dancing with two repaired Achilles, I know you can get back up to full relevé.”

  “I’m only as stubborn as my dance teacher,” Natalie shot back, walking over to take a pile of the CDs and help re-shelve. “When are you joining this century? I told you I could convert this all to digital so you don’t have to drag these all over the studio.”

  “It’s not the same.” Aunt Drina said without any further explanation, running her fingers almost lovingly over the rows and rows of CD cases. “Anyway, it’s nice to see you two getting along right off the bat.”

  In the lull between songs, I heard my phone buzzing, but I ignored it and the tiny wave of nausea that came with it. I was not looking forward to hearing Leia’s hurt voice. “Natalie was helping me with my choreography.” The phone stopped buzzing and I practically slumped with relief.

  Drina looked at me in that really disconcerting way she had that almost felt like she was seeing through me, and, with only the littlest glance at Natalie, asked, “Is everything okay?” She was always better at reading me than my parents ever were, and I caught her eyes shifting toward my phone and back to me.

  I changed my focus to stopping my phone mid-song and slipping on my shoes, not looking her in the eye. A second later, I was able to look back up again with a grimace and slipped my right foot out of the shoe and flexed it at her so she could see the red and torn skin. “Perfect. It’s just that I’ve gotten soft.”

  “Epsom salts,” Natalie said absently, then glanced up at the studio clock. “Oh, gotta go. It was nice meeting you, Grace.”

  “Remember, you’re covering adult ballet for Adam tonight,” my aunt called after her and Natalie waved a hand with a thumbs up at the doorway before we heard the studio front door’s bells chime as it opened and closed. “Dancers,” Drina said with a shake of her head before turning back to me. “She’s right about the salts. But is everything else okay? How are things with Leia?”

  “Good. Really. I just popped in to get back into all this again.” Before she could dive in deeper, I shoved my phone in my pocket and picked up my keys. “I have to go, too. With Dad in Belgium this week, I don’t want to leave Mom all alone for dinner.”

  She heaved a little sigh that meant she really didn’t believe me, but that she was letting go. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, around 3:30? And don’t worry about dinner tomorrow night, I’ll pick something up for both of us between classes.”

  “Great. Bye.” I wasn’t the little fifteen-year-old who came to my oh-so-cool aunt with my problems anymore, especially since those things were partly caused by my helping her out. I was definitely too old not to handle things on my own.

  I wished I weren’t, though.

  Chapter 15

  “So, we’re meeting at 3:30?” Phoebe asked, stopping next to my locker.

  I blinked at her for a second, trying to figure out what she could possibly mean. At 3:30, I was supposed to be going over my Junior recital dance ideas with Natalie, then cramming in a half-hour study session with Leia before teaching my class at 5. “For?”

  “You were going to help me shop for my trip?”

  I shook my head and pulled out my planner. “That wasn’t today, it’s…” I scanned my weekly layout and felt my heart drop into my stomach. “Shopping with Phoebe: 3:30” was right there, in impossible-to-miss teal ink. With my dance schedule written in the box directly below it in pink ink. “Today.” I resisted the urge to pound my head against the locker in response to my stupidity and instead looked up, noticing how Phoebe’s smile had drooped slightly into what Em had termed her “disappointed kitten” look. “I am so sorry, I don’t know how I managed to double schedule you and dance.”

  Phoebe forced a bright smile. “It’s no problem. We can go another day.”

  “We can go this weekend—” I started, but trailed off when I saw my packed Saturday and Sunday, starting with a design session on Saturday morning with Alec and ending with helping Aunt Drina recut and digitally arrange all the music for the recital. “Or next weekend.”

  “It’s not important, Grace,” she said, readjusting her messenger bag.

  I shook my head, tapping at my planner. I was not going to let her down just because I’d made a stupid mistake. “No, I can make this work. It’s just going over a recital dance; class isn’t until 5. I’ll cancel with Leia and, if I can get Natalie to stay late and Aunt Drina lets us use the little studio, we can work on it after my class and,” I added the homework my teachers had given us today—it was about three hours’ worth, and if I got home at 8:30, I could still get it done before getting to bed, “I’ll just let Mom know I’ll be late to dinner. I can make it work.”

  “It’s okay, really. Technically, I won’t need these clothes until June. And it’s not like there aren’t clothes in my closet or stores in Mumbai, either.”

  I shook my head, remembering what Em had told me about Phoebe needing some friend time. “Yeah, but I promised, and I saw a few things the other day that I really want you to try.” I pulled out my phone and started texting Natalie. “I can make this work, just give me a minute.”

  “But there will be other clothes—” Phoebe said, then seemed to give up. She leaned against the pillar next to my locker with a frown on her face.

