From the bathroom down the hall, she heard gagging, choking sounds. Another flush. Cory propped herself up on her elbows, thinking what to do, then scooted under the covers when the bathroom light went out. She watched as Jessica felt her way back to the bed and climbed in.
“You sick?” Cory asked.
“Oh! You’re awake?”
“Am now. What’s up?”
“Yeah, feel kinda sick.” Jessica pulled the covers back over her. “Must be the pizza. Too greasy. Made me feel gross.”
Cory had eaten four pieces of pizza to Jess’s one small slice. And she felt okay.
“Hope it’s not food poisoning,” Cory said, “or I’ll be worse than sick.”
“Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Jessica paused. “I’m worried about the Massachusetts thing, the dance scholarship auditions, I guess.” Her voice sounded small in the dark room.
“What, you’re worried about escaping this place and spending the summer doing what you want? Right.”
“There’s more to it than just doing what I want,” Jess said. “I have to make the final cuts. I have to keep up once I’m there. This isn’t like the local stuff I do at the studio—this is with real dancers who . . . well, you have to look right and be perfect all the time.”
Cory couldn’t imagine Jessica not looking right, not being perfect. She had long, straight blond hair. She had perfect skin and a tall, lean body. Everything seemed easier for Jess. She had made friends right away after moving here, and she had a boyfriend—even if he was a creep. She had landed in a dance studio where she was the star, and Mom was willing to cart her all over creation for her lessons and buy her ballet stuff.
“Oh, boo-hoo, Jess. You whine about how hard everything is and then you always end up being the best. This is no different.”
Jess turned her back to Cory. “I hope so,” she murmured to the wall.
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