I've been in a strangely good mood for me for the past few days, almost like the smile on my face won't seem to disappear no matter what I do.
I guess I shouldn't be bothered because well, happiness is a good thing, right?
"If you smile any harder, I swear your face will get stuck like that, Whitney," Martina snaps as she files down her nail so hard I worry there'll be none of it left.
"What's gotten you so angry?" I answer with a chuckle, hunting through my bag in hopes of finding the silver nail polish I packed if I felt like being girly one random day. I stuff my hand to the bottom and pull it out, relieved I find it.
Martina and I decided to have a designated girl's night. Which pretty much consists of us complaining while doing our nails.
"My mom called earlier," she answers, looking up again. "She's so overbearing and asks so many questions and never gives me any space. It drives me crazy just talking to her."
I make a face. "Has she always been like that?"
Martina drops the nail filer in her lap. "Yesâwell, not entirely," she answers. "Basically she's gotten even more controlling ever since last year when I kind of got into some trouble."
"Trouble?" I repeat. "Like how bad?"
"Like cops involved bad?" she replies, wincing slightly. "But it wasn't all my fault. I was at this party hosted by this jock at my school, and there was a lot of alcohol. The cops busted us out for underage drinking, but thankfully I got off the hook. Except ever since, my mom literally monitors everywhere I go."
"Wait, you just made one mistake and now she won't let you go for it?" I ask, as I paint my index fingernail.
"Well, not really," she replies. "I told you how I kind of did a lot of shit in high school."
"You did," I answer, glancing up.
"Well basically in junior year I was the child that was every parent's worst nightmare. I smoked, drank, got tattoos, piercings, terrible grades and basically did the exact opposite of what my parents wanted. My mom threatened she'd literally send me to boarding school if I didn't get my act together, so I spent all of senior year studying and doing everything she wanted."
"But don't you think it's good that at least your life didn't keep spinning out of control?" I question.
"I don't know why I was so set on doing all that shit because now I don't really care for any of it. But it's just so irritating that my mom doesn't see me as any different. She barely even trusts me to go off to college."
"I guess it's just going to take time, Martina," I answer her with a hopeful smile. "She'll have to lighten up eventually."
"She's a Latina mother, so I really doubt that, but I'll try to be a little optimistic," she jokes, tucking a piece of hair behind her hair. "Now, forget me. Can you give me a reason for why you've been smiling like an idiot all the time?"
I laugh, feeling my cheeks flush. "Do you really want to know?"
"No, Whitney, I asked so you don't give me an answer. For God' sake."
"Fine, fine," I reply. "Axel and I kissed."
"Hold up, what?" Martina asks, dropping her nail filer onto the floor.
"It's true."
"Oh my god, at last! The ship has sailed and landed in the harbor!" Martina answers, leaning over and squeezing the life out of me.
"I'm choking," I spit out, pulling her off of me. She laughs and sits back in her spot on the ground.
"Wait how did it happen?" she asks.
"Well," I answer with a gulp. "We went on this super long run together, and when we got to the top, he just sort of leaned in, and I did too, and well...it happened."
"So you guys were all sweaty and you kissed."
I roll my eyes. "No, we weren't that sweaty. And besides it didn't even matter that much to either of us."
"Okay, when's the wedding then?" Martina asks.
***
Later that night, all of the girls are forced to go to yet another yoga and talk session, something almost everyone else except me has come to like.
I bend my knee forward in the warrior pose, trying to keep my arms up steady in the air. Everyone has their eyes closed and is breathing in deeply, while I just stare them down without them noticing.
"Girls let's move into the tree pose, pulling in our right leg and standing on our left," Cheryl says.
Most of us practically topple over, but Cynthia, Natalie and her little circle of friends seem to get it right, mocking us as we fall onto our yoga mats. I give them the bitch glare.
"I feel like I'm such an outsider because I hate yoga so much," Willow whispers from beside me. "Or maybe it's just because I'm terrible at it."
I glance at her. "Oh no, it's not just you," I answer, and she laughs as she switches legs and grabs onto my arm before falling onto her mat.
"Girls, please refrain from getting injured please," the blonde trainer tells Willow and me with a smile, and I stifle a laugh as I nod.
"Alright, everyone, we're going to split into groups of three and have a little talking session to wind down before you go," Cheryl announces. "A few other trainers and I will meet each one of the groups." I motion for Willow and Martina to sit beside me.
"Alright." Cheryl sits down in front of us three and folds her legs into a pretzel. "So let's be real, none of you enjoy these sessions."
"Not gonna lie..." I trail off quietly, looking to the side. Cheryl shoots me a sympathetic smile.
"I completely understand," she answers. "You must be exhausted so the last thing you want to be doing is more exercise at night, but this has its benefits."
"You got that right," Martina states, resting her elbows on her legs and hands on her face. She looks like she could die of boredom at any moment.
"Alright, I just wanted to sit down and talk about something important not only for you to progress in fitness, but to progress in life," Cheryl tells us, her fingers playing with the ends of her brown hair. "It's setbacks."
"Oh," Willow says, nodding her head. She suddenly seems more intrigued.
"Setbacks can be both physical and emotional and can hinder you from reaching your goals in life," she says. "I remember one of my biggest setbacks during my teen years was gaining confidence, something I virtually had none of. Can you think of any setbacks you've experienced yourselves?" None of us say anything, looking at the ground, but I know we must be racking our brains for any experiences.
"No one will judge you here, so don't worry," Cheryl tells us sweetly. Willow looks up at her and shifts in her spot uncomfortably. She doesn't say anything for a few moments, but when she does it's abrupt.
"I had an eating disorder for three years."
None of us expected Willow would say thatâor even say anything in the first placeâso all of our eyes travel to her. She swallows and looks down at the hardwood floor, fighting any emotion that tries to escape.
