My head is about to explode. Guts on the wall. Everything.

Is she using my gender identity as a scapegoat for being a terrible friend?

That is not happening. Not today. Not ever.

But I don’t even know if it’s worth it to bring all this up.

Is this a friendship worth salvaging?

Is there a friendship even left to salvage?

She continues, “And it just feels like you were never really supportive of me. Like you never took my art seriously, and I just felt like you let your own jealousy get in the way of us. And I know you can’t be happy that we’re in the same program, but that’s on you. I just wanted you to be happy, with me and for me, but also with yourself. I just feel like you’re not happy with yourself …” Her words leak out at half speed. “And that’s on you, too.”

My eyes are wide.

I’m not breathing.

I’m legitimately in shock.

She’s twisting everything.

I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what she does. I’ve witnessed it with other friends back when we were in high school. Anyone who has ever challenged Leila has been knocked off their feet and out of her life. But somehow, I’m the one at fault?

I want to ask her if she’s talking about herself, but if I do, I know I’ll cry.

And that is not happening.

Luckily Professor McPherson pops back into the room with the juniors in tow.

Leila rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to say anything. I know.” She puts her hand on my arm, and it burns my skin. “I’d be happy to let you sit in on my mentorship with Linda, and I’d love to invite you to the Vanity Fair Oscar party after I win Best Animated Film,” she says straight-faced, without a hint of irony or malice, which is quite possibly the worst part of it all, before quickly scurrying back to her drafting desk.

I stare straight ahead, fixating on a spot on the wall as the professor talks, pairing everyone up. But her voice is far away, replaced by Leila’s, who blames me for the downfall of our friendship in her Academy Award acceptance speech.

Sure, I cared about the scholarship. But I also cared about her.

I don’t have many friends. I can count them on less than one hand. In high school, Rae and I spent most weekends watching movies in her parents’ basement and going to the Cheesecake Factory, where she made sure I ate like a normal human and didn’t take laxatives afterward. Sometimes it worked. Still, Rae and I weren’t exactly the cool kids. And other than her, Leila was the only person I trusted.

But that was a lifetime ago.

“And Chase,” Professor McPherson intrudes into my swirling thought storm, “will be paired with Sofía Rivera and Chloe Thomas. Hear that, Gray?”

I snap out of my stupor and see the two girls who defended me earlier waving at me, and I can’t help but smile.