I’m not ashamed of it. Sometimes it was hard when I was a kid, because other kids notice when you don’t have the same school clothes or lunch food as they do, when your dancewear has obviously been thrifted, mismatched and threadbare. But I learned to tune it out, and now I am so tired of other people acting like I should be embarrassed and feel small and less powerful.

Gavin looks shocked. “I meant, I know that you needed a scholarship! You had said so once!”

“I said it would be easier with the scholarship,” I say. So calmly. “But I’m figuring it out.”

His shoulders relax, and so does his face. “Oh! Well, that’s great!”

“Yeah,” I say.

He follows me to the doors, still talking.

“When Ellory was pissed you got the place, I explained it’s because she’s not the one who needs it.” He looks like he’s waiting for me to praise him.

“I’m sorry?” I manage to say.

“Ellory doesn’t need the leg up,” he explains, like I’m stupid. “But you do, right? So of course between the two of you, they gave you the spot. She thought that was cool.”

He’s smiling like he isn’t telling me that I got Angles only because I fill the diversity quota for “fat” and “broke,” and honestly, it kind of feels like he’s just spun around and kicked me in the face.

I let this guy past my guard. For some reason. I let him see the vulnerable parts. Thought it was safe to talk to him about the scary stuff and that he’d understand—the dance world’s hostility to dancers who don’t have the “right” bodies, its obsession with some unreal, violently narrow aesthetic ideal, the way those of us who don’t fit are sneered at so often, and mocked, and almost never given a chance to prove that we can do more than just keep up—we can conquer. I told him about my fears, how I was worried about overcoming so many obstacles in my way, that I would never get a chance to prove them all wrong, why Angles was important. Blah, blah, blah.

And he thought it was a great idea to share that all with someone else.

“I’m so proud of you,” he adds.

Okay, this was all my fault for coming here.

“You’re an ass, Gavin,” I say to him.

“What the hell, Addie? I was standing up for you!”

I suck in sharply. No. I’m done. “Sure, you know what, thanks. Thanks, Gavin. You’re the best.”

“Is that supposed to be sarcasm?”

“Just—next time, try minding your own business.” With that, I bang away through the glass exit door.

I don’t think that went the way he hoped it would.