The photos on the wall? They captured every milestone. The trophies in the corner? Proof of how far I’d come. And the costumes in the closet? Each one carried a memory.
I walked to the mirror and stared at my reflection.
My black training outfit is faded now. It used to be my favorite. I still remember the day I bought it—Ulysses was there with me, helping me pick it out.
“This looks perfect on you,” he said, adjusting my collar. “When you’re standing on a big stage someday, you’ve got to wear the most stunning costume.”
I was 13 back then, full of dreams about the future.
I really thought that as long as I worked hard enough, those dreams would come true.
But now? All those hopeful expectations have completely fallen apart.
I started packing my clothes, one piece at a time.
I hesitated when I got to the costume Ginger had accused me of plagiarizing. I stared at it for a long time before deciding to take it.
I’d poured my heart and soul into that design. Even if I couldn’t clear my name right now, I wasn’t going to leave it behind.
Halfway through packing, I suddenly remembered my notebook.