On Stage

By Amethyst Turner

Twirling, leaping

Joints twisting

Like a puppet on a string

Flying, weeping

Quit existing

Jump and then take wing

XXX

"Hey, your toes are better!"

Jameson reached for her, but Amethyst pulled her legs away. "Careful," she said. "They still hurt."

"Aww." He took her foot gingerly in his hand, running his finger over each scalloped ridge of her painted toenails. "Well, you're making progress, at least. Learning to walk again, huh?"

Aimee shrugged. "Owl said I should give it a few days, just to make sure nothing's still broken."

"That's too bad." Jameson eased himself to the ground with a grunt, sinking lower and lower until his back was on the floor and the top of his head touched the mirror. "Sometimes," he said. "I like to think that pain just means we're growing."

"What?" Aimee asked.

"Like, do you believe in guardian angels?"

Amethyst frowned at him. "I don't really know what that is."

"Okay. Guardian angels are like spirits that watch over us from heaven and make sure that we don't get hurt, and when we do get hurt, they make sure we get through it alright."

"Then what about the people who die?"

"Sometimes that happens, too," Jameson agreed. "And the angels take their hands and lead them up to heaven."

"That sounds nice." Amethyst found that she wanted to be closer to him, to the strong rumble his voice created on the floor. She scooted up next to him and laid her head on his shoulder, feeling the heat of his neck on her forehead.

Jameson leaned his head on hers, giving a deep sigh. "Yeah, it does, doesn't it? But that won't happen for a long time. For now, the angels just watch us and let us have little challenges along the way."

"Challenges?" Amethyst knew that word. It meant something that was hard, but good for you. Miss Briggs used it when there was a hard word in their books. A challenging word, she called them. "Why?"

"Well, they make us stronger, don't they? And they teach us all sorts of things about ourselves. Like, for you," he pinched her chin with his fingertips, narrowly avoiding an angry red bruise. "You're learning that you can't take your body for granted, anymore. You're learning to be grateful for every little thing you're able to do."

Amethyst nodded. That made sense. She thought about June, sitting by herself on the other side of the studio stretching her legs. "What about June," she whispered, recalling the way she hobbled when Jameson wasn't around. "What's she learning?"

Jameson covered his face with his arm and gave a bitter little laugh. "She's supposed to be learning to take care of herself," he said, "But to be honest, I don't think she's gotten the message."

XXX

Kris put her arms around Micky from behind, pressing her lips against her cold, goose-bumped neck. "Hello there," she breathed, closing her eyes. She inhaled Micky's scent, that cedar wood, almost minty sharpness about her.

Mick slid out of her embrace, not bothering to turn around. "Hey," she said. Kris watched her go to the refrigerator, bend down and inspect their meager selection of food. She watched the pockets on Micky's jeans expand and contract as they were pulled tight over her ass.

"Micky," she whined. "What, I don't even get a kiss hello anymore?"

Pulling a tub of vanilla yogurt out of the fridge, Micky searched the silverware drawer for a spoon with a face that seemed to be pinched tight at the middle. "Sorry," she said. "Forgot."

Kris came across the kitchen to her and pushed her against the fridge door. In her heels, she was almost a head taller than Micky and loomed over her like a shadow. She held her arms in her hands, hands big enough that sometimes Mick complained they were crushing her. "Can we start over?" she asked.

"Sure." Micky looked away and then looked back, a sarcastic grin on her face. "Oh, hi there, Kris."

Kris let go of her and turned around to go back to her room.

"What!" Micky called after her. "I'm starting over!"

"You don't have to be like that," Kris said before she closed the door and locked it.

XXX

"Charlie. Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie."

The pencil dug further into her ribs each time, a quick, jagged pain that didn't seem quite real. Charlotte ignored it, fixing her eyes on the window, small as a cinder block, letting in the last peek of February daylight.

"Charlie!"

She felt lips on her neck, too close. Jumping, Charlotte exclaimed, "What!"

"You zoned out," Sasha offered, grinning.

Charlotte glared at her. "Leave me alone."

Why was she here, anyway? In a cold, unfinished basement with a ring of arguing, insulting teenagers, passing around a brown bag, splotchy with condensation. She didn't want to be home, but she also didn't want to do this anymore, either.

"Yeah, Char," added another girl, Nora. "What's up with you today? It's like you're mad at us."

Max put in, "I didn't do nothing."

"For once," Sasha snorted.

Charlie looked at her best friend, feeling her face twist with bitterness. She wanted them to know, suddenly. Well, wasn't this what she was mad about? The fact that they didn't really care, not at all? Why not just tell them, see how they reacted? "Do you really want to know?" she asked.

Sasha nodded. "Of course we do."

A few of the others mumbled in agreement. The brown bag around the bottle crinkled in the interim of silence that followed.

"Okay," said Charlotte. "Well, I'm mad because of yesterday."

"...Yesterday?" said Nora. "What happened yesterday?"

"Do you guys really not remember?" she asked. "In the woods? With Andy?"

They all frowned at her, making confused faces. Sasha put a cold hand on her back. "Charlie, can you just tell us what you're talking about?"

Charlotte felt her face heating. She wanted to scream. "How is this possible?" she said, her voice thick and sludge like it got when she was going to cry. "I was literally screaming for help and you guys all saw it and you didn't say anything! What kind of friends are you?"

