“It doesn’t matter if you’re trying or not,” she says sharply, shaking me off. “What matters is that you are leaving, and I’m going to be here alone when you’re gone.”

She walks out before I can call her back, slamming the door to my room so loudly that my bones feel like they vibrate with the reverberations.

There’s an emptiness inside me, a hole that’s gaping. Selfish? My sister thinks I’m selfish?

I thought we both wanted to get away from New York City. I thought we both understood that we would do what it would take to survive in this household, where every day feels like a battlefield.

If I could take her with me, I would, but I can’t. Am I meant to sacrifice my future away from here for her? Am I meant to stop focusing on the film competition for Rosie?

Is it wrong to want things for myself? Is it wrong to want a future away from all of this?

Tears stream down my face, and I scrub them away with the rough fabric of my sleeve. Is wanting to survive so wrong?

I don’t have the answer, but I wish I did.

38

On Wednesday, we film the scenes we missed the day before. Rosie and I don’t talk to each other—a stony silence that everyone can feel, given the furtive glances they keep shooting our way.

Emmitt gives me a searching look halfway through the meeting, as Rosie directs Linli and Sofia into position. I can read the question on his face: Do you want to talk about it?

I shake my head, but my lips turn up slightly of their own accord. At least this one part of my life isn’t spiraling horribly out of control.

At home, Anam ices me out just like Rosie has. She leaves in the mornings before I do, then spends her evenings at Nazifa’s house. When she is home, she locks her door and blasts K-pop music so loud that my parents ask me to tell her to lower it.

That night, Baba knocks on my door. “Can you tell Anam—”

I give him a flat look. “She’s your daughter. Ask her yourself.”

And then I shut my door on him, despite his glower. At least I keep my music contained to my earphones.

The next day, I meet Emmitt after school. It’s colder outside today, and the wind ruffles Emmitt’s blond hair.

“Ready?” he asks, offering me a smile.

“Ready,” I agree, matching his pace as we walk to the subway station. It’s strange to think about how much has changed in four weeks, from something as small as me preferring to walk ahead of Emmitt before...but preferring to walk at his side now.

“Your Italian presentation was great today,” he says, nudging me.