38. KAVI

38

KAVI

When most of the dressing room empties, a man wearing a badge comes up to me. "I don't remember a new social media manager starting."

I'm gulping. "I'm not one."

"But she can be," Sonya interjects, coming to stand beside me. "Do you have one for today?"

The man taps his chin. "We've been meaning to hire one."

"Give her a chance," begs Sonya.

He glances at my camera.

That's the problem. It makes me look so much better than what I am. Like if you have the right equipment, you must be great.

My throat burns.

Getting paid to photograph a few parties is one thing. Officially posting photos to the Wings' social media account is something entirely bigger and scarier.

So much pressure my bones could crack.

The man shrugs. "Fine. For today."

When he leaves, I turn to Sonya. "I'm not good enough."

"Who says?" she demands to know.

Tyler. My parents. Me.

She grips my shoulders rather fiercely. "You should be able to decide what you can and can't do. No one else should have the final say. Ask yourself, what's it going to be? What do you want in this moment?"

"I'm not sure…"

"I get that. It's more pressure, isn't it? Because if you let life be determined by yourself, it means it's up to you where you end up." Sonya sinks her teeth into her lip. "Trust me, I know. It's easier to hand over the responsibility to circumstances or to blame other people. They won't let me, they don't think it's right, they won't support me, they won't love me…"

Her words sound like experience. I don't know what her story is, but there is one. Just as there is a story behind the scar on Quinn's face.

I hold on to Sonya just as much as she holds my arms. "I think I'm scared. No—I know it. I'm scared."

She shakes me a little. "Obviously. People are paying attention to something that means a lot to you and something I bet you've put a lot of time into learning."

My hands go to my camera. "How do I stop being scared?"

She laughs. "Tell me when you find out."

We sit down on a bench and look around. Everyone left in a hurry. The game should be starting soon, and I could be there, in the stands, taking more photographs for their social media account. And yet, here I am, sweating in my clothes.

"For a while I used to consider myself trash," Sonya admits.

"You are not?—"

"No, wait. Hear me out. I thought it would help me beat stage fright if I thought I was shit."

"Wait. I should think I'm shit?"

She eyes me down. Everything about Sonya is intense energy. A woman who tells the man pursuing her that sex with her is like fucking a puppet just because she felt like it? It's amazing. She is someone I'd put next to a dictionary definition of maximum confidence, a woman who moves according to her own whims, and is suspicious of everyone.

I return her smile, but nervously, wondering if this is it. A real friend? I'm feeling safe and vulnerable at the same time.

"Don't think you are shit," she says loudly. "Think you are the shit, but even if you aren't already there, just know. Every artist—which you are—don't give me that look on your face—has felt the exact same way you have. Showing people your work is like standing on a box in the middle of an intersection and screaming about your deepest, darkest secrets. So if you didn't feel scared, that would be weird."

"It doesn't go away?"

Sonya pats my knee. "Occasionally, but the more personal your work is, the harder it is to put it out there. But… none of the stuff we do is perfect." She rolls up her cargo pants. Her leg is dotted with bruises. "I'm working on my Grand Jeté En Tournant, and I keep falling. And sometimes I hate getting up. I have to work up the nerve to go again. So I get it. What you must be feeling."

The camera around my neck has ballooned in weight, but hearing Sonya talk about her experience is… spurring me on. Could I fall and get back up? Should I just try? Maybe I can do this.

Tentatively, I stand. "Should we… go to the game?"

"Sure." Sonya slides off her seat. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but going to hockey games isn't excruciating when I'm with you."

I forget about pressure, about my work, about not having confidence. We spoke for ten minutes after everyone left, and I'm so buoyed right now. Sonya—possibly my real friend—didn't say these exact words, but I heard them.

I believe in you.

Can you believe in yourself already?