Though Emmitt doesn’t falter in his step, it seems he’s all but forgotten his surroundings, his entire attention focused on me.

“I don’t know,” I say, gripping the handrail tightly. “I guess I just stopped making them proud. You know, I don’t even know if I’d be in film club without them, which is what makes this really funny.” I laugh weakly, but the sound is wretched to even my own ears. “If my parents didn’t take me to the movie theater all the time when I was younger, maybe I wouldn’t even be on this path. Maybe I wouldn’t even know what the Golden Ivy film competition is.”

“Hey...” Emmitt says, but I shake my head.

“It’s still my favorite place in the world despite everything,” I say. At his bemused expression, I add, “The movie theater. They’ll never be able to take that away from me. My love for films is always going to exist, whether or not they think I’ll never amount to anything.”

“You will, though,” Emmitt whispers, reaching out to touch my arm. “They’re wrong about you.”

“Yeah,” I say, but the word comes out flimsy. “I try to tell myself that. But it’s harder than it seems. They even said if I won the Golden Ivy competition, they’d pay for me to go to USC themselves. That’s how little they believe in me.”

I hesitate before reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet. I tug out the signed note from the inside flap and hand it over to Emmitt just as we approach the entrance to High Bridge.

Emmitt stops walking, unfolding the piece of paper. I pull him slightly to the side, so we don’t block anyone else at the top of the stairs. We retreat to the metal railing that keeps people from accidentally falling into the Harlem River. He doesn’t notice, his eyes skimming over the words before immediately flashing back to me. “Mina...”

“I know,” I say, taking the paper back, tucking it away again. The voice in my head quietly spits vitriol at me, a reminder that a part of me still wants their love and approval, even though they make me more miserable than anything else. “It’s fucked up.”

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his fingers sliding down to squeeze my wrist. “I’m really sorry.”

“It is what it is,” I say, shrugging a casual shoulder to hide the tug-of-war my emotions are playing inside me. “All I can do is get away at this point. I have to win this competition and I have to get into USC. Then I can finally get away from this horrible city and live my best life.”

Emmitt furrows his brows, something complicated passing over his face. “Is this city so horrible?”

“Yes,” I say without missing a beat, but my chest pangs uncertainly.