by Mae Coyiuto
“Camille, do you know how special you are?”
I tried to answer, but I was busy trying not to let my nose run so much.
“You are so special, Camille. When you grow up, you’re going to save lives and change the world. But if you give up when things get hard, do you think you can do all of that?”
I shook my head.
“You keep coming to class and keep practicing because you are not a quitter. You’re a winner.”
Dad wiped my tears, I hugged him, and we went home.
In the past ten years, ballet has been the center of my life. When I started high school, my dad stopped taking me to practice. Jenny was also into ballet and went to the same studio, so I rode with her to practice instead. But my dad never missed any of my recitals. Whenever I performed, I would get nervous about dancing in front of so many people. Then I would see my dad’s face in the crowd. Suddenly, it wouldn’t be so scary anymore.
We started learning new routines for our big recital today. We're going to perform Beauty and the Beast, and everybody wanted the solo. I hope my body won't feel too sore tomorrow.
Looking forward to meet you,
Camille
Dear Future Partner,
My mom is the most polite person I know. She is the master of lacing praises with insults.
For example, whenever my Mom goes to my room, she would say: “If only I could be as laid-back as you with this clutter.”
Translation: You’re a slob. Your room’s a mess. Clean it up.
When Nikki wore something that showed more than what my mom wanted to see: “When I was a kid, I wasn’t as confident in wearing something so revealing.”
Translation: You look like a slut. Put a sweater on.
During dinner today, I wasn’t sure if she was complimenting me or criticizing me. It was a very fine line with Mom.
“I watched a ballet show with some of the ladies from work last week.”
Mom was a dermatologist, and her clinic sold all those anti-aging creams you see on every other billboard in the city.
“The dancers kept on doing those turns on one leg over and over…There’s a name for those…What is it again, Camille?”
“A fouette?”
“Yes, that’s it! They kept doing fouettes, and I was thinking about how much of a strain it must be for your legs to do that move. Your legs must be so strong.”
“I guess.”
“Then again, those dancers must be in a completely different level from you. At least your legs will not get any bulkier. Boys don’t like it when your legs are bigger than theirs. Right, Henry?”
“I think the food tastes good,” Dad said.
My mom moved on to talk about the new cream the clinic was releasing. I wasn't sure if Dad didn’t hear Mom or he just chose not to hear her. I never really understood how they communicated.
No matter how old or busy we were, Dad insisted that we all have dinner together. Because my ballet practices ended late, we set dinnertime at nine.
Martin joined us again for dinner. Lea has been bringing him over a lot lately—even more than usual. He asked Nikki if she could pass a dish, but she didn’t hear him because she was on her phone again.
“Nikki, no cellphones during dinner!” Dad scolded.
“Fine,” Nikki said.
I always wondered how many people she must be texting for her to be perpetually glued to her cellphone. Maybe she was talking to Polo. Or was it Marco? It was really hard to keep track.
After we finished eating, Martin asked my parents if he could talk to them in private. This doesn’t usually happen. They went in the living room, and I could only hear the murmur of Martin’s voice. This went on for a while. Then, I heard Mom scream. It was the happy kind of scream, not the scared-out-of-my-wits scream.
My mom went back in the dining room and started gushing about flowers, dresses, and jewelry to my sister. Dad had his arm around Martin when they joined us. They all looked so happy.
“Oh Lea, you must be thrilled,” Mom said.
I hope she is thrilled. I really want my sister to be happy.
Looking forward to meet you,
Camille
Dear Future Partner,
I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in a while. The SAT is coming up soon. I’m not sure what it exactly stands for. Standardized Aptitude Test? Scholastic Assessment Test? Or maybe the title SAT was like those rappers’ names. Take Jay-Z for example. I bet no one knows what the Z stands for, but people accept the name anyway. I believe though the movie The Perfect Score defined the SAT perfectly: Suck Ass Test.
In case you haven’t heard about it, the SAT is a standardized test used by most colleges. The test has three sections: Writing, Critical Reading, and Math. I did fine with the practice questions, but the real thing is a different story. I took the test twice last year, and it was horrible. I panicked every time I saw a question I didn’t know the answer to. I panicked when my answer wasn’t in the choices. I panicked when the proctor said I had five minutes left. In short, it was a never-ending cycle of panic. I heard that you should only take the SAT three times, so this upcoming test is my last shot. I really need to do well.
I don’t understand the point of a college entrance exam. You work so hard for so many years of high school and take so many tests throughout your life. What makes this one particular test the predictor of success in college? Sometimes, I think colleges are not looking for those with the most intelligence, but for those who can handle the most stress.
Ballet has not been going too well either. I dread the sound of the dismissal bell in school because that meant I had to go to practice. When I am in the studio, I keep thinking about how many hours I spend dancing. I then think about how I could use all those hours to do other things like review for the SAT or work on my application. I don’t always feel this way. I don’t know what’s happening.
