“You need to lose weight Rachel Ryland. It’s starting to affect your performance. You’re not as light on your feet anymore, and Simon is struggling to lift you. What I want to know is: what are you going to do about it? Huh?” The dance instructor, Mrs Turner, was well known to be a dragon. She took no prisoners. When she got on your case there was nowhere you could hide from her harsh comments.

Rachel studied her dainty feet bound up in their silky, pink ballet shoes. She couldn’t look Mrs Turner in the eye. She just wanted to get out of the dance studio and go home. Overnight it seemed as if her ballet career was over. Mrs Turner’s words were hurtful. And there was only one way Rachel knew how to ease the pain.

On the way to the railway station she stopped and bought a chocolate bar, a packet of chips, and a cola. She had hesitated, her hand hovering between the Coke Zero, and the sugary Coke she really craved. It was the only thing that would make her feel better right now. For her, junk food was comfort food – even though she knew it would only give a few minutes of pleasure. After that she would feel worse for giving in to her cravings. She would put on more weight. Soon she wouldn’t be able to fit into her leotard and tights.

As Rachel sat in the train on the way home she began to cry. Her heartache was deep and she felt all alone. She tried to forget about the ballet class and focus on the Life Sciences textbook that lay open on her lap. The Grade Elevens had a test the next day and she hadn’t started studying yet. But the words on the page were a blur through her tears.

“Do you want a tissue?”

Rachel looked up. The young woman sitting opposite her was smiling. She held out a packet of tissues.

“Thank you.” Rachel took one and blew her nose. “I can’t believe I’m crying. It’s really stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” The woman had a sweet voice. She looked kind and friendly, and Rachel needed a friend right now. “Teenage years aren’t easy,” she added sympathetically.

Rachel wiped her eyes and managed a smile. She liked the way the young woman dressed: the denim skirt, fluffy white jersey, stockings and big black boots. They were all the fashion at the moment. She would buy them herself if only her mom would increase her allowance. The young woman had a pretty face. Her caramel skin was smooth and glowed with health. Rachel couldn’t help noticing how slim she was. She definitely didn’t have problems with her weight, she thought enviously.

On any other day Rachel would have accepted the tissue, thanked the woman, and gone on studying her textbook. But today she felt so wobbly and in need of comfort and the woman looked so friendly.

“I’m Amy, by the way,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Do you want to tell me what’s upsetting you? I’m a good listener. Try me.”

Rachel found herself telling Amy the whole story. Once she started she couldn’t stop; the words came spilling out like the tears that were spilling down her cheeks. Amy kept handing her more tissues. But she never interrupted her. She listened intently as Rachel described the past twelve years of her life as a ballet dancer. How she had started dancing aged five – her mother needed to leave her somewhere in the afternoon because she worked long hours as an accountant, and there were afternoon ballet classes at Rachel’s school. Ballet had been her life since then. It was all she had wanted to do. But now her dream of dancing in a professional dance company was over.

“My mom should never have started me on ballet,” Rachel sniffed. “She should have known that it would only lead to this. Now my life’s ruined.”

“Not ruined,” Amy said. “I’m sure your mom really loves you and only wants what’s best for you.”

“Or best for her,” Rachel grumbled.

“I wish my mom had let me do extra mural classes. I would have loved to have done ballet. But I never got the opportunity to do anything like that…”

Amy stared out of the window, her eyes full of sadness suddenly. Rachel wanted to say something that would make Amy feel better. She had been so kind to her, but the train was already pulling into Hatfield station. The time had flown.

Rachel stood up and stuffed her book into her bag. “I have to go. This is my stop,” she told Amy. But Amy was also standing up and putting on her jacket.

“Mine too,” Amy said. For a moment Rachel felt awkward. Then Amy laughed.

“Come on then, the doors are closing,” she said, taking Rachel’s hand so that they stepped onto the platform together. Rachel hesitated. She wanted to go on talking to Amy. Amy was right: she was a good listener. She didn’t interrupt or compete over who had the bigger problem, like Rachel’s friends did. Most of her friends couldn’t wait for her to stop talking so that they could start. They never really listened to her, she thought. Well, not like Amy had listened.

“It was good to meet you,” Amy said, giving her a hug. It seemed such a natural thing to do, even though they had only just met on the train. “And remember. Believe in yourself. Ballet dancing isn’t all there is to life. Don’t shed any more tears. Life is full of possibilities…”

Rachel felt grateful, and bewildered, as Amy said her final “goodbye and good luck”. She stood and watched as Amy walked away down the platform and disappeared under the subway.

It was only that evening, when she lay in bed and thought about the train journey, that Rachel realised that she didn’t know anything about Amy. Rachel had done all the talking. Amy had done all the listening. She didn’t know what Amy did for a living, where she worked, whether she was married or had a boyfriend. Why was she taking the train in the middle of the afternoon? Where was she going?

Rachel took the same train every Monday after ballet class but she had never seen Amy before, and she usually recognised all the people who took the same train as her and got off at Hatfield station.

* * *

Tell us: What advice would you give Rachel? Is Amy a good friend for Rachel?