"That must have been a very difficult period in your life," Cheryl says empathetically, and Willow nods. "But I can tell how much of a strong young woman you are." That last comment seems to light up Willow's face, and I almost want to lean over and give her a hug.
"I almost ruined my entire life in high school," Martina says. "I was on my way to becoming an alcoholic and a school dropout."
"How difficult was it to turn your life around?" Cheryl asks her. "That takes tremendous amounts of courage."
"It was very difficult at first, but I realized I had to prioritize myself...and my future," Martina states. "You don't want to look back at your life and realize you wasted it over something so...meaningless."
"Do you have anything you'd wish to share, Whitney?" Cheryl asks, glancing over at me. I feel my heart beat a little faster as all eyes turn to me. How would I explain it? My setbacks came from deep in my family and inside of me, some caused by others for years, and some I created myself.
"I guess... I guess I've always struggled with feeling good enough."
"I know exactly how that feels, but there will come a day when you realize you are enough, and you have to do nothing to prove it, " Cheryl says, glancing away briefly before clasping her hands together. "All three of you definitely seem like strong girlsâboth physically and mentally. The thing is, the stronger you get in life, the more setbacks you may experience. The most important thing is for you to realize you're greater than them, that your purpose isn't rooted in an obstacle life decides to throw at you. When you know that, you can overcome anything."
"Thank you for telling us that," I tell her softly, tracing my fingers on the ground.
"No, thank you all for being able to share what you did," she says, beginning to stand up. "You can all go now, but remember something, if you experience any troubles in life, make sure to find someone you can talk to about them. I'm here for the next week at least, if any of you need a shoulder to cry on."
We all get up and Martina mumbles something about using the bathroom. Willow forcefully opens and closes the door that leads outside. I see something fall to the ground and run over to pick it up. It's her brown sweatband, and I take it in my hands, walking out the door to return it to her. I catch up and call out her name.
"You dropped your sweatband," I say, extending my hand that holds it to her.
"Oh," she answers. She takes it from me quickly and begins to walk again. She halts.
"Hey, are you okay?" I ask, eyeing her dismal expression. She brushes her hair back with her hand, nervously fidgeting.
"I'm fine," she answers, her voice quivering, evidence that she's clearly not.
"I'll go then?" I say, starting to step away, but she stops me.
"Who am I kidding, Whitney, I'm not fine," she says, slumping against the wall of the building and placing a hand on her forehead, appearing purely defeated.
"Do you need to talk about it?"
"I-I don't know where I'd start; it's just..." she begins, glancing at me. "I don't even know why I mentioned my eating disorderâit's something that makes me feel so flustered."
"I didn't know you went through that," I say gently.
"You didn't have to," she answers. "I feel like everything in my life is crumbling into pieces right now, and I don't know what do anymore. And you know what's funny? Here I am telling you of all people that when you probably don't want to hear about any of my problems. And I don't blame you at all."
"That's not entirely trueâ" I say, but she cuts me off.
"It is, Whitney. I was so horrible to you for years, and I'm pretty sure it's hard for you to see me any different now. As I got close to the end of high school, all I was left with was regrets. I felt like the shittiest person in the world; it just... It just ate me alive."
"You were horrible in high school," I say, wrapping my arms on top of each other. "You weren't kind. You made me feel terrible for years. That's why it's been so difficult for me to become your friend, but even I can tell that you're not the same person right now."
She glances up at me. "It's the truth, Whitney, you don't have to explain it. I, at the risk of sounding like a cliché bitch, was actually so jealous of what you had."
My mouth drops when I hear that. Her jealous...of me? It doesn't seem possible. "Wait, what?"
"I know I might sound crazy, but it's true," she answers, her gaze averted. "I felt like I had nothing. My dad passed away right when high school started, my friends only wanted me for what I had, my grades were low, and every day I struggled with my crippling self-hatred until I was diagnosed with anorexia in the middle of tenth grade. Life kept getting worse. I lost my relationship with my mother, my dance opportunities kept vanishing as my performances got worse from my eating disorder andâand the only way I felt like I had control of anything was when I acted like this awful person who never, ever felt like me."
She begins to wipe at her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying not to let the tears escape, but they do anyway. As I look at her, I see someone in her that I hadn't ever seen beforeâa small, broken, and very fragile girl.
"I thought you had everything," I admit, making her head pop up. "You were popular and athletic, had all these boys who wanted you, and you always wore the nicest outfits every day. As really pathetic as this sounds, you were perfect to me."
"Isn't it crazy how alike we were in that sense? I always saw how you were smarter than me and how you seemed so happy, and your future was definitely a thousand times brighter than mine. My own mother sometimes used to ask me why I couldn't be more like you."
"She did?" I question, my eyes widening. I hadn't expected Willow's mother to ever even mention me to her. Willow nods.
"I realized I couldn't ever get the grades you did or even get into a decent college," she tells me, letting out a sigh. "But it's okay, I'll figure my life out eventually." There is a period of silence between us, the only audible sound that of crickets chirping in the night, until she talks more.
"I didn't want to move away without getting a chance to make it up with you," she says. "That's why I came here, it was one of the last chances I had before I'd probably never see you again." I close my eyes for a moment and then open them again, breathing out a sigh.
"You know what, Willow? Let's move on. Let's try to put all of this behind us."
"I agree," she says with a smile. "Do you want to like, hug it out maybe? Oh gosh, I'm so awkward." I laugh a little and walk over to her, giving her a heartfelt hug.
For the first time in the last four years, that heavy weight lifted off my chest. I feel myself able to see the girl in front of me in a different light. And I don't want to think about what happened in high school anymore or about how many times I've been hurt.
Most important of all, I want to move on...and live.