  “As your official stylist, I refuse to let you down.” My phone buzzed and Natalie’s “No problem” popped up on my screen. “See, it’s okay with Natalie. And, as soon as Mom hears I’m coming home late because I was helping you, she’ll be okay with it.”

  “Are you sure?” She asked, hesitantly.

  “Definitely.” At the unsure look on her face, I reached out to pat her arm and added, “I promise, this is fun for me. Like Em would say, I’m the shopping queen. Bow before my retail greatness.”

  Phoebe snorted. “Okay, shopping queen. We’ll meet in front of Oh, Knit! then? I promised Cassandra I’d stop by to drop off a sample knit after school.
”

  “Deal.” I shoved my planner in my backpack and watched Phoebe hurry to go catch her bus. As soon as she turned the corner, I leaned back against the lockers and tapped the back of my head against them loud enough to hear the metallic thud. Tomorrow morning, I was going to go through my entire planner and make sure this wouldn’t happen again.

  Good fashion was a mix of geometry, symmetry, physics, and knowing the rules well enough to break them all in breathtaking ways. It was really satisfying to analyze a situation and put together the perfect outfit or figure out a way to make things work on someone’s body. It was like a visually appealing equation…always perfect.

  When Phoebe stepped out of the dressing room and twirled, a giant smile on her face, I knew I’d gotten another equation right. The black, floaty skirt hit her perfectly mid-calf and swirled out as she turned, and the half-sleeve teal top fit her closely enough to be cute without overdoing it. She adjusted the bow at her neckline so it sat half-on her shoulder and nodded slightly. “I really like this.”

  “And it matches the scarf Dev’s mom gave you for your birthday,” I said, remembering how Phoebe had practically lived in the teal silk scarf the second half of the winter, even in lieu of some of her beloved wool. “Wear that with it. You’ll need a scarf sometimes to cover your head, right?”

  “Mmmhmm.” She didn’t seem to be listening as she turned from side to side in front of the mirror. “I really like this place, it has the cutest stuff.”

  “Now do you see why I didn’t want to wait?” I gestured to the rack next to us. “Everything in here is upcycled or made from sustainable materials without being super expensive. Leia found this store ages ago, and when I saw that top in the window, I knew it would work for you.”

  “I like sustainable. And my yarn and book budget thank you.” She twirled again, then tugged at the skirt. “This won’t be too hot? We’re probably going to be there during the monsoons but it’s still going to be summer, you know.”

  “It’s all-natural materials, they’ll breathe fine,” I said. “And you can make a bunch of other outfits with these two pieces.” I pulled the grey capris we’d bought at another shop out of the bag I was holding and put it in front of her skirt. “See? Just make sure you pick colors that work together and then you don’t have to pack a million things.”

  “Yes, Style Mom.”

  I snorted and made a dismissive motion towards the dressing room. “Go try on the other outfit now. I want enough time to squeeze in an oh-so-exciting oatmeal bar or two before dance.”

  “You’re back to those?” Phoebe’s voice was muffled through the curtain and probably by a layer of fabric as she changed. “I thought you were finally eating kind of normally again.” She paused, then added, “I mean, not to say you’re not normal, but normal as in general wheat-free public food consumption normal, not that it’s everyone’s normal but…you know what I mean.”

  I snorted at her word-gymnastics. “Yeah, back to those. I’ve been extra sensitive lately. Probably the change in the season or something.” All my friends knew that when I stopped eating even the tiny amounts of wheat or apples or dairy that my body could tolerate, I always switched to homemade oatmeal bars my dietician had taught me about when I’d first been diagnosed with all my sensitivities.

  “Or it’s stress. You have a really bad habit of doing too much.” Phoebe stepped out again, this time in black leggings and a long pink tunic top. “Your doctor told you stress could do that to you, too, right?”

  I studied her for a minute before pulling a black ribbon belt from the display next to me and looping it around her waist. Better. “We’re all stressed. You also just finished up AP exams and needs to study for finals.”

  “Yes, but I ask for help and I’m not a perfectionist like you. You’re extra stressed and you know it.” Phoebe played with the bow I’d tied around her waist, keeping her eyes focused on her own reflection as she said, even more firmly, “You told me stress can shift your bacterial something-or-other and make you more sensitive to all the stuff that already makes you sick. Which means it has to be really affecting you right now.”

  I didn’t try to correct her mangled attempt to explain the science behind food sensitivities. This was supposed to be about cheering her up, not talking about what I could or couldn’t eat. “I’m fine, seriously.”

  This time, she looked straight up to study me, grey eyes narrowed. “You know you can say no to things like this and helping my mom, right? And do you need me to talk to Em and Alec about us helping you for once? I can’t dance, but maybe I could help with the recital stuff?”