In the many years I’ve been dancing, I never really felt that I was behind. Sure, I struggled with new routines, but I usually got the hang of it at the same time as everyone else. There were even times when I was the first one to perfect the routine. I don’t know why it’s taking me longer this time. Teacher Jessie even had me stay after practice several times because I needed one-on-one attention. That made me feel even guiltier because I was wasting more time.
I’m sorry. I would really write some more if I weren’t so tired.
Looking forward to meet you,
Camille
Dear Future Partner,
Imagine emptying the contents of your garbage can. Then, pile on another hundred pounds of trash. Pour buckets of the nastiest leftovers you can think of. Finally, top it all off with a layer of crap. Then, imagine being underneath that whole pile. I guess that’s the only way I can really describe how I feel right now.
I was seated next to a window. The problem was that the window was about five feet tall and was partially open. When I got my test booklet, I was freaking out internally since the thought of falling down the window and plummeting to an early demise was very possible.
I felt good about the essay. The prompt asked: “Is persistence more important than ability in determining a person’s success?” I wrote about how I kept dancing even if I started as the girl with the shortest legs in my ballet class. I also wrote about Fernanda Bianchini (I hope I got the spelling right). She was a former professional dancer and now teaches handicapped students in Brazil. Several of Bianchini’s students have never heard a note of music in their lives but end up performing in front of hundreds. I think perseverance does miracles. Bam! I wish I could’ve included the “Bam” in the essay.
The math portion was okay. Math is my strong area, and I love geometry. Thankfully, a lot of the questions were geometry-related. I didn’t bring my watch, so I had to look up at the wall clock to see how much time I had left. I kept noticing this one guy in front of me. His test booklet was closed, and he was looking at the view outside and was drinking milk tea. As I was com
puting for x and solving for angles, I kept on glancing at him. His booklet was still closed, and he kept on drinking. How big was his drink? I was so distracted by him that I didn’t realize that time was up. I had a whole column of questions that I didn’t answer. I quickly shaded "C" for each one. I heard that it was always the best option.
I started to panic again.
“Focus, Camille. Focus,” I muttered to myself.
Critical reading was next, and I always had a hard time with this section. The guy in front of me was actually answering the test so I wasn’t as distracted. There was this one passage on the history of plywood. I don’t think the test-makers could’ve picked any other topic that I had less interest in.
As I checked the time, I saw that the guy in front of me was sleeping. He was actually sleeping. This was the test that could probably make or break my future, and this guy was sleeping.
When I tried to read a sentence, all the words spelled out, “He’s sleeping.” When I tried to concentrate on a question, all I could picture was his face knocked out on the booklet. Please don’t judge me because he was really driving me crazy, but I threw my pen at him. Unfortunately, I don’t have the best aim. The pen missed him by a few inches. It hit his milk tea.
“Shit!” he said, and everyone stared at him. His drink spilled all over his clothes and the proctor rushed over to help him.
I don’t think anyone saw me throw the pen, but I was so embarrassed. All I wanted was to get out of there. Focusing on the exam felt impossible after that. The rest of the test was a blur, and I bolted as soon as I submitted my booklet.
To sum up today: tons of trash + nasty leftovers + pile of crap = me.
Looking forward to meet you,
Camille
Dear Future Partner,
I didn’t think it was possible, but I actually did worse. My scores were bad. Like really bad. I heard that the SAT gave points for filling out your name correctly. Based on my score, my name was probably the only thing I got right.
The day got even better. Teacher Jessie asked me to stay late in the studio today. It wasn’t because I needed to work more on my technique or rehearse more of the moves. I actually did pretty decent in practice. I had to stay late because of him.
I usually met Jenny by the school gates to head over to ballet practice. But today, there was this blister on my toe that was really killing me. I walked over to the convenience store on the next street, and I was about to text Jenny that I would be right back—when I saw him.
It was the guy who was seated in front of me during the SAT. The one I threw a pen at and accidentally drenched with milk tea.
I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t even sure if he knew me. Maybe he didn’t. But what if he did? If I ran, he might spot me. If I turned back, I might look suspicious. If I walked at my normal pace, he might see me. I ended up brisk walking. I brisk walked like I never brisk walked before.
“Hey!” I heard a male voice. I ignored it and kept brisk walking.
My heart was pounding so fast when I got into the convenience store. I made it. When I finished paying for my box of band-aids, there he was.
“I think this belongs to you,” he said while handing me back the pen I hurled at him.
I stammered and said thank you. I then blurted out that I was sorry, and I even offered to buy him new clothes. He said it was okay, and I thought that would be the end of the conversation. But he just stood there.
“Why didn’t you get the ones with the cartoon characters?” he asked.
“What?”
“Your band-aids. They have lots of designs there. I like the Ninja Turtles ones.”
“Oh. Thanks. I think I’m going to stick with these.”
