“You okay, Yesoh?” she asked, her curly brown hair tied up away from her face.
“Everything’s fine,” I lied, but not entirely because things had to be. “Are you going to audition?”
“Yeah, definitely I think everyone will.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “You seem…tired.”
“There’s no room for tired at Julliard, you know that, Jess,” I reminded her, referring to the time a girl in our class took a mental health break and came back to the most insufferable ridicule and being labelled lazy.
“Well. I hope you feel better.” She smiled, and I shook my head with a sigh.
“Thanks.”
“I hope you’re not dreaming of getting lead,” Noah Gillespie commented snidely, brushing past me.
“And just why shouldn’t I?” I turned to face him, folding my arms.
“You just don’t look like someone who’d play the part.” He cleared his throat glancing at me up and down, striking blonde hair and blue eyes dawning down on me.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jess scoffed.
“You know what I mean.” He flicked a loose strand of my dark curls and at that, I shoved him back.
“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” I argued. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I worked my way up here,and I’ll be damned if some colourist fragment of nothing like you dares to think he can play God and drag me down.”
“Woah, don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Yeo, I was just messing around. This has nothing to do with race. I don’t know why you people always make everything about race!” he gasped, painting me as the dramatic one.
“You people?” Jess repeated, “Oh my God, you’re shameless, we could report you—”
“To who exactly? My parents fund enough of this place to make me bulletproof,” he reminded us. “Nice try though, and good luck getting lead looking like…that.”
And then he was gone. But his words branded themselves onto my skin.I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me.
Ineededto talk to someone, I needed my mother.
The very second I left, I rushed to the bathroom, headed for a stall, and rang her.
The phone was cool against my cheek, grounding me, but my hands shook as I pressed it tighter, like I could somehow pull Mom’s voice through the line and wrap it around me. My breaths were coming too fast, sharp and shallow, each one catching like there wasn’t enough air to go around.
I could still see the studio mirrors from earlier, reflecting back a hundred versions of myself, each one of them pushing, straining, never quite reaching what they were supposed to be.Not good enough, not strong enough, not perfect enough.I bit my lip to hold back a sob.
“Hello?” Mom’s voice came through, brisk and clear. Strong. I felt my chest hitch.
“Mama,” I managed, my voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s… it’s too much. I can’t breathe. Every day, it’s like—” My voice broke, and I sucked in another breath, trying to steady myself. “I just… I don’t know if I can keep up. I hate the way theytreat me like an outsider, like I don’t belong because I don’t look like them.”
There was a pause, one that felt so heavy it nearly crushed me. Then she exhaled, steady as ever. “Yesoh,” she said, calm but firm. “You are a Yeo. We don’t back down. Especially not you.”
Her words stung, but I clung to the phone, waiting for something,anything, softer. I didn’t know what I’d expected—maybe comfort, or reassurance that I wasn’t the only one who felt like the walls were closing in. But all she gave me was the edge of her tone, like I was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.
“This is the life youchose, Yesoh. It’s not supposed to be easy. Black women in ballet…don’t have the luxury of giving up just because things are hard. We’ve had to be twice as strong, twice as perfect, for half the recognition. Do you understand?”
Her words cut deep, leaving no room for softness. I gripped the phone, my eyes burning. I knew she was right. I’d heard this speech a thousand times, the one about strength, resilience, pushing through even when it felt impossible. And maybe I should have felt empowered by it, but right now, all I felt was the weight of it pressing down on me, a weight I wasn’t sure I could carry at nineteen.
“Mom,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out. “What if I’m not strong enough?”
Only to her could I admit that maybe I was far far too soft for all of it.
Her response was swift, unyielding. “Then youfindthat strength, Yesoh. Because it’s there. You’re a Yeo, and you’re more capable than you know. You didn’t come this far to let doubt stop you now.”
And at that I took deep breaths, wiped my tears, and took her words as gospel truth. I wouldn’t let anyone have the privilege of seeing me break.
