You really just have to shake it off, man.

That's a piece of advice I wish I had been given in the past, but hey, at least my future self got it.

People say Los Angeles it's the land of dreams ― me being people ― and it hadn't been false until now. I mean, the hotel wasn't exactly five stars, but there wasn't much to do about it. It was pretty, I had a bedroom for myself, and I was only going to be staying for a week while filming the music video.

As I already said, Los Angeles is the perfect place for people to chase their dreams ― or to go chasing stars, if you get what I mean ― and a good thing or two might come out of it. For me, one dream came true that day. One that hadn't exactly been a dream because I hadn't even considered it before-- okay, maybe once after the Lux music video, but that was about it.

When life gives you lemons you gotta make lemonade because it's delicious. However, I hadn't been given lemons in this life. In my life, I had been given a horde of haters because of people that thought that fucking up my back-then eleven-year-old self's life was entertainment value. That meant that, somehow, I had to take advantage of the situation.

Still, I wasn't the one that came up to that conclusion. I was told that by somebody else that I'll be mentioning later. Apparently, I wasn't wise enough to come up with that on my own, but back then the word me and the words good ideas didn't exactly get along.

Basically, what they told me was that I had to take advantage of the many haters I had across the globe and rub my success on their faces long enough to slowly make them become fans, so what's better than to dance in a music video of a song exactly about that with your freaking childhood idol?

Quoting myself at the beginning of this chapter: "You really just have to shake it off, man", but to make it better, "You really just have to shake it off with Taylor Swift and a bunch of overly-talented dancers!".

Yes, I know this feels different, but it was one of the first good experiences I had since the whole "meltdown" thing, so I thought I'd write it in a different light from the rest.

We started working on Tuesday, May 13th, 2014. If that wasn't a lucky sign, I didn't know what was. After meeting the myth, the legend, the woman herself, we started off with the first few scenes.

Even with the "less endlessly upbeat" ― quote me on that ― vibe "Shake It Off" had, it had quite the message, and quite the storyline for a four-minute video. In the video, Tay-- Taylor is always pretty much the "outcast". She never fits in with any of the groups because she doesn't know how to dance ― maybe I took that one to heart ― and she doesn't seem to care.

I, on the other hand, fit in right perfectly ― besides that I was the only minor around the area 'cause I was eleven, as I've previously mentioned ― and actually knew how to dance. That also meant that I was just like the rest-- dull, boring, and unoriginal. I always followed society's rules and fell down into the rabbit hole of absolute madness. Luckily, that was about to change, even if I didn't know that at the time.

Slowly, I'd start breaking out of the shell. I'd start tripping over, performing the wrong move, and even if I apologized the first few times, I'd stop apologizing later on. Up to the point where I became as much of a hot mess as Tay-- the singer. Man, I've got to stop doing that.

In the end, I would be absolutely shaking it off-- but we aren't at that time yet.

Now, going back to our scheduled programming, I present to you: my eleven-year-old self part number sixteen.

Somebody pinch me.

I know I'm standing on the set, and I know I talked to them, and that it's official, but--

What. The. Fucking. Fuck.

Twitter, man. Lucky star for both Maddie and I-- shoot, I haven't called her back yet.

Anyway, rehearsals were both exciting and frustrating.

So you're telling me that I've had to dance with props my whole life but I cannot dance with a ribbon to save it? I didn't even know it was that hard. I thought it was simply to grab a purple ribbon and twirl it around, not the break-your-back challenge. Even if I'm a dancer myself, I've gotten a whole new level of respect for those dancers.

But I was finally starting to control the cute little ― actually long ― purple and white ribbon. I managed to do a couple of twirls with it and I may have squealed from the excitement that coursed through my veins at that moment. Honestly, I felt like a five-year-old who had been given a giant stuffed animal at the cool fair that opens for two weeks every year.