He stood there and looked at me. The aisle was pretty narrow, so I couldn’t just walk around him. I told him I had to go, and then he said, “Aren’t you going to apologize?”
I was confused. Didn’t I just finish awkwardly apologizing?
“I’m really sorry that my pen accidentally hit you, but I really have to go.”
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“Well, it was an accident…”
“You were seated a good three feet away from me. Say, it was an accident, and your pen just happened to fall. How could it have covered that three-foot distance? If gravity were the only force working on that pen, it would be highly unlikely for it to cover the distance. Considering the trajectory and air resistance too, the only way that it could’ve even come close to where I was sitting was if you had deliberately thrown the pen at me.”
“Okay, I don’t know. I was worried that you were sleeping through the test, and I didn’t know how else to wake you up.”
“But if that were the case, you wouldn’t have rushed out of the room as soon as the test was over.”
“I was in a hurry because I had somewhere else to go.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. You know what I think?”
“I really have to go…”
I tried walking around him again, but he wouldn’t budge.
“I think you were judging me,” he said. “In your mind, I was a slacker who, unlike you, didn’t care about that exam.”
“I was worried that you were sleeping through the test.”
“Why can’t you admit that you were judging me?”
“Why can’t you let me go?”
“I’m not letting you go until you tell me the truth.”
He stood there with his arms crossed, smiling at me. Why was he even smiling?
“Okay fine. I judged you. I threw that pen because you were pissing me off.”
“Why was I pissing you off?”
“Because I was trying to answer what may be the biggest test of my life, and you were there, sleeping! And you know what? Sleeping and eating instead of answering a college entrance exam does make you a slacker. I couldn’t even concentrate because of you. I had to ask my parents for money to take the test again, and I don’t think I can even pass high school with the scores I got. Honestly, I think you should apologize to me.”
I was out of breath, and all the other customers were staring at me.
“Can I please go now?”
He let me through, and I hurried out of there. When I looked at my phone, I saw that I had five missed calls from Jenny. She went to practice without me, and I had to call Lea for a ride. When I got to the studio, I had already missed an hour of practice.
I threw away all my practice tests. I didn’t want to look at them. I didn’t want to look at anything that had the letters S, A, or T. The only thing I despised more than my scores right now was that guy. I don’t think I’ve ever met such a pompous know-it-all. Is it mean to say that I don’t regret throwing my pen at him? Because I really don’t.
Looking forward to meet you,
Camille
Dear Future Partner,
Nikki and I never really see eye-to-eye. Her favorite flavor of ice cream is chocolate while mine is vanilla. She likes watching action films while I like romantic comedies. She eats her fries with mayonnaise while I eat them with ketchup. It amazes me how siblings can be raised by the same parents, grow up in the same house, but end up completely different.
Even if you are complete opposites, fight all the time, and drive each other crazy, your siblings are family. And you’re always there for your family.
My sister was a wreck.
We didn’t have family dinner that night because Dad was stuck at the hospital, and Lea had dinner with Martin’s family. When I got home from practice, I heard Nikki blasting music from her room. I heard Taylor Swift, and I knew right there and then that something was very, very wrong. I went to the kitchen and got a tub of chocolate ice cream. I knocked on her door.
“Go away!” she said. I could tell that she was crying.
“It’s me.”
“Go away!”
“I have ice cream.”
There was a pause, then I heard her feet shuffling toward me. She o
pened the door, and her eyes were so swollen, it looked like a flock of mosquitoes had a field day on them.
“Is it chocolate?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed the ice cream and left the door open. She sat on her bed and turned the music up louder.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
She seemed like she needed space so I started closing the door when she said:
“Can you stay here for a while?”
I nodded, and I sat next to her on the bed. We sat there quietly while she ate her ice cream. She then turned and hugged me. We never hugged so I wasn’t really sure what to do. I hugged her back, and she cried. She cried for a long time.
“I really thought he loved me.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I hugged her even tighter. I stayed in her room until she fell asleep. When I went outside, Dad just got home.
“How’s everything in the hospital?”
“Surgery went well. Why are you still up?”
“I was in Nikki’s room.”
“What’s wrong?”
My dad knew us well. He knew that the two of us never spent time alone without the rest of the family. I wasn’t sure if Nikki wanted Dad to know so I didn’t say anything.
“Boy troubles?”
As I said, my dad knew us well.
“I’m glad you’re more practical than your sister. You’re too young to know what true love is.”
I’m thinking a lot about what Dad said. I’m also thinking a lot about how devastated Nikki was. Was the love that Nikki thought the boy had for her imaginary? If she did love him back, was it real? Did he break her heart because he was a cruel human being or because he didn’t understand what love was? When will we stop being too young to know what true love really is?
I hope that someday I will know the answers to these questions. I also hope that I will never cry like that. I hope that you will never be the reason for me to cry like that.