Chapter 3

I called Michael an asshole then. I told him to get the hell out. And then I ate every last bite, cursing him between mouthfuls.

Funny how being low turned even my good memories into something that stung.

I knocked the bag out of his hand. Coffee hit the pavement, hot and splashing. The pastries scattered across the ground like they meant nothing.

Everyone passing by stopped and stared.

Michael's face turned completely dark. "Emily, that's enough."

I looked up at him, my voice airy and almost careless. "That's enough? Michael, remember what you did to me? This is just the start."

Without another word, I brushed past him and walked away. As I reached the classroom building, my phone buzzed again.

It was a message from the student council group, saying, "The audition list for the honor graduate promo video will be announced at 10 AM."

I stopped, stared at that line for a couple seconds, and suddenly wanted to laugh.

Michael and Sophie were both on the list. And so was I.

The wind blew in from the end of the hallway, messing up the loose strands of hair on my forehead.

I ran my fingers over the pearl earrings in my ears. Michael had given them to me last year. But now, I suddenly didn't want to wear them.

I stood by the trash can, pulled them out, and tossed them in. Then I walked over to the promo office.

They were all so fond of their performances. I would give them one worthy of the stage. But this time, whoever broke first would lose.

*****

At ten in the morning, the promo office was packed.

The AC was busted, the windows propped open, and whistles from the playground kept drifting in. The heat mixed with the smell of disinfectant.

When I pushed the door open, the whole room went silent for a second.

I couldn't blame them. The coffee-drenched breakup drama outside the guys' dorm last night probably already made its way through half the school.

I never got nervous in scenes like this. Honestly, I wanted them to witness that.

I wanted them to know that the star of the show had arrived, and today's drama was about to kick off.

I picked a seat by the window and had just set my notebook down when someone gently tapped my arm.

"Emily, are you okay?"

It was Sophie. She had her hair in a low ponytail and was wearing a beige knit sweater. Her face was pale, and her eyes were puffy, like she was the one who'd been heartbroken last night.

I stared at her for three seconds and then smiled. "If you feel that guilty, why not just kneel before you start to talk?"

Her face stiffened, and her lips trembled a little.

A few people nearby immediately turned to look.

Sophie was a pro at this. Her eyes would instantly turn red, and everyone would automatically feel sorry for her.

Sure enough, a girl in the back couldn't help but speak up, "Emily, Sophie's just worried about you."

I turned to look at her. "Why don't you shut up?"

The girl choked, her face turning bright red.

The promo office door swung open again.

Michael walked in, rocking a white shirt and black pants, his hair all messy like he barely slept, annoyance written all over his face. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me, and when he noticed Sophie sitting next to me, his face fell even harder.

I nearly laughed out loud. Both the pick-me bitch and the jerk were here for the party.

The instructor walked in with the audition list and knocked on the podium. "Quiet down, everyone. Auditions will be in order."

I flipped open my notebook, not even bothering to look up.

The first few rounds were painfully dull—blocking, self-introductions, camera tests, mock interviews, all the same old stuff. By the time the eighth person went up, I'd already figured out what I wanted for lunch.

Then the instructor called out, "Sophie Lane."

As she stood up, her skirt brushed lightly against my knee.

I didn't move.

She walked up to the camera, looked up, and gave a gentle and pure smile. "Hello, everyone. I'm Sophie Lane."

Her voice was soft, her pronunciation was crisp, and her posture was flawless. Even the way she folded her hands in front of her looked like she'd practiced it a thousand times.

The guy in charge of filming lit up, turning to whisper, "She's got it down."

Of course. Sophie had been faking it for so long that it was basically muscle memory by now.

The instructor asked, "Who meant the most to you during college?"

Sophie paused, her eyes crinkling with a soft smile. "My friends, and the person who found me when I had nowhere else to turn."

As she spoke, she flicked a glance at Michael. Just a quick one, nothing anyone could pin down. But it lingered just long enough to make people wonder.

A few people in the office started snickering and making teasing noises.

I leaned back in my chair, my heart feeling frozen. The one who found her?

Suddenly, I remembered freshman year. Sophie had a stomach spasm in the middle of the night, breaking out in cold sweat from the pain. I was the one who carried her to the hospital.

When the doctor asked for a family member to sign, I stood at the ER window in my slippers, teeth chattering, snapping at the nurse, "I, at this moment, am her family."

When she woke up, she hugged me, crying, and said, "Emily, you're the best."

Looking back now, those words were hollow, empty things that crumbled the moment I tried to hold them.

The instructor looked pleased and nodded. "Alright, next up, Michael Reed."

Michael stood up and walked over to the camera, and the energy in the room changed in a heartbeat.

Michael was born to be in front of the camera. Just standing there, he looked like he was starring in a commercial.

The instructor smiled and asked, "So, what kind of girls are your type?"

The classroom fell silent in an instant. Everyone turned to look at him.

Whenever this kind of question came up, he'd always shoot me a look, either openly or subtly, trying to get under my skin. He'd say things like, "Definitely not someone like Emily. Always talking tough, heart as cold as ice, and totally untamable."

Everyone would laugh, and I'd play along, trading insults with him. But under the table, he'd hook his pinky with mine, signaling me not to actually get mad.

I couldn't even be bothered to look at him today. Still, his gaze found me, so intense that it made my face freeze up.

A few seconds later, he finally spoke, "Someone quiet and sweet. And someone who doesn't always butt heads with me."