One Year Later
I tap my fingers against the table, staring at the envelope in front of me. It’s big, and the Juilliard logo on the address label taunts me.
This envelope holds my future. It’s the beginning or the end of everything I’ve worked so hard for over the last twelve months. It’s the result of the very thing that started my healing so long ago, and the thing that has kept me going ever since.
It’s the thing that lead me to Blake.
And he already knows. He knows he’ll be at Juilliard next semester, because unlike me, he’s not scared of what’s inside the envelope. He tore his open the second I walked through the door.
That was two hours ago.
“Abbi,” he says softly. “Babe, you’ve been sitting there for ages. Just open it.”
“I tore the flap,” I protest lamely.
“Tearing the flap isn’t going to give you the answer you want.”
“The letter might not, either.”
“You don’t know unless you open it.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t want to know.”
He sits opposite me and pushes the letter closer to me.
“I’m scared,” I admit, staring at the Juilliard logo.
“I know. But the only thing worse than them saying ‘no’ is not knowing. The longer you leave it the harder it’s going to get to open it.”
“Do it for me?” I glance up at him.
“I already know what the letter says. It doesn’t take a genius to work out.”
“But if it doesn’t say yes … If there’s no Juilliard for me … It’ll all have been for nothing.” My voice trails off.
“No, it won’t have been. And I know you. You’ll just go storming back into Bianca’s studio, work your pretty little ass off and go back next year to kick them in the teeth with the way you dance.”
My lips twitch. “You said ass. Not arse.”
Blake smirks. “Bloody Americans rubbing off on me.”
I roll my eyes. And sigh. “Okay.” I smack my hand down on top of the envelope. “I’ll do it.”
I slide the envelope along the table and turn it over, exposing the tiny rip in the corner of the flap. Blake looks at it then up at me.
“You call that a rip?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, slipping my finger under it. I run it along the length of the envelope, slide my hand inside, grab the piece of paper and shut my eyes as I pull it out.
“Cheater!” Blake exclaims.
“Just … A minute.” I take a deep breath. “Can you see what it says?”
“I’m not saying. You’ll have to open your eyes.”
“I don’t want you to tell me. I just want to know if you can.”
“I’m nodding or shaking my head.”
“God! You’re such a kid.”
He laughs. “So are you.”
“Okay.” I take another deep breath and hold the letter tighter, reminding myself it’s not the end of the world if it’s a no. Like Blake said, there’s always another dance and another year to try.
But I want it. I want it so, so badly I can’t bear it.
This dream has allowed me to take hold of my past and beat it down, putting it where it belongs in a box only I have the key to. This dream has allowed me to live and love again, and it never occurred to me until this morning it might not come true this year. I was so focused on getting to Juilliard, I never thought they might say no. I never wanted to think about what would happen if they said no.
I’m stronger now, I remind myself. I control the depression, it doesn’t control me. I faced my demons head on, and while I’ll never be normal, I’ll always be me, scars and all. And that’s enough.
So. I have to take whatever is in this letter and accept it the way I accepted the past.
A third deep breath, and my fist clenches on the table. And I open my eyes.
Dear Abbi,
Congratulations! It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Juilliard Dance Division and the Committee on Admissions have granted you admission to the Bachelor of Fine Arts program at The Juilliard School for the 2011-2012 academic year.
I look at Blake, tears in my eyes. I cover my mouth with my hand and whisper, “I did it.”
He smiles slowly, his green eyes alight. “You did it.”
I did it.