We each grab our own, and I slide the cardboard sleeve around my cup. Aaron leads the way to a corner booth that, by some miracle, sits empty. He slides in first, back to the wall, leaving me the seat that faces the window. I sit, careful to keep a full hand’s width between us, but the table is so tiny our knees almost touch anyway.
“You okay?” he asks, softer now.
I fidget and spin the cardboard sleeve around my cup. My name is spelled right, but the “S” has a tiny devil tail, like the barista knew more than she should. “I’m fine,” I lie. “Just… a lot on my mind, I guess.”
Aaron nods, sips his coffee, and lets the silence settle. It’s not awkward, exactly, but it’s dense. Potential energy, waiting.
I glance out the window at a trio of sorority girls gossiping on the patio, their laughter muffled by the glass. I wonder what it’s like to be that easy in public, to have your inside and outside always match up. My reflection in the glass is a blur, hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes framed by smudged lenses. I look like someone who’s been run through a centrifuge and left to dry on the slide.
Aaron sets his cup down. “You ever think about just… starting over?”
I stare at him, unsure if it’s a trick question.
He shrugs. “Like, not ditching everything. Just… hitting reset. Getting out from under your own reputation.”
I swallow. “Sometimes.”
He leans in, voice dropping. “I mean, I love my friends, but sometimes I feel like I’m stuck playing the same character every day. Even when I want to be someone else, no one lets me.”
I nod, but my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. The coffee burns my hands even through the sleeve, but I grip it tighter.
He keeps going. “That’s why I kept looking for her, you know? Jessica. It was like… someone hit reset on me. Like I got to be a version of myself no one expected.” He laughs, but it’s soft, almost embarrassed. “It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
I shake my head. “It’s not stupid.”
He watches me, and for a heartbeat I feel like I could drown in the attention. “What about you?” he asks. “Anyone ever make you feel like you could be different?”
I want to tell him yes. I want to say, You did. But the words evaporate before they hit my teeth.
Instead, I stare at the table, fingers tapping out a nervous Morse code. I feel like if I look at him too long, he’ll see right through me.
He waits, patient. No pressure, just open space.
I take a breath, then another, then blurt: “I need to tell you something.”
Aaron’s eyebrows go up, but he just nods. “Go for it.”
I grip the cup so hard it creaks. “It’s about Jessica,” I say, then immediately want to take it back.
He remains silent, waiting.
I try again. “The party. The contest. The kissing closet.”
Aaron leans in, elbows on the table, face suddenly serious. “Yeah?”
My mouth goes dry as sand. “It was—” My voice cracks. I start over. “I didn’t mean for it to get this far. Or for you to…”
He reaches across the table, hand hovering halfway, then pulls it back, uncertain. “Hey. Whatever it is, you can just say it. I promise I won’t freak out.”
I can’t look at him. I stare at the swirl of light reflected in my coffee, the way it warps and bends, never holding steady. My hands shake so hard I almost spill the cup.
“It was me,” I say, voice barely a whisper.
He doesn’t move.
I force the next words out, one at a time. “I was Jessica. At the party. It was a bet. Hunter and Sara—they set it up. The dress, the wig, the makeup. The contest. I didn’t think anyone would…” I trail off, lost in the erratic beat of my own heart.
Aaron sits motionless, eyes locked on me. I wait for him to laugh, or yell, or stand up and walk out. Instead, he just sits there, coffee steaming between us, the silence stretching so tight I feel like I might snap in two.
