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Chapter1
Morgan Bentley
I’m so glad you’re ok!
OMG, we miss you! So glad you’re ok!
What happened? Did you die?
Did Morgan Bentley survive?
Morgan is totally using this whole accident thing for attention.
Appalling.
Gross.
So disrespectful.
Poor Anika! Poor Lily! And Brooklyn! Morgan probably hates that she didn’t get the same attention they did.
Bitch!
Ihaven’t made a single post since the accident last spring, yet the messages and comments on my social media platforms still pour in, the toxic outweighing the positive by a hundred to one. There were four of us in that car, four joyful faces that still smile back at me from the past. My last post was a photo from that night, only hours before my friend Anika veered off the bridge and our car hurtled into the river. She was beautiful in this captured moment, though something clearly had her distracted and a little upset. That was Anika—the best of herself even if she wasn’t feeling up to it. She was always beautiful—from the inside out—in a way I aspired to be.
She had a seizure. It wasn’t her fault. And now she’s gone.
Life can change in a blink.
I’ve read that sentiment in memes and on T-shirts and stickers hundreds of times. It didn’t sit as truth until I lived it. Until I blinked.
The three of us who survived promised to stay strong for each other and remain together because that’s what Anika would have wanted. Brooklyn was the closest with Anika, and seeing her struggle after almost losing her leg in the accident breaks me because I’m not Anika. I try—I’ve been trying. I can’t seem to inspire her the way Anika would have, though. I can’t seem to inspire anyone. Lily needs someone to push her, but I lack the finesse our friend had. I’m brash. I bully, even when I don’t mean to. It’s how I was raised. That’s how love is shown in the Bentley house, or at least that’s the excuse my mom makes when my dad barks at me rather than taking the time to listen.
It's easier to talk to Brooklyn than it is Lily, who was the newest to our friend group. Anika introduced us. And she’s right that Lily fits us. We need her. And I think she needs us. I only wish she knew me before I was broken. This version of me isn’t right. Things that were so important before are rather empty to me now. Yet it all used to give me so much joy. Shoes, clothes, new clubs and restaurants—the glitz. Being first to try things. Being the one to determine what was worthy and what was not. Deciding for the masses.
Empty.
This path I’ve carved is totally narcissistic. I know it is. But social media is the times, and I’d be foolish not to capitalize on the opportunity. If there’s one thing Daddy has taught me it’s that making money is always good business . . .when it’s legal. He always adds that last part in with a chuckle to show he’s kidding. I’m not sure he is, though. I get the sense that my father’s business has had a lot of experience on both sides of the law. I’d like to think he’s never crossed a hard line, but I’m not stupid enough to believe he hasn’t blurred them over the years.
I figured out during junior high that I had a window to become something—someone. That’s when I started growing my brand. My family is a name in this city thanks to my father’s business, which means I have access to places few people do. I’m an automatic invite for any club, party, or exclusive event happening in Boston—assuming our family isn’t already hosting it.
It all started with a selfie I took on the T on my way to a Louis Vuitton gala out on the Cape. Looking back at that image now is laughable. I felt so grown up . . .at twelve!Maybe that was the appeal, a child playing grownup in the city. Other pre-teens flocked to it, and then it spread to high schoolers and college students. Before the year was up, I was followed by some of my favorite celebrities. All because I rode a train by myself to a party I didn’t truly want to go to. I was supposed to go with my dad, but per the norm, he was too busy and thought it would be rude if I didn’t show up since he “forced them to make an exception for me.”Ha!Now I’m the preferred Bentley guest and my dad is the one they allow in attendance because having me there puts their event on the social map.
The invites still come. I’m surprised the demand for my presence has held up despite my months-long absence. I read the comments. While the haters have grown bolder—louder—the digital landscape still craves me. Being gone has somehow stirred mystery and anticipation. And here I am, simply without anything to say. No motive. Just . . . empty.
“Earth to Morgan.” Brooklyn snaps in my face, interrupting my gaze. I’ve been flipping through other people’s posts, trying to look normal.
“Sorry, I was spacing.” I click my screen off and flatten my phone screen-side down on my thigh. “What did I miss?”
Besides everything for the last hundred days.
“Me and Lily are hungry. Are you ready for dinner?” Brooklyn grabs her crossbody bag from the hook she put up on the back of our door while Lily throws on a Welles sweatshirt. The normal thing to do would be to join them.
“Starving,” I lie. My appetite since the accident has been on the level of picking at my food. I came through with nothing more than cuts and bruises, but I was also hollowed out.
I straighten out my skirt when I stand and give my lips a quick check in the mirror by our door before I walk out. I touch up the gloss before letting the door fall closed behind me, then step between my two roommates and link arms with them. This is the kind of thing Anika would do, and maybe it’s a small part I can play.
It’s only the first week of the new school year at Welles. I managed to get my section of our room put together completely, including my pin board and all the photos that go on it. I thought being surrounded by my things would help turn back the clock. Time seems to keep moving forward, though.