  I shook my head. “Seriously, forgetting about this shopping trip was just a planner mistake. And you have your trip and your sister’s wedding stuff to worry about. I wouldn’t trade places with you in a million years.”

  “Oh, please, if Trixie was your sister, you and your mom would be planning the wedding of the century. The two of you love this kind of stuff.” She twirled in front of the mirror and added, “The two of you should go into planning business together: ‘Unique Weddings by Correa and Daughter.’”

  “With a hot-chocolate bar, of course,” I said with a laugh, then gave her a gentle nudge towards the changing room. “Okay, you’re going to look adorable, and I’m sure you’ll pick up a few cute things in Mumbai. Dev’s mom has great style and I bet she can take you to the best places when you’re there.”

  “Mmmhmm.” She said over her shoulder before closing the dressing room curtain. “She was talking about this one designer she loves who’s supposed to have a pop-up shop in Breach Candy while we’re there.”

  Mission accomplished. Phoebe was looking forward to pop-up shops and shopping instead of convent schools and chaperones. “See? Now, hurry up, the oatmeal bars are calling me.”

  Chapter 16

  My phone’s ringtone shook me awake and I forced my eyes open as I slowly pulled my head off my forearms and cracked one eye open to stare groggily at the phone screen. Leia’s name was unnaturally bright under the time—10:45 p.m. “Crap.” I hit answer on my phone while rubbing at the divot I’d gotten on my nose from pressing against the edge of my history textbook. Apparently, based on the evidence before me, I’d fallen asleep over my homework and had lost two hours of precious study time. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.” Leia’s tone was way too perky for me at that moment. “I tried calling a few times earlier, but you didn’t answer.”

  I stifled a yawn. “Sorry, studying.” I searched my desk for my mug and took a sip of cold peppermint tea, which had obviously been useless at keeping me awake earlier. “What’s up?” Along with the crick in my neck, a pang rang through my abdomen as I straightened up. I pushed lightly at my stomach around where my lymph nodes were and cringed at the corresponding pain, familiar and definitely not cramps. While she talked, I opened my planner to the monthly layout and checked it just in case I was wrong—nope, I wasn’t scheduled to have my period for another two weeks.

  Leia had been going on for a full minute but paused mid-sentence. “Um, are you listening?”

  “Yup. Emily’s idea for the library garden?” I said, repeating what I’d picked up from her last sentence, something about starting a cooking class for the kids to learn how to use the vegetables they’d grown. Meanwhile, though, my brain kept cataloging what I was feeling. I’d been bloated and headache-y for a few days, and I knew the symptoms way too well to ignore them. My food sensitivities had kicked up with a vengeance, and this current pain was probably because of the apple I’d eaten after I got home from school. Or maybe the French toast stick I’d stolen from Em’s lunch tray. My body already wasn’t a big fan of fructose or oligosaccharides, but something I’d eaten seemed to have really triggered it in the past month.

  I made a mental note to start food journaling again and then tried to focus back on what Leia was saying.

  “Anyway, I wanted to know how your first non-adult dance class went.” I could hear her bed creak
in the background and realized she was settling in for a long call, which I definitely didn’t have the time or energy for. “How did it feel to teach kids again?”

  I did not have time for this. I stared at the unintelligible page of notes that were supposed to be the research for my history paper. “Good. Dance-y,” I said, distractedly, flipping through the library books I’d marked up with page flags and breathing a sigh of relief. At least I’d been conscious enough when marking the pages to have something remotely useful, unlike my actual notes.

  Leia seemed completely oblivious to the distraction in my tone. “Awesome. How many kids are in the classes? Are they really big?”

  “Twelve in Junior, eighteen in prep.” I kept my words short, hoping she’d get the hint. I didn’t have time to talk—the paper was due tomorrow, I’d procrastinated on it for a week because of dance and other school stuff and now I’d lost all the time I’d planned to actually write it. And the time I was going to spend writing the paper was going to bump my physics homework out, and—my brain spun, trying to weave my plans back into some semblance of organization.

  Apparently she hadn’t gotten the hint, because she went on to say, “Grace, is everything okay? It feels like you’re not all there.”

  “I’m fine.” I cleared some sticky notes off of my planner and stared at my schedule, trying to think. I had to go meet with the physical therapist for my project tomorrow afternoon, but maybe I could figure something out afterwards.

  “No, really, something’s up. You sound annoyed.”

  I pulled out my correction tape and planner pens and started moving things around on my schedule. “You know, maybe nothing’s up and I just don’t have anything to talk about.”

  She made a disbelieving noise on the other side of the line. “You know,” she said, in what I could tell was a deliberate imitation of my tone, “if anyone should be annoyed, it’s me. I’m the one you stood up, again.”