Still, it was the ribbon plus dancing plus gymnastics, but I'm pretty good at gymnastics. At least I'm not a Chloe, but I'm not a Brooke-- Kenzie at it either. The costumes were also cute. So they basically had lots of glitter in both white and purple, a kind of gradient. On the top, it was white, and on the bottom, it was purple. It also had an open back, which looked pretty-- at least on the other dancers because it wasn't like I was an owl and I could simply turn my head around entirely to look at it.

The hairstyle was your typically tight bun but in a pretty way-- Gosh, I'm saying "pretty" too many times.

Then we moved on to being cheerleaders.

Okay, that outfit had to be my absolute favorite.

It was ― obviously ― your typical cheerleader outfit-- whatever that is. The sleeveless top was white with yellow and blue stripes. It also had the letters "T.S.", who would've guessed that one?

The skirt was blue with yellow stripes because apparently, white was banned from that point beyond.

While we filmed those scenes, we would go ahead and work with multiple ones at the same time-- let me explain. After the bridge, I basically get full control, meaning that I finally broke free of the mold and I'm just "shaking it off", so the rest of the scenes before the last one are with me and other kids my age replacing the backup/actually-know-what-they're-doing-dancers.

However, it also meant another thing-- I was, in fact, in control.

Meaning that I could choose what to do.

Let's say I'm not good with that.

Usually, other people make those decisions for me.

So here I was now, standing in front of the white backdrop, looking at the camera and hoping that some sense gets back to me before Mark yells "action" for the millionth time. Still, the stress is starting to eat me alive and both of my hands have already gone numb and cold.

"Uh-- hey."

I snapped my head to the right, quickly noticing a guy about my age looking at me.

Was that Damon-- Devon-- no, was he--

"Hey." I tried to hide my confusion. "...Chad."

Abort mission.

The guy raised an eyebrow in amusement and slightly smirked. "Was that on purpose?"

I decided to play along and let out an awkward chuckle. "No-- I just think that you look like a Chad."

"Well." He crossed his arms over his chest. "If we go by High School Musical logic, then you're Sharpay."

"Geez." I looked back at the camera like before. "Wonder why." I looked back at him. "Could it be based on the fact that I'm a blonde with long hair?"

"Nope." He answered. "It's because you know how to put on a show."

I frowned. "We haven't even started yet."

"I know, but I've seen you before--" He ― Owen! That's his name! ― clarified. "Like, you know, the show."

Okay, so how do I tell him that on-show me and off-show me are pretty much the opposite? Does he think that I'm as cocky as I seem on the show? Heck, I can barely stutter out a sentence before overthinking its entirety and feeling the urge to throw up because of it.

"Let's take it from the top." Mark's voice spoke from the speakers all throughout the area. "Genevieve, stay right where you are. Owen, Hailey, and Tanner-- get back into your positions-- We've got twenty before the other dancers are back from the break." I mean, I'm still going to stay with either group.

But I was then hit with a wave of nervousness and I was starting to drown in it. My mind went blank and I barely noticed when he yelled action. I was brought back to reality by the music, but I had frozen entirely by that point.

It was improv-- what's the big deal? I've done this a thousand times before.

Even with all the experience in the world, I had to take a break, and luckily, there was a catering table ― craft service table, whatever ― around, so I made the excuse to "eat", but I instead spent the next ten minutes trying to calm myself down from having a panic attack right there and both embarrass myself and screw up any future opportunities.

But for the embarrassment part, it was a little too late. I started to regret asking for a break as soon as I stepped off the stage but knew I shouldn't go back too quickly to avoid any suspicions about being unprofessional. On the other hand, they had lots of bread rolls, so picture me teary-eyed, trying to not have a panic attack, and with a bread roll in my mouth. Beautiful image, even if it isn't the time for stuff like that.

Somehow, it got even worse. I started to think about what the other people could be doing at that moment. Were they mad at me? Or were they laughing? Gosh, is Owen telling the other kids about how unprofessional I look and how cocky I am on the show? Do they think that I have a temper?

