“Shay, you have to be emotionally vulnerable to act,” Mr. B says gently. “You can’t always keep your walls up. Let me in a little so I can help you.” He allows the silence to settle, ready to wait me out until I open up.

“Not getting the scholarship,” I say quietly. The words scrape at my heart as they come out, leaving me a little bruised inside. I think of my parents, who are stuck in their low-paying jobs even though they’re both qualified magic users who went to college. “Not getting into a licensing college. Not getting a good job.”

He hums sympathetically. “I’m sure it’s not easy for your parents, having you go to school here. They have to drive you all the way down here every day and buy all the extra materials for your magic classes. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

My chest clenches further. Why is he saying all this?

“How would you deal with knowing that after everything they’ve sacrificed for you, things just didn’t work out? You didn’t win the scholarship, you didn’t get into a licensing college, and you never get that job in a magilab you’re hoping for.” His voice is low and soft, and I want to put my hands over my ears so I can’t hear him saying these things. “It’s not so hard to imagine. Getting the scholarship is a long shot. Do you know how many applications we get?” He pauses, and I’m not sure if that was rhetorical or not. I give him the ghost of a nod, and he continues. “And you know that more than eighty percent of students don’t get into a licensing college on their first try?”

I did know that. That fact pounds in the back of my mind constantly, no matter how much I pretend it isn’t there. My face crumples. It hurts too much to acknowledge that things might not work out no matter how hard I push myself. He leans back in his chair, lifting a finger to point at me. “Yes. That’s it. Now sing the song again.”

Singing is the last thing I want to do right now. I would prefer to hide in a hole and delete the last fifteen minutes from my memory. Instead, I take a deep breath and start the song. His words echo in my head, and I focus to keep my breath steady. My eyes feel uncomfortably warm. They start to prickle, and a rush of dread fills me.

No. I am not crying in front of Mr. B. There’s no way in hell that’s happening.