"That's an exaggeration."
"Your father timed it. It was fifty-three minutes."
I pull a pillow over my face. The door opens anyway, and Mom appears with a tray containing toast, water, and what looks like some kind of hangover cure that probably tastes like pre-made vomit.
"Eat," she commands, setting the tray on my nightstand. "You'll feel better."
"I'll feel better when I'm dead."
"So dramatic. Just like your father." She sits on the edge of my bed, smoothing my hair back from my face. "You were crying about Victor last night."
My throat threatens to close. "I was not."
"You were. You kept saying 'I love him and I ruined everything.'"
"That sounds like something drunk-Harper would say. Sober-Harper has no memory of this."
"Hmm. Well, sober-Harper should eat toast and drink water. And maybe check her phone. It's been buzzing for the past hour."
"It's probably just Margot checking if I'm alive."
"It's not Margot." Mom stands, heading toward the door. "Your father and I are going to church. There's leftover tourtière in the fridge if you want real food. And Harper?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever you did last night—whoever you texted—it's not the end of the world. Mistakes can be fixed."
She leaves before I can ask what that means. I stare at the ceiling for exactly thirty seconds before my curiosity wins over my fear.
I grab my phone.
Twelve missed calls. Forty-three text messages. Sixty-two notifications from social media.
What the hell?
I open my messages.
MARGOT: HARPER. CALL ME. NOW.
MARGOT: Are you seeing this???
MARGOT: I'm coming over.
AMELIA: OMG OMG OMG HARPER CHECK STREAMEATS
AMELIA: I'm on my honeymoon and I'm literally SCREAMING
EMILY CHEN: Harper. You need to see what Victor just did. Call me.
SIENNA (roommate): Um. Your husband just broke the internet. Check StreamEats. NOW.
My heart starts racing.
I open StreamEats with shaking hands.
And there, at the top of the homepage, is a new Weeknight Wins episode.
Posted twenty-seven minutes ago.
