The deadlines and sacrifices.
My phone keeps buzzing in my hand, but I don’t answer any of it.
I fold forward, forehead nearly touching my knees, sobbing until my throat hurts and my head feels light and my vision blurs.
This isn’t disappointment anymore.
It’s grief for the version of myself who thought tonight would be different.
Footsteps hurry toward me, heels clicking too fast to be casual. “Frankie?—”
Tasha gets to me first, breathless as she crouches down. Za hangs back a step, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw set just like her damn brother.
I can feel her disappointment before she even opens her mouth.
Tasha speaks first though. “Okay. I get that you’re upset. I really do. But you can’t just walk out like that.”
“Fuck those awards.”
She doesn’t flinch as she continues. “What kind of message does it send to the team when their creative director and Co-CEO storms out when someone else wins?”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand, furious at the tears still clinging there. “Fuck. Them. Awards. You hear what mi a say?”
Za steps forward then. “That’s so disrespectful, Frankie.”
I look up slowly. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Za says, voice tight but controlled in that way she gets when she’s trying not to cry herself. “It’s straight up disrespectful. You could’ve at least acted like you’re?—”
“I shouldn’t have to pretend,” I snap. “Why is pretending always the expectation?”
“Because it’s basic decency,” Za fires back. “Other people worked hard too!”
“And so did I!” My chest tightens again. “So did we. I don’t care about other people’s work when it’s packaged in something brainless. Stacking tiles, Chinaza? That’s what I lost to?!”
Za shakes her head. “You’re not the only one who’s been rejected, Frankie. You think I don’t know what it feels like to be told no? All you can do is accept it and move on.”
I scoff. “Just because you take it when someone tells you you’re not good enough doesn’t mean I have to.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a line.
Za’s face changes completely. Hurt flashes across her usually guarded expression.
“Wow,” she says quietly. “That’s what you think of me?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, but it comes out defensive. Again.
“It is exactly what you meant,” she says. “You think I just swallow disappointment and smile through it because I’m weak.”
“I didn’t say weak?—”
“You didn’t have to!” she cuts in.
Tasha steps between us before either of us can keep going. “
Alright. Enough. Both of you.” She holds up her phone, thumb scrolling fast. “Because while you’re busy tearing each other apart, something else is happening. People are talking about the walkout and the internet is losing its mind.”
Za frowns. “Talking how?”
