I did not write back

The email said Cynthia sent another one. It said Bella wants a meeting first. Before any July shoot.

I read it on the train. My hands went cold.

I wanted to type back fast. I wanted to make them happy. Say yes, say fine, be good. I sat on my own hands so I would not.

I walked home slow. I stopped at the bodega. I bought one tulip. It was the same pink as my palette. I do not know why I did that. I just needed to hold something pretty that no one picked out for me.

Now I am home. My sketch is on the wall above the table. It is taped up crooked. I do not care.

They are reading my quiet. I am reading my own heart. I think I am still here. I think I am.