Shoot-- did I fall and I don't remember? Are they laughing because I fell? Or did I make a face as I left? Did I say that I hated this whole thing? Shit-- no-- I didn't say any of that. I'm sure I didn't-- but what if I did and I simply do not remember doing it?

And when word got out to the street? Am I never going to get hired again? Are people going to continue criticizing me for being difficult? Is Abby going to tell me in my face about how she was right about everything-- I can't go back there.

Would Jeff and Evelyn give me an "I told you so" glare as I walk into the studio next week? Are they going to give me even worst scripts to follow and make me say that I hated my experience filming?

I need to stop overthinking-- what am I still--

Right then and there, I realized that there weren't any remains of the bread roll on my hand and a mouth stuffed with it. Now I did look like an idiot.

I need to fix my reputation, but how am I supposed to do it if I degrade myself at every single chance?

Swallowing the bread, I held back a sob as I placed my chin on the palm of my right hand. I stared at the black foldable table, trying to stop thinking entirely, but as I spent more time doing nothing, more and more voices of those people I'd grown to "respect" floated throughout my head.

Every single letter of every single word was slowly eating me alive and I couldn't stop it at all. Because when I looked at my arm, I remembered the same thing I always did: the nails. Becoming aware of my chin being on top of my hand remembered me of something else: grabbing the chin to force me to look at them. My perfectly-styled hair remembered me of it being pulled almost every single day, and every other little thing that reminded me of my unfortunate situation crawled right back in to join the feast.

At that point, I didn't even know how long I had been staring at the table with tears threatening to spill, but I didn't move again until I heard another voice. This time around, it wasn't Maddie. It wasn't mom. It wasn't Giselle. It wasn't even myself screaming. This time, it had to be the one person who I didn't want to see me cry.

Because everyone wants to look perfect when they meet their idol, but we had met six hours ago. It still counted as a first impression, and here I was, pretty much drowning in my own misery. If there was something I knew about her as a fan, it was that she probably knew slightly what I was going through. She probably knew how it felt and knew how to deal with it, but how do you even bring that up to a person that you haven't even known for an entire day?

And I also knew that as soon as I opened my mouth to speak, the many tears that I held back would fall and mess everything up even more, so as she asked me the typical "are you nervous" questions, I simply nodded and refused to look up. I didn't want to look desperate, but as long as I ignored her, the more desperate I got, so as soon as I looked up, she stopped talking entirely as she noticed my face.

Then the pity kicked in and I knew I had to stop it as soon as possible. "I'm just a little nervous." I cleared my throat. "I haven't done this in a while."

Luckily for me ― or unluckily, who knew ― the blonde seemed to understand the situation slightly. "The video thing, or something else?"

Like that, she pretty much trapped me. I didn't know if I was nervous because of the music video, or if it was because of the freedom to choose what I wanted to do at the moment. I hadn't done either of those things in a long time. Up to the point, I couldn't manage to make out any words when I tried to answer, instead staring at her while my lips quivered.

I wanted to make an impression, but maybe it was too late? Maybe I had already said too much, but my lips stopped quivering as soon as I realized something-- when it was too late.

Just like that, I found myself crying as I started to confess most of the things that had occurred. Of course, I wouldn't talk about the hair or the nails, but I made sure to explain the entire voicemail situation. The situation that had managed to fuck up my entire life without me even knowing what it was about until it had been almost two years since it first started out.

And the never-ending stress. The fear of failure. The constant strive for perfection. The way those three slowly made me fall into desperation. The way I couldn't fall asleep was because of those voices. The way I'd get those flashbacks to studio "C". The names and the yelling and the screaming and the contract-- that stupid contract that made everything even worse.

The way that my mom was also getting threatened on the other side of the door and the way they threatened to take her kids away. The way they threatened to make some false claims about my father so he couldn't take legal action. The way they talked about all four of us as if we were their property. The way they're using Ava against us and they're trying to force Zane to come back. The way Abby is still trying to force Giselle to renew her contract even when she knows my sister already knows what she did to me.

