I’m losing the argument. Losing the surgery. I know I could get on that stage right now without most people noticing or caring about the state of my eyelids.

But I care. In all my dreams of getting back on the stage, I look like Ava Before the Fire, the girl who sings in spotlights. And this surgery would bring me that much closer to finding her again.

Glenn balances the paintbrush on a can of paint on the top rung and steps down the ladder, toward me. He leans against it, his hands together in front of him like he’s about to say a prayer.

“Ava. The surgery is optional.”

There’s that word again.

“Yes. I opt to do it,” I say, but I know that’s not what he means. Optional equals expensive.

Optional means no.

Glenn runs his hand through his hair, his eyes on the ground.

“We just can’t afford it right now.”

Silence settles on the three of us. The Smith’s Manager tag on Cora’s shirt glares at me. Glenn is hardly home anymore, and even though they try to hide it, the collectors call at all hours now.

“What about the money from the fund-raiser?”

Cora shakes her head.

“No, not for this,” she says. “Who knows how many surgeries you’ll need in the future—surgeries you have to get, not elective ones. You need to save that.”

“I’ll get a job,” I say, starting to feel desperate. “I can work after school and weekends. I could pay you back in no time.”

Glenn shakes his head, reaching out his hand for mine. Deeply entrenched oil stains outline each fingernail. Every night, he washes his calloused hands, trying to scrape off the overtime.

For me.

“It won’t be enough,” he says. “It’s just out of our reach right now, Ava. That’s all there is to it. If it’s not a surgery you absolutely need, we’ll have to wait.”

I lay my hand in his and feel the tears dribbling out of my sagging eyes. Yesterday, this surgery wasn’t even in my realm of possibility. But now that it’s here, a small but real fix, the pain of it slipping away crushes me.

“I do need this surgery. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

My head feels woozy from the paint. I sink onto my bed, tossing my schoolbag onto the floor. The bag Cora was convinced could make me normal. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

“We’d do it if we could,” Glenn says, his voice tight until it breaks.

“In a heartbeat,” Cora says.

I know it’s the truth. They’ve done their best. But standing here in this half-painted room that’s not even mine, something ugly rises in me. Another truth I keep pushed down deep where it can’t get me: I’m an orphan.