Remi‘s brow furrowed she didn’t question me. Without saying another word she took my phone and dialed Wynter’s number.I grabbed the phone back from her and tried my best to remedy the situation before he actually decided to show up.
ME: You don’t have to come it’s nothing really
Wyn: Is that so?
ME: Yeah just a stupid comment I shouldn’t have let get to me. I’m used to it anyway.
Wyn: what kind of comment?”
ME: it doesn’t matter.
Wyn: it matters to me, now tell what they said to you.
Wyn: now.
ME: This Gillespie guy in my class passed by me and said that I shouldn’t audition because the right of spring is a ballet not a cultural festival.
Wyn: Stay where you are, I’ll come find you.
ME:I can handle this on my own, I've been handling it on my own.
Wyn: Well thank God you don't have to anymore. Don't you know Yesoh, that I'll always come find you?
Oh.
Remi stayed with me until Wynter showed up within minutes. One moment, I was still crumpled in the corner, and the next, he was standing in the doorway, his tall frame filling the space like a calm in the middle of a storm.
“Didn’t you have a class to mentor?” I asked,
“How am I to be concerned with that when you’re in distress?” He sighed out of breath almost as if he’d raced over here.
“Wyn-” I attempted to refute
“Hey,” he said, his voice like soft gravel. He didn’t come rushing in; he just stood there, waiting for me to meet his gaze. When I did, his eyes softened, almost unreadable. “I’m so sorry you had to find out the harsh realities of the performing arts world in this way, it isn’t often kind to people like you and me.”
I couldn’t hold it in anymore. My chest tightened, and the dam finally broke. I shook my head, tears slipping from my eyes. I couldn’t even find the words. I was exhausted and sick of feeling like an outsider.
Wynter moved closer, sitting down beside me on the floor, his presence steady and comforting. His hand, warm and firm, found mine, offering that unspoken promise of I’m here. He didn’t say anything for a long time—just let me cry it out.
“Does it ever stop?” I questioned sniffling, “Will they ever make room for me here?”
“You don’tgivethem the power to decide whether or not you belong here, you don’t wait for them to make room for you, because the truth is that the performing arts industry is structured in a way that is intended to keep people of color out. If we all decided to spend our time, hoping and praying to whatever God willing to hear us for acceptance, we would be waiting a millennia. You don’t ask them to open the door, hell you don’t even knock – Yesoh darling I want you to kick that bloody door down andmakethem see you.” He spoke, his icy eyes burning with the kind of passion and determination that was almost otherworldly.
“Okay.” I nodded as he wiped my tears away.
“When I first started skating, they pressured my parents to change my last name on the papers because they thought it would disadvantage me. They argued that because of how I looked that no one had to know I was half South Korean if I didn’t tell them explicitly. And you know what I did that day? I wrote my last name first and in capital letters. Because for lack of better terminology,fuckthat.” he cursed and while my heart wrenched for his younger self I let out a soft laugh and so did he.
“They’re such losers,” I said quietly.
Then, in that quiet voice of his, he spoke, so gentle, so sure. “Exactly and why would you bother appeasing losers? You’veworked too hard for this. You’ve earned this moment. Don’t let someone else’s ignorance steal it from you.”
I clenched my fists at my sides, fighting the urge to scream, to let the floodgates open even more. But his words held me steady. Slowly, like the first rays of light after a storm, his voice broke through the panic.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” he added softly, his thumb brushing the back of my hand, a simple motion that grounded me in ways I couldn’t explain.
I nodded, trying to breathe. “But what if—what if I’m not good enough?”
Wynter shook his head. “Don’t you dare think that. You’re more than enough.”
