“Wait—” I say. It feels too vulnerable. Why does it feel too vulnerable? Her finger is poised over the screen. She lifts a perfect ombré eyebrow at me. Challenge upgraded to epic.

Pretty hot for a big girl, Christopher yells in my ear. But screw that guy.

“No. Do it,” I say.

“Okay, then! Hashtag—” Her thumb moves fast over the keyboard. “Hashtag sex goddess, hashtag hotness, et cetera, et cetera et cetera,” she announces.

“Nevaeh!” I say, but she waves her hand at me, still typing out hashtags, and I sigh. She’s the marketing genius slash Instaceleb or whatever. She watches the screen as it uploads and makes a satisfied noise when it’s in the world. We all watch it loop on her feed, and the number of hearts start to flip up almost immediately.

“You should’ve stripped for your Angles audition,” Taylor says.

My heart does a fast, sharp wobble. “Shush!” I say, and kick at him again but miss. Angles. I’ve barely thought about it since walking through the door, which has to be some sort of record. And I don’t want to think about it now. “Shush, shush, shush!” I repeat, kicking at him, shoving aside all thoughts of my future.

But Nevaeh’s staring at me, her eyes huge. “Oh, shit, honey, I forgot,” she says. “Angles results on Monday!”

The thump in my chest hurts.

I sit up and tuck my legs under me. “Oh yeah!” I say very casually, totally not hyperventilating. “I had forgotten about that!” I smile, but probably there are too many teeth in it.

“Addiebear, are you okay?” Katherine asks, her hand on my back.

“Oh yes! It’s just my entire future is all! No problem. Totally good!” Voice squeaking.

Angles is this incredibly prestigious dance company in Milan, with a terrifyingly competitive summer program for aspiring professional dancers. If you’re accepted, it’s a couple of months studying with one of the most innovative and boundary-pushing dance companies in the world. But it’s Mohadesa Rabei, the director of the program, who blows me away. She has a dance vocabulary like no one else. And she’s dramatically, unapologetically fat, and perfect, and my heart stopped the first time photos of her, videos of her dancing, blazed on my laptop screen. I need to study with her. I have to.

I jump up and start to pace.

Just a handful of new dancers work with her and the company’s principals, choreographers, and guest instructors from across the globe. Learning from them, dancing with them, proving what we can do. At the end, there’s a chance that one of us will be invited to join the company as an apprentice.

It would change everything for me.