I chuckled and nudged his bicep with my fist. “My gut says you’ll be playing for them one day. I’m going to bed. You’re leaving early tomorrow, right?”
Javi yawned. “Yeah. Can’t miss training. And I miss Madrid.”
So did I—except I had nothing there anymore. Mom sold our apartment after Dad died, as if she couldn’t get rid of the memories fast enough.
“Buenas noches,” I said before heading to my room.
My mind stayed restless as I lay in bed. I grabbed my phone and typedRussell Demeriinto the search bar. His face popped up—tall, stern, close-cropped dark blond hair, a nose almost too big for his face. His personality was worse. What the hell did my mother ever see in him?
Images of the short time I’d spent in his house flickered behind my eyes, and without thinking, I typed another name.
Kaia Demeri.
The first time we met filled my mind. She’d been thirteen, a kid in a pink dress clutching a tattered copy ofThe Little Prince, staring at me with fear.
Kaia had been at summer camp the two times I visited my mother after moving here, but the few memories I had of her stayed strangely vivid.
Mom didn’t talk about her much, and Kaia hadn’t been on social media back then. Clearly, that’d changed. I stared at the screen, trying to reconcile the girl I remembered with the stunning one in the photo—a short black dress, hair long and wavy, falling over her shoulders in a glossy light-brown curtain.
I was wrong. Her blue eyes were the same. So was her smile.
At fifteen, I’d thought she was cute. Cute and lonely. I even felt guilty for leaving her—though my need to escape Russell and my mother had been stronger.
Now I was going back. I’d see her again, almost eighteen, and the thought stirred something in me.
Curiosity. Just that.
Before I knew it, I’d scrolled to the end of her Instagram feed. I tossed the phone aside and buried my face in the pillow.
She was still Russell’s daughter. And liking how she looked in pictures didn’t mean shit.
Or so I hoped.
CHAPTER TWO
Kaia
I’d been staring at the same page in my math textbook for at least half an hour. Things were supposed to click by now, but they didn’t. After scoring embarrassingly low on the PSATs last year and enduring an hour-long lecture from Dad, I’d tried to study more. Maybe it was time to accept some brains were wired differently. Mine adored words but loathed numbers.
I tossed my pen onto the desk with a heavy sigh. “I quit.”
Mandy rubbed her palms together. “Cool. I was already getting depressed just watching you study instead of partying on youreighteenthbirthday.”
I closed my notebook, bitterness rising in my throat. “Not by choice, Mandy.”
Of course I wanted a party. I’d rather go to the movies or dance than sit at home surrounded by textbooks and notes I didn’t understand. But I was grounded—punishment for my latest streak of bad grades.
Mandy hopped off my bed and padded to my closet. “Nah. You just need to be smarter.” She twirled in front of the mirrored door, admiring her reflection.
My stomach knotted. “Yeah, I know I’m not smart enough,” I said. “That’s why I’m spending my birthday studying.”
She giggled. “Not that kind of smart, silly. You’re the best in Spanish. That counts too.”
I snorted. To Dad, it didn’t.
“I just mean,” Mandy went on, “it wouldn’t kill you to pretend a little. Be fake-nice to Sharon and your father until you get what you want. Maybe your dad’s strict because he knows you hate his girlfriend.”
“Being fake would be exhausting. And I don’t hate her.”
