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This time I full-on rolled my eyes. Fortunately, I was still near the back of the room with my tray of champagne, and nobody would be able to see me.

She asked if anyone had any questions, and hands went up. She called on a girl who looked around her age, probably a friend or acquaintance. “Do you have any tips for someone else looking to become an entrepreneur like you?” she asked earnestly.

Emerson Leigh’s face glowed as she answered just as earnestly. “I threw everything I had into this business, making it my full-time work from the beginning. You really have to be willing to commit yourself to your passion if you want to make it work.” The people around me were nodding as if she weren’t speaking an entire alien language. “Your time is precious. Keep it for yourself; don’t give it to someone else. And work hard. That’s what I did, and it’s basically all you need.”

I didn’t just roll my eyes at that, I rolled my entire body, my right hand flying up to cradle my head.

Unfortunately, I forgot that I was holding a tray of champagne. All eyes turned toward me at the crash, at the waterfall of liquid turning my mustard dress to gold—just kidding, to darker mustard. The glasses were plastic, so they didn’t break, but they did go everywhere, creating a circle of space around me that put me even more in the spotlight.

My face flamed. “Sorry,” I whispered, patting down my front like that might dry it. Nobody stooped to pick up the cups, and I couldn’t bring myself to crouch down and scoop all that wet plastic into my arms as the entire room watched me, a bug under a microscope.

Emerson Leigh let out a tinkling laugh a few notes higher than her usual one. “That’s okay! Don’t worry!” The room was still looking at me. My skin crawled. I wished she’d just look away and start talking about something else, taking the focus off me and this terrible wet dress, but she said kindly, as if she were doing me a favor, “Julie, do you want to ask me for any advice? I know you’re trying hard to make your own little business work.”

The flames spread from my face down my body, igniting in my chest and stomach.

I just want to make it clear: I knew as soon as the words started coming out of my mouth that what I was saying was rude and unnecessary. But I was on fire, furious at her and Bennett and her and mostly Bennett for making me feel small, for making me feel less than, for making me feel like they were better than I could ever be because of the sheer accident of birth. “Sure, I’ll ask for some advice.” My voice carried around the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. “Do you have any advice for someone who wasn’t born with a massive family fortune? Who can’t decide to quit their job and start a ridiculous business on a whim because they don’t have parents who can pay their rent and invest in their ridiculous business?” I paused. “Did you even think about me working here tonight, or did you just assume? I don’t work for you, but you assumed I’d be here working anyway. I have a life, too. Does that even matter to you?”

Emerson Leigh’s face fell. Her lower lip trembled.

I was a terrible, terrible person.

“Sorry,” I said, but somehow my apology seemed to come out quieter than my questions. “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

I suddenly caught sight of Mr. Decker in the crowd. I realized that, under his crystallized O of surprise, he’d taken my advice. Worn the charcoal gray jacket and pink tie with normal matching gray pants. When I looked back up, his face was darkening with fury.

Okay. Time to flee.

I spun toward the exit and stopped short. Because there was Bennett, his face red and sweaty, looking as shocked as everybody else. For a moment I wanted to run into his arms for a hug, and then my heart hardened. Screw him. I might be terrible, but he was more terrible. I bolted out of there, down the stairs, and out into the warm night.

I slowed when I made it around the block, because running in stiff ballet flats was not comfortable. I hobbled the last few steps then braced myself against the crumbling brick wall of a tenement building, turning my shoe sole up to check out the gum and rocks and other debris that had stuck themselves to it. In the cool night air my dress was cold and clammy, clinging to my body and making me shiver.

The reality of what I’d done was just beginning to sink in amid the laughs and cheers of NYU students striding out on their way to dinner like they owned the world. I sighed heavily, letting the back of my head rest against the building, too. My hair was going to be so gross later.

My phone dinged. I didn’t even want to look at it. I didn’t know whether I’d rather it be a text from someone like Bennett or Emerson Leigh who’d just witnessed what I’d done, or a blithely ignorant text from someone like my brother showing off how many tacos he was about to eat. But I couldn’t resist. I raised it up to my face, letting it do the passive work on unlocking it.

Mr. Decker. Julie, I’m shocked by your display. Needless to say, you’re fired for gross insubordination. I’ll have your things shipped to you.

I lowered my phone, eyes shockingly dry. Well, that was both surprising and obvious at the same time.

“Unemployed.” I tested out the word. It was almost sweet. “No more health insurance.” Well, that one was decidedly more bitter.

“Julie?”

Bennett.

I didn’t have the energy to yell or cry or run away. I was all yelled out and cried out and painful shoed out. I just sighed again. “What do you want?”

He shifted back on his heels. His arms hung loosely by his sides, his palms facing toward me as if in supplication. He cleared his throat but then didn’t say anything.

I sighed once more. I was going to sigh out all the air in my body at this point, suffocate to death right here on the sidewalk across from a bong shop.

All I wanted was to nestle into his arms, for him to whisper into the top of my head that everything would be okay.

He didn’t come near me. Probably wisely. “Julie,” he said again, taking a deep breath. “Julie. I’m sorry.”

If I had feathers, they’d be bristling right now. “Sorry for what? For writing an article for the Scroll about how frivolous and dumb and ridiculous influencers like me are? Or just for leaving your outline for the article sitting on your desk where I could see it?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said in a rush.