Chapter 7
The next morning, school felt different.
People stared.
Some with pity.
Some with respect.
Some with hunger for gossip.
I hated all three.
By third period, the video had leaked.
Not by me.
Not by Lily.
Probably someone who had recorded the judges’ reaction or overheard enough backstage.
Clips spread fast.
Brooke slipping the tack.
Brooke saying poor girls are used to pain.
My performance.
My shoe coming off.
The tack dropping on stage.
By lunch, everyone knew.
Brooke’s social media disappeared.
Her mother issued a statement calling it “a misunderstanding between competitive young women.”
Ms. Alvarez showed it to me.
I almost laughed.
A misunderstanding.
The favorite word of people caught on video.
My mother did not laugh.
She called a lawyer.
Her name was Alicia Grant.
She had represented restaurant workers, students, and families who did not have the money to be heard the first time.
When she met us, she looked at my foot first.
Then at my mother.
Then at me.
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“You are not overreacting,” she said.
I had not realized I needed to hear that until I cried.
