I had such a good day. I laughed more than I’ve laughed in months. My heart was at ease. I didn’t even think about how USC might reject me, or how we might not win the film competition, or how a million things might go wrong. I was happy.

But it doesn’t matter. Not when there’s a heaviness descending on me now, burying my heart in rubble. I recognize the signs of an upcoming depressive episode, but I can’t bring myself to change my thought pattern, to find the cognitive distortions and remind myself of what truly matters.

My door opens, and I don’t move, not until I see Anam behind me in the mirror, her face wet with tears.

Something cracks inside me.

And in a split second, I force myself to pull it together, shutting down the volatile emotions raging war within my chest. I have to stay strong for Anam.

“Don’t cry,” I say, pulling her into my arms, stroking a hand down her blue hair. “It’s okay, Anam.”

“Apu,” she croaks, her tears soaking through my shirt. “What’s going to happen when you leave? I don’t know if I can...”

I hush her, holding her head against my shoulder. “You’ll be okay, Anam. One day, they won’t be able to hurt us ever again. We can make it until the end.”

“I can’t do it alone,” she whispers, fear palpable in her voice. “I can’t do it without you.”

“You can,” I say fiercely, even as my throat aches from holding back tears. “You are capable of so much more than you know.”

Anam keeps crying, her arms tight around my waist, and I rub circles into her back, all while reminding myself to breathe and keep it moving. My eighteenth birthday is in four days, and I will not spend another year in this city. I refuse to.

My ticket out of here is the Golden Ivy film competition. I have to win, no matter what it takes. There is no other choice.

There’s no room to falter, to hesitate. I have to focus on the competition and make our short film the best it can be, so I can finally leave. If I want freedom, this is how to get it.

And one year later, Anam will follow me, and we’ll both leave behind this wretched place for good. We’ll be happy in California, whether it’s at USC or Stanford. We’ll be okay.

I have to believe that.

29

Castings go live the next day. I pin the sheet to the bulletin board in front of the auditorium and step back, making sure it’s not crooked.

It tilts slightly to the left, but I decide it’s good enough.

“Well?” Emmitt’s voice comes from behind me. “Did I get the role?”

I gesture half-heartedly to the paper but don’t say anything.