I pull up my web browser and take us through a few 3D sneaker mock-ups of up-and-coming designers who came out of McGill’s program and added brief backstories of what led me to bookmark them in the first place. Luckily, I’ve never closed a single browser tab since getting this phone. It’s pretty evident that Corinne never gave sneakers a second thought, but somehow she doesn’t make me feel dumb or hoodratty for sharing this stuff. She doesn’t laugh or frown, or bring up the factory conditions in which the big American designers keep their workers in other countries. She just listens with a knitted brow, occasionally asking me to scroll back and explain a term I don’t realize I’m dropping without context.

“Halti . . . ,” she eventually says, looking up at me, genuinely confused.

“Okay, okay!” I preempt. “I know what you’re thinking. I’ll concede that last pair was definitely inspired by Crocs, but I low-key think that Crocs look kind of edgy? I mean, design-wise they’re even a little sexy, y’know?”

She blinks furiously again.

“I’m . . . going to need college-level psych classes to be equipped to address that one,” she says. “Next question: why didn’t you think to bring any of this up in your Columbia interview? Your eyes light up when you talk about this stuff!”

Oh. That.

I shrug. I had briefly considered it, but design, especially sneakers, always felt a bit silly and . . . unpolished. Especially next to kids with violin and opera on their resumes. I hadn’t even told Ma or Dad about the program and mostly applied to McGill to see if the few sketches I submitted would pass muster. There was never any other light in the room beyond Columbia University, but there was no harm in flicking on a night-light in the corner.

“I don’t know. Seemed dumb. Especially for Ivy League.”

“I don’t think it’s dumb at all. It’s definitely unique to you. . . . This might be what Donielle Kempf was talking about, you know. She wasn’t seeing this side of you.”

Maybe Corinne’s right. Then again, maybe not. Gambling with Columbia like that wasn’t something I was prepared to do. Donielle Kempf was a renowned playwright, after all; how would sneakers have ranked against zee theater?

“It’s nice to think that being honest about my passion and dreams and whatever would have worked, but in my experience, most people already have a clear idea of what they want to hear from you from the moment they see you,” I say, pausing to huff against my phone’s screen and wiping it against my sleeve to clean a smudge. “It’s not fair. You can fight against it, I guess, but to me, it’s best to just go along with it and coat the whole thing in a smile.”