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“No one has to tell her that her body makes her irrelevant to that entire conversation. Grace has never questioned her body's place in the world. She's always believed the laws of movies and TV shows: Chubby girls are sidekicks, not romantic leads; sometimes they get to be funny, but more often they're the butt of jokes; if they're powerful, they'e evil- they're Ursula the sea witch from The Little Mermaid: they are not heroines and they are certainly not sexy. These are the rules. This is the script.”

“That's what dreams are really like, you know? They're not full of melting clocks or floating roses or people made out of rocks. Most of the time, dreams look just like the normal world. It's your feelings that tell you something's off. Not your mind, not your intellect, not something as obvious as that. The only part of you that really knows what's going on is the part of you that's most a mystery. If that's not Surrealism, I don't know what is.”

“Everyone at school has their little group. Even the people nobody likes seem to tolerate each together enough to sit together at lunch. But I just sort of wander around by myself most of the time. It'd almost be better if I thought no one liked me, if I had some weird tick or social inadequacy that could easily explain my alienation, but it's not that easy. People talk to me at school and invite me to parties, but something's missing on the smaller scale. I don't belong to anybody. I don't have anyone who is mine.”

“Everyone at school has their little group. Even the people nobody likes seem to tolerate each other enough to sit together at lunch. But I just sort of wander around by myself most of the time. It'd almost be better if I thought no one liked me, if I had some weird tick or social inadequacy that could easily explain my alienation, but it's not that easy. People talk to me at school and invite me to parties, but something's missing on the smaller scale. I don't belong to anybody. I don't have anyone who is mine.”

“Everyone at school has their little group. Even the people nobody likes seem to tolerate each other enough to sit together at lunch. But I just sort of wander around by myself most of the time. It's almost be better if I thought no one liked me, if I had some weird tick or social inadequacy that cold easily explain my alienation but it's not that easy. People talk to me at school and invite me to parties, but something's missing on the smaller scale. I don't belong to anybody. I don't have anyone who is mine.”

“My body is all that exists. It is the only thing I can depend on. Music or no music, there is a rhythm that cancels out all the other noise, all the nonsense that keeps screaming for attention, all the pain of the world outside. I point and leap and spin, and sweat whips off me, showering the duct-taped boards under my bare, calloused feet. I see myself in the fractured shards of mirror I glue-gunned to the wall. This is how I know myself--in this tattered leotard; in these ripped tights; in this broken, salvaged room. This is the only place I’m real. This is the place I come when I need to remember who I am. This is where I come when I need to forget everything else.”

“Dancing is a relief, but it can’t be everything. I am starting to realize this. I can close my eyes and will myself to stop thinking for three, maybe five minutes at a time. I can dance my way out of my head and into my body, where things briefly make sense, but which I always have to leave eventually. Relief never lasts forever. The world is always there, waiting for me with its relentless weirdness. I must always eventually come back. I must stand still. And it is in that stillness that the other parts of me return, the parts of me that intersect with and bump against the rest of the world. The parts that remember and feel.”