Page 58 of Against The Rules

Better underweight than over. If I had a nickel for every time my mom recited that to me as she stepped on the scale after her morning coffee at home, I’d have several dozen piggy banks full of nickels.

I follow her through the fluorescent lit hallway, my heart doing the familiar anxious gallop it always does right before a weigh-in. A smile is pasted on my face, because if I show for one second that I hate this, that I fucking hate this part, they’ll write it down in my file and use it as a reason to cut me from the team.

So I smile, and I act like I love stepping on the scale, holding my breath and waiting to hear if I still fit the mold of Beaver Cheer perfection.

“Three pounds down since last week,” Rebecca’s assistant tells her, and I hold in my sigh of relief. “She’s good to go.”

I step off the scale. “Thank you,” I chime, though I’m not sure what I’m thanking them for. Not sure why they need me to thank them.

“Make sure you’re eating enough protein,” Rebecca’s assistant says to me. “Don’t lose too much more. You look a little tired.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say automatically, like I love the advice.

“Yes, don’t lose more. You need some curves to be appealing,” Rebecca adds. “Sex appeal, remember?”

“Don’t forget to turn your exercise log in to the Google Drive on Saturday.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” I manage, smiling even more manically at her.

Don’t be overweight. Don’t be too skinny. Look just right. Be sexy. Be classy. Be perfect.

Why the hell am I doing this to myself?

I step back onto the black Marley as Rebecca calls Ashley’s name. The music vibrates through my bones, and I remember why.

I love to dance.

Performing in front of tens of thousands of fans is a privilege.

I lose myself in the music, trying to forget all the bullshit of the week, trying to blend in perfectly with the other perfect girls, and I wonder if being perfect means I’m losing more of myself than I should.

The song ends and I hit the last pose, staring at my reflection in the mirror, surrounded by women who are all smiling through their own private pain.

I’m tired.

Not for the first time this week, I wonder how Tyler’s doing. Ty, who texts me every morning to see how I am, who I’ve kept at arm’s length because I can’t figure out my feelings about him or about whatever the hell it is we’re doing.

I miss him.

CHAPTER 25

How’s Kansas?

Hey Peaches

It’s work, but it’s going well

I’m fired up lately, can’t imagine why

Good luck this weekend

Thank you

I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but wasn’t sure how

I started therapy on Monday

You were right. I have some shit to work through

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