Page 67 of Colliding with Ten

I’d been dealing with it my entire life. In ballet studios, casting notes carried subtext. Corrections were more about my body than my technique. I’d spent years learning not to let someone’s small imagination dictate the size of mine. I had learned to eat when I was hungry and stop when I wasn’t—to stand in the sun when it felt good. That work had been some of the hardest I’d ever done, harder than any split sequence or recovery protocol, and I wasn’t about to hand it over to a comment section.

“People are mean and hateful,” she said.

“Some of them,” I agreed. “The rest are bored.”

My chest was crumbling, and I had a massive headache. Meadow placed her hand over mine as my breathing picked up. She understood better than most. Meadow was biracial too, both black and Hispanic. We had similar skin tones and hair textures, but I was much taller and leaner than she was. She had a fuller, curvier shape.

I was two seconds from throwing Meadow’s phone across the room when my phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at the screen, and it was Lennox. I couldn’t believe it as I opened the text. Meadow’s eyebrows shot up when she leaned over and saw the name. I shook my head at her. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

Lennox offered to shut it down, but nobody could shut down the internet, and we both knew that. But the fact that he’d asked made a difference in how I felt. The conversation ended, and Meadow was trying not to explode.

“Don’t say anything,” I said, trying to hold back my smile and failing.

She smiled back. “All I’ll say is that you looked relaxed during that conversation.”

Hearing from him had put things back in perspective. The comments were still there, and they still stung, but they were smaller now.

AJ walked in, back from his team meeting, with his tablet under his arm. He looked at us. “What's wrong?”

Meadow pointed at me. “Your sister broke the internet.”

AJ quirked a brow. “Again?”

I grabbed my phone and left the room, not wanting to talk about it. These viral videos were putting my life into a tailspin.

The next day, when AJ asked what happened with Monroe and me, I told him the truth. We’d bumped into each other at the airport and talked. I didn’t blame him for asking. He had just vouched for me with the team. His concern was valid, but it was eased once I explained it. Now I just had to ensure the videos didn’t erode the trust I was just starting to build in the training room.

The next Monday afternoon, a call came in from a brand I had never worn before. The woman on the other end introduced herself as a partnership director at Forge and Flight. She was professional and got straight to the point.

They’d seen the viral videos and wanted to build a campaign around two recovered athletes. They thought the dynamic between Lennox and me could sell. It was flattering to think I could influence anyone to buy anything. Heat crawled up my neck as she described the plans she had for both of us together.

“Why me?”

There was a brief pause. “We think you’re the right fit for the story we’re trying to tell.”

That was a PR answer.

“What are the terms?”

She told me, and I asked her to repeat the number. When she did, I laughed so loud that it startled Meadow.

“I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

She did. My knees went weak. I plopped down on the couch.

Across the room, AJ looked concerned. “What is it?”

Ignoring him, I stared at the blank television and thought about what that number would mean. I started listing them. School. Certifications. A new place. A new start. I cleared my throat, trying to sound like someone used to being offered obscene amounts of money for existing.

“I’d need to look at the contract.”

“Of course. We can have it to you by the end of the day.”

“And I’d need to confirm the schedule doesn’t conflict with my current commitments.”

“Understood. The shoot is in New York for one day.”

I could be available for one day. “Alright. Send the contract.”