Hey everyone! Whoa, can you believe this is my first full-length fanfic? I've been lurking around this website for a bit and I've decided to try and get a story out there. It seems like a lot of fun and a great learning experience so here I am! I'm really excited to show you what I'm capable of, and to get some criticism on what I really need some help on.
This story deals with anorexia. Clare doesn't have it in the first chapters, but she will. You'll find out why if you read on, but just as a warning or precaution, I'm letting you know. Some might not want to read about that, but it is going to be extremely prominent throughout the whole story, so if it offends you (though it is DEFINITELY not my intention) please, stop reading.
Also, to any of you with eating disorders: I know you must have heard this before from people you know, but you don't have to go through this alone. An eating disorder is serious business and I don't want you to have to keep struggling. I'm no counselor, but please try and seek some help from your parents or guardians, neighbors, friends, anyone. They are more than willing to be there for you and you do not, under any circumstances, have to do this by yourself.
I must have gone over this draft a zillion times! If it has any mistakes or things you think don't make sense, tell me in a review, because I don't catch everything! Also, here's a full summary:
Clare Edwards has a true passion for dance. She's always been on a stage, telling a story with her body. But with the stage comes critics, ones that tell Clare she's not the dancer she always thought she was. Soon, Clare's focus is off dancing and on her weight - and how to lose it. Can someone save her? Or will she just keep losing precious pounds until she's truly...gone?
Because I know you're dying to know: Yes, Eli will play a major part in this story. So will Adam. Because this story is an alternate universe; not the Degrassi you're used to, I have taken out some major characters because I don't think their presence is needed in this story. If you guys want them, though, I'll find a way to incorporate them. :) There are also a lot of my own characters added so be prepared!
This is a mega author's note, but I have just one more thing to say: thank you. Thanks for giving this story a try! I know it won't be the best thing you've ever read, but it means a lot that you're interested. Constructive criticism is appreciated! So thank you, and please review when you're done so I can know how to improve in the next chapter!
Twist to face the crowd, shimmy shimmy. Hand up, hip shake, and drop. Jump and twist, grin. Leg up! Circle and -
"Stop, stop! This is all wrong," my dance teacher Miss Amanda huffed, her Cuban accent ringing. She shook her head so hard that her deep brown hair fell down from her loose bun to her back. Her legs, wrapped in cheetah print tights, walked towards the center of the room. I felt the determination radiate from her as she faced the ceiling to floor mirror, shaking out the rest of the bun and wrapping the tie around her wrist so it wouldn't get in her way.
"This is what I envisioned when I choreographed it," Miss Amanda said. She performs the few steps much quicker, clapping in time with the heavy beat of the music blasting from the nearby stereo. Her hair swished gracefully; her legs long and like a gazelle, perfectly precise. Her face is all smiles and she flew across the room as if in a trance, dancing with ease.
I wistfully wish to dance like her. I know I can do it - train harder, perform harder, and eventually dance better. I want to make Miss Amanda proud. Though our class is small, only four of us, we're determined. Being the only sophomore in a group of juniors and seniors makes me even more determined to show them what I can do. I'm in the advanced group for a reason, right?
Our class was preparing for the big winter dance recital, to be performed in front of thousands in just two weeks. Everything we did had to be perfect at this point - there was no room for error. As Miss Amanda danced, I drank it all in, trying to copy every move so I could do it just as well as she did.
Miss Amanda finished and looked back at our small class, eyebrows raised. "See?" she said. "Easy. Do it again."
We tried again, four bodies coming together as one as we told a story in our dancing. Chins high and jumps sharp, we stopped at nothing but perfection. I knew this was what it felt like to be a dancer, to keep going, keep pushing, and to never give up until you reach your goal.
When it ended, I'm breathing hard but smiling at Miss Amanda, confident I lived up to my performance. Her face was twisted, a mixed expression of concern and frustration and suddenly my heart stops. We did it wrong. I failed as a dancer. I cringed and looked down, bracing her reaction.
"That was much better, ladies! Way to go," Miss Amanda chimed. Her accent is thick but I understand her perfectly. My head snapped up and I grinned, high-fiving with one of the girls nearby me. Our show was soon, so Miss Amanda's quick change in perspective about our dance was expected. She was just as nervous as we were.
"However, there is one little thing," she murmured, her eyes grazing across us. "Clare, will you come up here please? I want you to do the dance alone for a moment."
I nodded enthusiastically, smiling up into Miss Amanda's face before walking to the center of the room and stopping. "I'm ready when you are!" I tried not to let the excitement in my voice show, but failed. To be performing in front of the whole class, hand picked by Miss Amanda, was nothing short of an honor.
She nodded, signaling me, and started the music. I performed the dance again, smiling at the right points and hiding my face at others to accommodate the beat, just like she did. With my toes pointed, everything is precise as I performed the contemporary routine.
My head was in a whirl; I hadn't performed as hard as this in a long time. Practices were different than performances. Whenever I would dance in front of someone, at a recital or just my mom, it was much more enthusiastic than at the simple practices when I was learning the dance instead of showing it off. But this was different; I was alone, dancing the vision of my teacher. I had to be better.
I stopped as the music did, chest burning, face glistening with new sweat. I was tired, but that was a definite sign I had done my best. I could only hope that everyone was as pleased as I was. I quickly turned toward Miss Amanda in anticipation.
She nodded again, thoughtfully. "I see the problem now," she said. I stop smiling. Problem?
"Clare," she said quietly, pretending the others couldn't hear. "Suck in your gut, dear. It's been poking out more than usual lately."
My cheeks burned and I froze, holding my breath. Miss Amanda had just said the worst thing she could ever say to me. No dancer wanted to be called...fat! All dancers were slim and perfect, poised and confident. Was I not a good dancer because of my weight?
