That’s the thing: I have nothing to say. I love fairy tales. Always have. Leila knows this. I grew up on them and consume them the way some binge-watch Netflix shows. I’ve always loved the whole happily ever after thing, so why shouldn’t I explore it?

But I don’t say any of that.

The junior who “wowed” me earlier shoots her hand up. She turns to address me and only me. “I saw, or heard, all those tropes in what you wrote, and sure, some of that is overdone and overused, but the assignment was to take a trope and turn it on its head. What’s more head-turning than a gay love story in a fairy tale.”

The girl sitting next to her, who commented on my story, chimes in, “Tropes are a luxury of the majority. And LGBTQ-plus and Black, brown, and Indigenous folks should get to use these tropes because, for people like us, they’re not tropes. They’re just never-told stories or stories told over and over again by the majority.”

“The white majority,” her friend next to her adds.

Professor McPherson crouches forward and props her chin on her hands. “Points have been made. If I didn’t take tropes that had been done before, I never would have created Crumbs. Nice job, Gray.”

I shake like an old person, my bones rickety and unbalanced, and move slowly toward my desk, tipping an invisible hat to her. I avoid Leila like the plague, but I’d bet anything she’s pouting. Maybe not outwardly, but inside she’s likely about to explode.

“Touché,” the professor says with a wink.

All ten of us wait while Professor McPherson confers with the twenty juniors to create animation teams that will bring our shorts to life. And, of course, ultimately win the mentorship. No biggie.

As we wait, Leila saunters up to me. “Hey.”

I nod. I mean, I can’t totally ignore her—try as I might.

“Just wanted to say I really did love your flip,” she says.

I guffaw. “Right.”

“Even if it wasn’t the most original. Then again, what idea is, amiright?” she says, hiding a jab inside a joke. “Look, I don’t know what happened between us, but we’re in college now, Chase. I think we should act like adults.” Her hand is on her hip.

“I, uh, what?”

Is she really trying to pretend she has no idea what happened? Like she didn’t talk shit about me and put me down and lie to me?

“I’m just saying, it really hurts that you just dropped me. I know you were going through something, but I did nothing wrong,” she says.

“What do you mean I was ‘going through something’?”

If blood really did boil, I’d be a hard-boiled egg right now.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but when you came out as nonbinary, you changed. It felt like you were reinventing yourself, and then you just stopped talking to me.”