I knew that was true. It was still true. He’d finally made it very clear how he felt. But it was ultimately my decision. He was still waiting for me. I hated what I was about to say. But Jude had been keeping his distance to protect me, not to protect himself. I had to protect us both. I swallowed. “I need you to back off.”

We were still so close, his eyes on mine, but they glazed over. He took a dazed step back. My body sagged in the cold air that sprang up between us. “Okay,” he said, setting his jaw resolutely.

It wasn’t enough, though. He needed to know why it would never work.

“I didn’t know my best friend had surgery because I don’t talk to her anymore. She texts me and I don’t text back because I’m jealous. I can’t stand that she can do ballet and I can’t. And just now, I was…” My breath hitched. “I was happy, when I thought she didn’t do well at the audition. Because I don’t want her to go to that school when I can’t.” I looked for the judgment in his eyes, but it never came.

“Alina…” Jude’s hand reached toward me before he pulled it back. “Things get complicated when you lose something that was important to you. You do and think things you never thought you could. But it doesn’t make you a horrible person.”

Scars and steel don’t decide if you’re a dancer or not. Being happy that your best friend failed doesn’t make you a horrible person. These were comforting thoughts. They just weren’t true.

“I would have ditched you at Winter Formal. Like Diya did,” I said. “That’s who I am. I put art over people. I’m selfish. And I kissed you because I wanted to distract myself from all that.”

Jude’s mouth opened in surprise, and after a few seconds of silence, he looked at the ground and nodded, like he finally understood how wrong I was for him. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

A sob caught in my throat. I turned to run away, but Ethan was suddenly there. He looked from me to Jude and back to me, his eyes narrowing. “What happ—”

“I’m leaving,” I said. Ethan hated Diya for hurting Jude. He’d definitely hate me, too.

As I ran to the parking lot, I cried the same ugly tears I had when I thought I’d broken my leg on the ice. Only this time, something really was broken. Lots of things. Everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I STAYED IN MY ROOM practically all Sunday. My phone didn’t make a sound, but I hadn’t expected it to. What would anyone want to say to me?