“I-I didn’t get the part.” Gemma sounded as if being passed over just didn’t happen to her.
Welcome to my world, Imani wanted to say. Instead she tossed an arm over Gemma’s shoulder, squeezing her in solidarity as they walked down the hall. “Don’t hate on Ming-ju, though. She’s cool. And she’s a really good dancer.”
“Imani, Ming-ju didn’t get the part either-”
“She didn’t?” The despair on Gemma’s face made Imani wonder if she’d ever looked that down and out. “I’ll tell you what, we’ll take turns listing all the reasons they made the wrong choice-”
Her words were cut short by the pounding of heavy foot falls that were loud enough to startle them both. A thundering herd of something was coming fast and frantic. Imani glanced over her shoulder only to be quickly engulfed in a crowd of well-wishers. They were screaming at her, saying her name. Her. Name. She was in the center of a whirling carousel of faces, many from the corps and a few soloists who were shouting, some of them with tears streaming down their faces and others with smiles wider than the Grand Canyon.
“I’m so happy for you-”
“This is freakin’ historic . . .”