“This one time, when I was in Singapore with Savannah Miranda, we accidentally got talked into going clubbing with some K-pop stars that I’m not allowed to name, and we were, like, up partying for six days straight, and I thought I was going to die, but then I got like three nights of decent sleep, and I was fine.”
Her cheek twitches. “You know it’s annoying when you vapid-social-media-star me, right?”
“Like,Phoebe. I can’t help who I am.”
“I was going to offer to help you clean that sink, but now ...”
I wave a hand at her. “I know, I know. You have a lumberjack in need of a blow job.”
“And now I’m thinking about you thinking about my sex life.”
“Not that different from doing a reality show together.”
We stare at each other, then both grimace.
She wasn’t as into the whole reality TV experience as I was, and I knew it. But I also knew Phoebe could do anything she set her mind to, and I had no idea what I was doing in college, but I knew my way around a makeup kit and a selfie stick, and if that was what I had, that was what I’d use.
“Never again,” she says.
I nod in agreement. Never again with Phoebe. Not as Lola’s lackey. “Not even if Gigi says it’s what I have to do next to save my soul.”
And then the weirdest thing happens.
Phoebe hugs me.
“I worry about you,” she says. “If you need help, you know where to find me. No strings, okay? I know I’ve spent most of my life wanting to be Gigi, but not anymore. Cross my heart. I just want to get to knowmy sister and help her when she’s struggling. I know it’s weird, but it’s also true.”
She smells like peaches, and even though the hug should be awkward, it’s not.
I likethisPhoebe.
But there’s still too much history with us not being the best versions of ourselves, and I still need to solve all my problems on my own.
Clean breaks don’t come with strings.
Money is strings.
Ihaveto do this on my own so that I’m never, ever beholden to my family again.
Chapter 13
Dylan
I’m settling into a dream about dancing sausages when my mother’s voice rings in my head. “Dylan? Dylan, honey, you have to wake up. You havevisitors. Dylan?Dylan.Oh my God, did you die? Are you dead?”
“I’m ’wake,” I mutter before she starts yelling for someone to call the ambulance.
“Your eyes aren’t open.”
“Give me a minute.”
“Do you want some soup? Or some fresh bread? I know you love fresh bread. I’ll go make some. But you need to wake up. It’s been thirty minutes.”
I pry one eyelid open.
Light streams in through my bedroom window. Still daytime.
Mom bends over and aims a flashlight directly in my eyeball. “Don’t close your eye, honey. I need to make sure you’re dilating properly.”
