Chapter 4

I walked to the school gate where a girl in a school uniform blocked my path.

She was holding a cardboard box with a printed photo taped to it. The photo showed a girl with a ponytail wearing dance clothes, smiling brightly.

"Excuse me, Rachel from the dance team at Clearwater High next door was in a serious car accident. She's completely paralyzed now and can only lie in bed. We're raising donations for her. Could you contribute?"

I stared at the girl's face in the photo.

"What's her current condition?"

The girl's eyes reddened.

"The doctor said her spinal damage is too severe. She won't be able to stand for the rest of her life. She's only sixteen. Her fundamentals used to be the best on our team. Now forget dancing—she can't even get out of bed."

"We're fundraising just to help her be more comfortable in the hospital."

I said nothing and pulled out my phone to scan the QR code on the box, making a transfer.

The girl looked at the amount and froze for a full five seconds.

"You... you donated twenty thousand?"

"Which hospital is she in?"

"City Central Hospital, Rehabilitation Building, third floor."

I made note of the address.

I bought a basket of fruit and took a cab to the hospital.

When I pushed open the hospital room door, Rachel was propped against the raised head of her bed reading an old textbook. From the neck down she was covered with a thin blanket, and the outline beneath it was frighteningly thin.

She saw me enter and blinked.

"Who are you here to see?"

"You." I placed the fruit on her bedside table. "My name's Emma. I'm from the same city, studying dance at Greenwood Arts High. I heard about what happened to you, so I wanted to come see you."

Rachel tried to sit up straighter. I quickly stepped forward to adjust her bed.

"Thank you. You dance too?"

"Yeah."

She stared at me for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled. That smile was identical to the one in the photo, but her cheeks had hollowed out significantly.

"I used to dance too. Not anymore. The teacher says it nicely—calls it 'temporary recovery.' Really it means I never have to come back."

I glanced at the cabinet in the corner of the room. Old things were piled on top—yellowed resistance bands, worn knee pads, and a pair of old pointe shoes with a name written in marker on the surface.

Rachel.

"Are these all things you used before?"

"Yeah. My mom wanted to throw them out but I wouldn't let her. They don't mean anything really, just keeping them for memories."

I opened the bag of new dance supplies I'd bought from the school store and placed a complete set of brand-new stationery, workbooks, and wireless earbuds on her bedside table.

"These are for you. Don't just lie around in the hospital doing nothing. Listen to some lessons, read some books."

Rachel looked a bit embarrassed.

"This is too expensive."

"Keep them." I pointed to the cabinet in the corner. "You won't use those old things anymore. I'll help you get rid of them so you don't have to keep feeling sad looking at them."

She hesitated, then nodded.

"That's probably for the best. Seeing them there hurts every time. Go ahead and throw them away for me."

I stuffed all of Rachel's old dance shoes, old resistance bands, and old knee pads into my backpack.

Walking out of the hospital entrance, I pulled out those old pointe shoes to look at them. The soles were worn thin, the satin surface had sweat stains, and the ribbons showed curved creases from being tied in dead knots and untied.

These were shoes worn by a girl who would never stand again.

Sophie, this is the fate I've prepared for you.

Early the next morning, as soon as I entered the practice room, Sophie caught up and grabbed my arm.

"Emma, I'm sorry about yesterday. I already returned the ankle support to Ethan. Please don't be mad anymore, okay?"

"Mm."

Seeing my cold tone, she quickly changed her expression and rubbed her hands together awkwardly.

"I forgot my dance shoes in the dorm today and there's no time to go back before fundamentals class. Could you lend me a pair?"

Afraid I'd refuse, she sped up, adding urgently.

"I don't need your expensive ones. I'll wear whatever you give me. Old ones are fine, worn-out ones are fine."

I didn't refuse.

I pulled out the old pointe shoes I'd taken from Rachel's hospital room yesterday and handed them to her.

"Here. You don't need to return them."

Sophie hadn't expected me to be so agreeable today. All her prepared words stuck in her throat. She stared at the old shoes for two seconds—the surface was somewhat worn, but the size was about right for her.

I made to take them back.

"If you think they're too old, forget it."

She snatched them away and clutched them to her chest.

"I don't mind. I just didn't expect you to be so generous. Thank you, Emma."

Lily in the back row heard this and leaned back with her arms crossed, tilting her head at Sophie.

"What do you mean 'didn't expect'? When has Emma not been generous? But you—yesterday people caught you wearing her boyfriend's ankle support, and today you have the nerve to come borrow shoes?"

Sophie's face flushed. She waved her hands frantically.

"That's not what I meant. Lily, don't misunderstand. She didn't lend me shoes yesterday, so I thought she wouldn't today either. I'm actually really grateful to Emma."

Ethan saw me lend out the shoes and walked over, tugging at his collar, his face showing a kind of restrained excitement. He couldn't resist a sarcastic jab.

"They're just old shoes. Was it really necessary to make such a big fuss yesterday?"

I rolled my eyes at him.