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“I don’t want it anymore!” I blurt out. I lose control and end up yelling at her. And the moment I say it, I realize it’s true.

I don’t want the role.

Not for this price.

Not anymore.

“Don’t talk shit. You want the role, and now it’s pretty much yours. You should be happy.”

“God, Susannah, stop it! You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“No! You don’t!” My hands clench into fists as tremors run through me. “I wanted the role. Of course that’s true. I wanted it so badly that it almost killed me when you got it! But I only wanted it so that . . . so that . . .” I wring my hands and gasp for air, and then I just say it, because it doesn’t matter anymore anyway, and maybe it’s good if we’re really honest with each other just this once. “I wanted it so that I would be seen. By my parents, by . . . by everyone.”

“Well, then take it already, Lia!” Susannah hisses.

I shake my head. My heart is racing. “I don’t want it,” I repeat, and suddenly everything is crystal clear.

I really don’t want the role anymore. Not like I used to. And I realize that the reason I wanted it in the first place was never about the role itself. It was about being the center of attention, about being seen.

But the thing is, my parents wouldn’t see me even if I were on stage. They wouldn’t see me the way I am. On stage, they would only see another version of me. But never the real me. And that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Not just being seen but how I’m seen. And by whom. And now I have someone who sees me exactly as I am and who loves me exactly as I am.

“You can’t be serious.” Susannah stares at me in disbelief.

“I am.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I mean that completely seriously.

“But . . . it was all you ever wanted. Nothing was more important to you than this role.”

I swallow hard. “That’s true. And where did it get me?” I rub my forehead, my chest heaving as I take a deep breath. “The last few months have been hell because I’ve been beating myself up. And . . . I hated you because Pearson chose you. We were friends, and I hated you. And that’s why I couldn’t help you. Because I was so damn jealous of you. And I thought you’d hate me if you lost the role because I told someone about what I saw. But I should have said something. I should have talked to you properly, not the way I did. Or I should have said something to Pearson or someone else. What happened yesterday shouldn’t have happened.” Silence spreads between us. Heavy and oppressive.

“I already hated you anyway.” The bitter undertone in Susannah’s voice cuts deep into my heart. “Even without you talking to anyone about me and taking the role away.”

“You did?”

“God, Lia. Really? Are you that naive?” Susannah rolls her eyes, but her voice trembles. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to be your friend? Do you know how hard it is to even be in the same class? You’re so fucking perfect that no one can compete with you. Just look at yourself. You have everything under control. You’re beautiful and thin and—” She breaks off and bites her lower lip. Suddenly, her eyes glisten with tears. “I hate all of it, okay?” she shouts and then bursts into tears.

Katie takes a step toward her and reaches out a hand. “It’s okay,” she says reassuringly, but Susannah shakes her head and backs away.

“It’s not okay. Nothing is okay! My life will be over if Pearson takes the role away from me!” She buries her face in her hands and sobs, and this time, when Katie tries to hug her, she lets her.

Over Susannah’s shoulder, Katie gives me a helpless look, and I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

“Has he talked to you yet?” I ask cautiously.

Susannah pulls away from Katie and wipes the tears from her face, sniffing. “No, not yet. But he knows. Francesca knows too. I’ll never be allowed to keep the role.”

“You can’t know that,” Katie objects. Susannah snorts, which sounds strange with her blocked nose. “Come on. We all know how this works. He’ll take it away from me, and then I’ll be kicked out of school, and then . . . then my life will really be over.”

“It won’t be! But you need to talk to someone,” I say gently.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You just said your life is over! You’re not fine!”

“Yes, I am.” She sticks out her chin defiantly, and now it’s no longer about the role, no longer about ballet. “I’ve got it under control, honestly.”

“No. You’re not in control of anything. Not when you deliberately make yourself throw up and then pass out because your body can’t cope with the stress you’re putting it under. You need to talk to someone. You need help.” Katie brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear.