My eyes still. I study her, and then my mouth is moving, but no sound is coming out. I can’t decide whether to be impressed or furious. Who turns down ten thousand dollars? Who does this bitch think she is?

Her eyebrows lift just a fraction, still waiting for me to respond, and I can tell she can see I’m flailing, unsure of what to say, how to proceed. I force myself to hold her eyes and stand my ground. “Look, you—”

But she’s already on the move, strutting away from the table. I clench my jaw and let her go this time. I don’t need her going all angry black girl, fist-in-the-air on me. The click of her heels against the tiled floor rises above all the colliding voices as she heads for the door. I follow her through the glass with my gaze until she turns at the corner, no doubt heading down into that smelly, rat-infested hole in the ground.

I take another sip of my water. The nerve. The fucking audacity. I was trying to help her, to keep her out of trouble. She has no idea what she’s just tangled herself into.

If this is the way she wants to play it, fine.

Clueless bitch.

I sigh and stare out at the onset of LIE traffic, and, accepting it’s going to take forever to get to the other side of the East River, I text Mei. The bitch won’t take the money.

It takes her less than a minute to reply. What happened?

I ignore that. I still want to do it.

My phone buzzes as soon as the message shows delivered. I lift it to my ear.

“Bitch, how high are you? No paper trail.”

“Shit. I wasn’t thinking.” I slap my forehead, wondering if I really am better high if this is how I function completely sober. “Are you still in class?”

“I have fifteen before rehearsal starts.”

“I’m coming over now. Meet me in the back.”

“Hey, you know I’m down,” Mei says, repinning her bun on top of her head.

She’s glistening with sweat as we huddle up in the service staircase, the most private space we could find at the NYCB headquarters. I can barely get close enough to whisper because of the stiff pancake tutu she’s wearing over her black, halter-back unitard.

“But now it’s risky.” I sigh. “What if this girl tells someone what we said?”

“Who’s she gonna tell? The cops don’t even search for black girls when they go missing. You think they’d take anything she says seriously?”

It’s a valid point.

I chew my lip, thinking. “What if she tells my father?”

Mei glances at me, but doesn’t answer. She’s thinking too.