So did Arden.
For a moment, the old reflex returned.
Smile.
Match.
Perform.
Instead, Arden looked at Avery.
Avery looked at Arden.
Then they both laughed.
Not for the strangers.
For themselves.
The woman looked confused and kept walking.
Arden shook her head. “That used to feel like oxygen.”
“What?”
“Being recognized.”
Avery looked down the street.
“What does it feel like now?”
Arden thought about it.
“Like a doorbell ringing at a house I don’t live in anymore.”
Avery smiled.
“That’s a good line.”
“I’ve been practicing having original thoughts.”
Avery laughed again.
This time, it came easily.
Two months later, Avery received an invitation to speak at a national youth arts conference. The topic was identity and creative ownership. She almost declined, afraid the story would follow her forever.
Then she realized she could decide how to tell it.
That was the difference.
At the conference, a teenage girl approached her after the talk.
The girl had a twin sister waiting shyly near the wall.
“My mom wants us to start a channel,” the girl said. “My sister wants to. I don’t. I thought that made me mean.”
Avery looked at both girls.
Their faces were similar but not identical. One had nervous fingers. The other had hopeful eyes. Neither was wrong for wanting what she wanted.
Avery crouched slightly so her voice felt private.
“It doesn’t make you mean,” she said. “It makes you honest. Love should be big enough for two different answers.”
The girl began to cry.
Her sister came over and took her hand.
Not to hold her down.
To stand with her.
Avery watched them walk away together, talking softly.
read more in next page
