Chose to kiss in public.How the fuck is an empty hallway a public space? I replay the scene in my mind, but the pieces don’t fit together quite right. Asher wouldn’t make a mistake like that, especially if he wanted to keep his relationship private. He’s been in this business since he was born. He knows how to avoid paparazzi, which means…
Did someone set them up? But who? And why?
Marissa’s words wash over me like distant echoes, lost in the static that fills my mind. I started this. I need to put an end to it.
When we try to exit the studio later in the day, a swarm of paparazzi surrounds the building. The moment they catch sight of me, they press forward, attempting to breach the doors, but security stops them. With no other choice, we escape into the parking lot, and I squeeze into the cramped trunk of Marissa’s car. She drives us out of there, darkness enveloping me like a protective cloak as I lay my head on a blanket Shirley lent me for comfort. It should feel suffocating, being stuck in a trunk like I’ve been kidnapped, but the world is quiet and dark, and the steady rhythm of the roadsoothes me, so I drift off to sleep. It’s like my brain needs to reboot. I don’t know how to process all of this—the pictures, the comments, Marissa’s words.
The jolt of a speed bump and a text from Shirley forces me awake.i know you’re going through a lot, and i can’t tell you what to do because i know shit about PR. but if you ever want to talk, or continue our conversation, i’m always in the studio. and in case you need to get your mind off things, we’re holding an emergency puzzle night this friday. you’re more than welcome to stop by.
I smile. They really are like an older sibling.
My street is quiet when I step out of Marissa’s trunk, no paparazzi in sight. I stretch my arms and crack my hips back into place, feeling some tension release from my muscles. Thankfully the press doesn’t know where I live—Marissa probably put out a fake address to confuse them—but it’s only a matter of time before they find out. Fame is eating me up. Soon it will eat up my home, too. I need to ask my moms to take Sonia somewhere safe.
“Sash. Are you listening?” Sonia’s voice snaps me from my stupor when I walk through the door. I need a shower. I probably smell like whatever was in Marissa’s trunk—fast-food leftovers and spilled energy drinks. “There’s someone waiting for you in your room—”
Her frown deepens, and she looks uneasy.
A knot forms in my stomach.Asher. Kai.
I don’t wait to hear the end of her sentence before rushing upstairs. My hand trembles as I push the door open, but when I look inside, it’s not either of them in front of me.
“Hey,” Mia greets me. She sits on my bed with one of my plushies in her lap. It’s an identical octopus to the one she has in her room, the one I won for us in the claw machine after trying for weeks.
It feels like forever ago.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. We haven’t talked in weeks, and she hasn’t tried to call. Neither have I. But it hurts to think about her. It hurts to remember the things we said.
“Your sister said I could wait for you.” Mia’s gaze meets mine with a softness that tugs at my heart. “I should have chased you that night, not him. I’m sorry.” She’s not even switching to Spanish, and it creates this strange distance between us.
“I shouldn’t have left like that,” I say, voice strained with regret. “I’m sorry.”
My notes are filled with things I wanted to say to her, but right now I can’t remember any of them.
“I’m sorrier.” Mia’s eyes glisten with tears. “I didn’t mean the things I said, Sasha. You’re not broken. I don’t think that.”
“Then why did you say it? Did you just want to hurt me?”
“I—” She hugs her knees to her chest, her hair falling around her face. A tear spills down her cheek, and I have to keep myself from wrapping my arms around her. I’m still hurt, but I’ve always had a low threshold when it comes to seeing other people cry, especially Mia. “I think… I think I was scared.”
“Scared?”
“Of being alone.” She pushes the words out in a rush. “College isn’t what I thought it would be. There are days when I barely talk to anyone outside of class. I have no real friends, and—”
“But you do have friends,” I say, confused. Mia’s always been popular, a natural at connecting with people. I’ve always envied that about her, the way everyone gravitates toward her. I’m the opposite; growing up, the only friends I ever made were the ones she had already befriended. I don’t even know if I would have gotten close to Kai if she hadn’t been in that group project.
“Friends who are not you,” she says. Her shoulders slump. “Or Kai. Or any of the people that matter. And it scares me. That this is going to be it for the rest of my life. Just… shallow friendships that come and go. Loneliness. I thought a partner was the only way out of that loneliness,” she chokes out. “It’s not an excuse, though. What I said to you is unforgivable, and I regretted it immediately. I guess you struck a chord when you said I was desperate to be with someone. I don’t know. I felt judged. I wish I could be like you.”
“Like me?”
“You’re not afraid to be alone.”
“I’m terrified of being alone,” I say. She blinks. “I’m just not scared of being single. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be loved, too.” I look down, unable to meet her eyes. “You made me feel like I wasn’t worthy of love.”
“You are. Fuck, you are. I’m so sorry, Sasha. You’re mybest friend, and I love you.” She sobs, clutching the octopus plushie like a lifeline. “You know I don’t think that.”
The worst part is, I know she doesn’t, because she’s my best friend. I’ve known her since we were in diapers, and I know her heart. A five-minute argument doesn’t erase years of friendship, but it still hurts. Every time I replay her words, it’s like I’m being stabbed with a rusty blade.
“You’re not broken, but maybe I am,” she says, locking eyes with me. “There’s a part of me that feels incomplete because I’m not with someone. I don’t know why, and I just… Ugh. Look at what I’m saying. I feel so stupid.” She groans in frustration, wiping at her cheeks.