I knew it was a stereotype, that all dancers had to be slim. But it was the truth, I knew it from the look on my so-called friends' faces. I was fat and they were all tiny and thin, a result from celery and water, hardly the healthy eating a true dancer needed.
What was it, to be perfect just for the approval of others? Where was the passion in that? Here I was, thinking I had it all. I knew I had a bit of a belly, but I never would have thought it would actually get in the way. I could eat healthy, with a little sugar here and there, but it would do nothing to affect my dancing. That was only in the magazines or movies, it wasn't real life.
Then again, I guess it was. I tried not to make it noticeable as I carefully sucked in my belly and walked back toward the three girls silently giggling at my expense. Miss Amanda titled her head up, glaring down at them and they instantly stopped. A single glare wouldn't do anything now, I thought. The damage was done. I was the fat, young girl out of place in an advanced dance class.
We went over the dance a few more times before class ended. I followed my classmates toward our bags, full of water bottles and a change of clothes, preparing for the blast of winter that we would face as soon as we walked out the door. As I bent down to grab mine, my arm accidentally brushed on of the senior's arms, Delilah.
"Fatass," she murmured, as so Miss Amanda wouldn't hear. My face crumpled and the three girls I thought were my friends cackled as they hoisted their bags up their thin arms and walked out of the room, linking arms and gossiping. Did they think I was fat this whole time?
I had never felt more alone.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Head hanging low, I turned toward Miss A with shame apparent on every feature.
"Why," I tried to keep the tremble out of my voice as tears blurred my vision, making three Amanda's instead of one - three girls laughing and calling me fat. "Why didn't you just tell me that I...weigh too much?"
"Oh Clare," Miss A said, bending her knees so she was face-to-face with me. I felt like a child as she continued, "It was never about weight. You're in this class for a reason: you have outstanding talent and enthusiasm."
"Then why do I have to suck in? Why can't I be proud of who I am?" My voice betrayed me on the last few words and tears spilled out of my eyes, running along my cheeks and searing my heart, humiliation plastered on my face.
Miss Amanda sighed and shook her head, wrapping her hair back into its bun. "Clare dear, everyone has a flaw. Delilah's overly confident, Hanna forgets to smile. Chelsie forgets the moves...Everyone, not just dancers, always have something they can improve on."
"And I need to improve my weight?" I lashed out bitterly. I dragged my hand across my face, wiping the traitor tears away.
Miss Amanda stretched out and stood, reaching her full height, almost two heads taller than me. Her long, thin frame mocked me.
"It's not the weight," she said forcefully. "If anything, it's your height. You're the shortest in the class by far. If you only grew a few inches-"
"But that will never happen," I interrupted. "You had me as a dancer here since I was six and I'm sixteen now. You know I've always been the shortest. It was never a problem before!" I looked up at my teacher, confused and sad. She puckered her lips, like looking at me was something she wouldn't rather do, and my head fell back down.
"I'm not saying you're fat," she repeated. "But it could become an issue. All dancers need to be of an appropriate weight for their height and age to really excel."
"I do excel!" I said loudly, the tears flowing freely now. "I'm a great dancer, you said it yourself!"
"Clare," Miss Amanda said. I stopped and closed my eyes, wishing I could just leave now, walk to my mom's car, where I'm sure she was waiting and wondering why I'm late.
"You don't have a problem," Miss A continued. "You're dancing is fine. But, I do see that you lag behind sometimes, probably because you're tired, right?" I thought back to the dance today, remembering being a little more tired and out of breath than usual. I nodded slowly, regretfully.
"So, it's in my best intentions that I think it would help if you dropped a few pounds." I choked back a sob and she placed her hands on my shoulders, willing me to listen. "It's not you Clare. It's the life of a dancer to take out some of the joys of eating unhealthy foods. I mean, we all need to cut back sometimes. It's very important in your case; your height will soon not be the only thing in your way. "
I nodded one last time. I loved to dance, and I guessed that sometimes dancers had to make sacrifices. I mumbled an "Okay" to Miss Amanda and she smiled, dropping her hands and stepping back.
"Excellent," she says, accent strong. "I'll see you next week, same time, same place, all right? I'll have a meal plan for you." I nodded and turned, grabbing my bag and digging around for my clothes. I pull on a pair of jeans, a sweater and gloves over my dancing outfit. I threw Miss Amanda a short wave before exiting the class and the building, running out to my mom and hopping into the car.
"Hi, honey," Mom said. I have time to throw my bag in the backseat and buckle myself up before she continues. "What took you so -" She stops almost as soon as she started, her long fingers on the keys, the car still in park. "Are those tears? What happened?"
"Nothing," I lied. "Chelsie told the funniest joke, I must have sprouted some tears it was so funny." I smiled, adjusting myself in the seat before facing the window.
"Well, I'm glad you had a good time. I didn't at home. Today your father just wouldn't -"
I tuned her out, pressing my forehead against the cool glass window as Mom rambled on about my father. I sadly watched as the world outside blurred. We zoomed past a couple, all bundled up against the harsh chill of the early December winds, various houses topped with soft, white snow, and a young guy with shaggy black hair and clothes, walking a black dog and simply contrasting with the winter wonderland around him. He seemed to want to stand out as much as I didn't.
I turned away from the boy who was the opposite of me and sighed. I was cursed with a short body. The soft fat I had building up on my midriff wouldn't be a problem if I was taller. Although the thought of a need to lose weight had crossed my mind, I hadn't ever thought about it for too long because I didn't think it would become an issue. No one had said anything and I was in an advanced class; I thought that a little belly would actually be better because it would show that girls who weren't the thinnest could still dance.
I guess it was time for reality to set in.
It wasn't long before I knew what I had to do.