Again, quiet cloaked the circle, car engines in the distance.

"Nevermind," she said. She stood up and grabbed her backpack, too infuriated, too embarrassed to look at any of them. "Just nevermind."

XXX

People came and went in the other studios, but studio five remained occupied, music trickling gently from the crack in the door.

Inside, June forgot there was anyone else in the building. After a certain point, she forgot there was a world at all. The universe became her image in the mirror and the throbbing hurt in her ankle, her head, her lungs, and the swell of the music thrumming under her feet.

Sweet drops of relief, the momentary weightlessness of lifting onto the toe of her pointe shoe. The soaring sensation of fouette turns, air stirring beneath her. Pain pulsed in her fingertips and raced up through her neck.

But that was it. That was what she needed. She gritted her teeth and kept going.

XXX

Libby closed her mouth and her eyes, and after that, there wasn't anything else they could do. The staff let go of her, finally, after what felt like hours of prodding. They threw out her bowl of food and let her go to bed.

Now, she could hear Sharon snoring across the room, sheets rustling as she dreamed. Libby didn't know very much about her roommate, other than that she had five children and wasn't very friendly. She also knew that Sharon bit her fingernails and swallowed them, and that she talked to herself in the dark. But these were just things that anyone would know if they shared a bedroom with Sharon.

Libby had to wonder what Sharon knew about her. What was easy to perceive? Nothing at all, she figured. No one knew anything.

They had sedated her when Richard first dragged her into the building. She'd kicked and flailed and even bitten, but then the world dissolved like she was salt falling into water and when she woke up, everything was locked.

But part of her liked it here at the hospital. Her room was dark but warm, safe from her husband and the thoughts that told her to hurt herself. There were no sharp edges here, and they had cut her fingernails while she was sedated so now she couldn't scratch herself, either.

Libby closed her eyes against the cold, firm pillow. Maybe, she thought, she could just stay here.

XXX

"Owl?"

Owl's spine snapped straight, sending her upright in bed with goose bumps climbing her arms. She could feel them on her legs, her back, her scalp. Panic froze her system. Then, a small, warm hard on her thigh.

"Oh," said Owl. "Amethyst? What are you doing out of bed . . .? It's, what, three? In the morning?" Her words came out sloppy and low, breaking with foggy, sleeping edges. In the dark, she could only make out the glaring red numbers of her digital clock. The light glinted off Amethyst's eyes, making the blue in her irises flash when she turned her head.

"I'm sorry," the girl whispered.

Owl put out her hand, searching. She felt soft, powdery flesh on the back of her hand and cupped Amethyst's face in her palm. She ran her hand along the girl's cheek, invisible, but undeniably real. "It's alright, Sweetheart," she told the darkness. "Are you okay? Hungry? Thirsty?"

Aimee leaned into Owl's touch, head growing heavy. "No," she said.

"Bad dream?" Owl asked.

"Yes."

Owl felt her heart fracture in her chest, trembling with pity. Couldn't the child have one night of rest, one little block of peace, undisturbed? "Do you want to come sleep in my bed?" she asked.

"Yes," Amethyst repeated, her voice breaking. Owl lifted her into the bed and spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of sleep. In the morning, she wondered if Amethyst had really been crying or if she had dreamed it.

XXX

At recess, strange things happened to Brinley.

There were woods behind the school, thick and tangled with branches and underbrush. If you looked closely, you could see a blue tarp stretched between two trees, and everyone said that that was where the drug dealers lived.

Sometimes at recess, Brinley played a game with the other kids where they saw who dared to go deepest into the woods without the teacher noticing. The game had been less fun with Miss Briggs; everyone dreaded being caught, experiencing the disappointment in her kind, tired face.

But with Kris in charge, there was endless fun to be had here.

"I'll go first," Brinley said. The others nodded and giggled, eyes scampering up the hill toward where Kris sat, staring at the sky with their smudgy brown eyes. Brinley snuck through the hole in the gate, feeling the metal snag on the back of her shirt.

Then she darted forward, quick as a salamander from under a rock, and hid behind a wide-trunked tree. She peeked around it, still able to hear her friends giggling and see Kris looking lackadaisically around the playground. She grinned at the other kids and put a finger to her lips. The woods were cool and dark, growing thick quickly.

Brinley ran into the underbrush, not bothering to make her steps quiet. She hopped over the muddy brook and climbed up the next hill, finding another tree to hide behind. Her heart pumped frantically in her ears, blood surging with adrenaline. She felt like laughing or crying or both. Who lived in that tarp, she wondered. She was so close to it.

But she could still see the colorful peaks and curves of the playground. Brinley turned and ran farther, unthinking, until the tarp was a memory and through the trees she could not glimpse one bit of the playground. She threw up into her mouth, but swallowed it away.

"Hello, little girl."

Brinley wanted to scream, but she choked on her tongue. Fear seized her like a steel fist, making her feel too heavy to move. "Who's there?" she squeaked.

"Come here and you'll see."

XXX

Hearts are breaking, wars are raging on
And I have taken my glasses off
You got me nervous
I'm right at the end of my rope
A half-empty girl
Don't make me laugh, I'll choke

-Rose Colored Boy by Paramore