How I'm terrified of walking back into the studio because I fear that, one day, I won't make it out.

Of course, in a much less "this is a living hell" kind of thing and instead, on a "we're just stressed out" kind of thing.

But that was more than enough for me to break down. That was more than enough for me to confess to my literal childhood idol. Because nowadays, I simply needed someone to listen and to understand-- but it's never enough. I have everyone who listens to me, but I get so desperate on feeling better that I'm just making things worse. I want to stop overthinking. I want to start living. I wanna feel like I'm actually eleven years old. I want to stop feeling like I'm forty in an eleven-year-old body.

I want to feel like a sixth-grader-- not a person who deals with taxes all the time.

She then started talking. Talking about how it feels ― which I already knew ― and then about its connection with both the song and the music video. Somehow, I found realizing the similarities between my "character" and myself--

"We're both miserable."

If this has been a show, maybe there could have been a laugh track with dead people's laughs, but it wasn't like that. Still, I did manage to make her chuckle before she went back to focus on the topic.

"The thing is, your character slowly breaks free and starts to do her own thing, but she doesn't do it instantly." She explained. "It takes time. It takes time for her to become confident. It takes time for her to try to be different. You know, it's not like you go to sleep and then you wake up being a new person. All of these things take time, just like those things."

I didn't want to answer. "But how long?" But I did, with a slight voice crack too.

"How long did it take for you to get on Broadway." The blonde questioned. "At least since you started dancing."

I stopped to think about it for a moment. "Eight years." When she nodded, I spoke up again. "Wait, so it's going to take me eight years to not feel stressed anymore? I'm going to be stressed all these years?" I said that last part with a more confused tone.

Yeah, as if I'll be able to handle eight more years of this thing-- I'll be nineteen in eight years-- how long is even eight years from now?

And Taylor was clearly amused, judging by the smile on her face and her laugh. "Not eight years, but like, I don't know, five--"

"Five?" I spoke up again. "I'm gonna be too old by then-- wait, what year is five years from now?"

"Uh--" She stopped to think. "Twenty-nineteen, I think."

If twenty-nineteen is five years from now, and I add three to make eight-- oh, the year eight years from now is twenty-twenty-two. The year I turn twenty-- I'm getting old.

"You have to take advantage of the situation." She continued. "Those people hate your guts for something you didn't even do--" You could say that again. "So you have to take advantage of that thing." I raised an eyebrow, which she noticed immediately. "They know you're successful, and even if they watch your show for your friends, you're still getting paid. You're still going to be successful. Now, you simply have to-- how do I say this-- Brag-- Well, not bragging 'cause that's not good--" I laughed in response. "But you have to rub it on their faces. You have to let them know that you're here to stay and that you don't care about what they say--" Anxiety. "And then shake it off."

"Nice propaganda, Tay." Too late for the nickname, but there's no going back. "Can I be your living billboard from now on?" I managed to freaking grin in amusement. "I think I'd make good money from that, and maybe I could report all of those Pinterest accounts that claim that you called-- who was it-- Niall Horan a pig? I don't get where those even came from, but Liam always claims, "Harry doesn't know"."

A pig?" The blonde stopped laughing for a moment. "Who calls anyone a pig these days?"

"Uh--" I dragged the word. "I think I might know who, but maybe I shouldn't mention them."

She then went back to laughing, but also resumed her speech. "Now, go back there and just do anything. There's no rules, no time limits, and no judges. Just do whatever. Mark doesn't even know anything about dance--"

"That's mean." I stood up from my chair. "But can he do a turn?"

"Hey, I can't even do a turn myself." She commented. "I'm gonna guess you do well with turns. Like, your last name is Turner."

"Believe it or not, I'm actually a really good turner," I told her. "Which fits my last name."

As I looked back to the stage ― where the rest of the dancers sat and chatted amongst themselves ― I felt as Taylor tightened my ponytail, but she obviously had to pull for that--

"You're going to shut up because you're not going to like what's going to happen to