“I thought you didn’t believe in this shit. And you don’t get to say things like that about Ivan,” I snap.
Jax straightens to his full height. “You think it’s a coincidence that the same time his hands show stains, his dog disappears?”
“That’s not proof of anything,” I say. “He told you what happened. A dozen times.”
“And I didn’t believe a word of it.”
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “None of this matters.”
He stills. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”
I swallow. “I’m leaving Tar City.”
His breath catches. “What?”
“I got in,” I say. The words still feel unreal. “The Academy. Full ride. Residential.”
The cafeteria noise rushes back in.
“You… got in?” he says.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No—of course not. You were amazing. You are—” He stumbles over the words. “When do you leave?”
“After graduation.”
He stares at me.
“So this—” I gesture between us, the school, the air. “It doesn’t matter.”
He doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, his face a mask of shock and something that looks a hell of a lot like devastation. But of course, it can’t be. Not over me.
I grab my bag and walk past him before he can say anything else.
* * *
The thrift store smells the way it always does—like mothballs and forgotten lives, a dusty graveyard of other people’s clothes. It shouldn’t even bother me anymore at this point. It’s basically the scent of my life. It’s not even the fact that these clothes are used that I care about, it’s the fact that Millie is making this Formal thing a whole thing. And it’s not a thing at all in my mind. It’s a stupid must-do, a box to check, a chapter I’m more than ready to slam shut.
Millie’s already a few aisles over, her fingers skimming over a rack of sequined monstrosities. “This one!” she calls, holding up a sliver of dark blue silk. “It’s gotI’m about to waste this on a bad dance partnerwritten all over it.”
She’s been relentless about me saying yes to Ivan, convinced I did it just to provoke Jax. Which is rich, coming from her, considering she spent the last weeks telling me Jax was a walking red flag.
I force a smile, but it feels like cracking my face in two. “Let me see.” I take the dress from her. It’s beautiful, in a sad, vintage way. All delicate straps and a skirt that would float when I spin.
“I don’t understand why I can’t just wear the one you wore,” I argue.
Millie’s smile softens. She checks the zipper gently and turns to me, her hands on my shoulders. “I told you,” she says, her voice kind. “Because you deserve something nicer than that piece of crap. This is your formal. You’re going to be a real ballerina soon. We need to find you the right dress.”
I look around at the racks of discarded dreams. “Let me try this on.”
“It’ll fit,” she says, her eyes bright with a determination that’s always been her best feature. “You just have to have faith.”
“Faith?”
“It’s how it works in the thrift business. Faith and little cash,” she says with a wink.
She pulls out another dress, this one a simple black sheath. “Try this on too,” she insists, pushing me toward a row of curtained cubicles in the back. “I’ll find you shoes.”
