“If it would help if you put Gage’s name on your application.”
“Pfft,please. I refuse to get in via the friend’s billionaire boyfriend loophole. This much fun deserves to earn her own visa.”
Bea didn’t argue. A year ago, she wouldn’t have listened either. But now? She knew what that name carried.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Claire propped her phone up, and started folding her laundry. “I probably won’t apply. ButifI end up in the UR, I expect a welcome parade. With cake. And confetti.”
“Confetti’s a choking hazard. But I’ll allow it—if you promise not to try eating it this time.”
Claire pointed a sock at the screen. “Yousworewe’d never speak of that again.”
“Your sixth birthday. Metallic stars. You thought it was edible glitter.”
“It was shiny and unattended. I was six. Let it go.”
Bea laughed so hard some mango juice ended up on her chin. “Fine. Cake it is.”
Claire wrestled with folding a fitted sheet, then gave up and scrunched it into a ball. “Anyway. Forget me. You’re killing it. Look at you. Functioning. Emotionally regulated. I’m weirdly proud.”
And the thing was, today Claire’s words felt a little bit true. As much as Bea wanted Claire here, she didn’tneedher. Not to survive. She was good.
But if Claire ever did make it to the UR? That would push things into excellent-slash-unhinged.
Bea’s phone buzzed.
Incoming video call: Umma
“Hold on,” Bea said, grinning as her thumb hovered. “It’s my mom. Time to initiate chaos.”
“Ooo yes add her.”
Bea tapped Merge.
Her mother’s face filled the screen. Soft pink blouse, hair pinned up in its usual neat twist, a mug of ginger tea steaming somewhere just out of frame. There was always tea.
“Bea!” Umma said, lighting up. Then her eyes shifted. “And—Claire!”
Claire’s head poked into view, filling her entire segment. “Hi, Imo.”
Umma squinted. “Why do you both look tired? Are you eating? Beatriz, your collarbone is too sharp again.”
“That’s just how bones work, Umma.”
“If you eat enough rice, they stay hidden.”
“You tell her, Imo,” Claire piled on, all fake loyalty. “She’s been living off almonds and caffeine.”
Bea gathered her blanket like a shield. “Traitor.”
“You haven’t come over this week yet,” Umma said to Claire, ignoring the drama. “Are you surviving?”
“Barely. Final placement, night shifts at the diner, and three tables who don’t know what ‘medium rare’ means.”
“And sleep,” Bea added. “Eventually. In the next life.”
“One thing at a time. Just let me graduate.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe I can’t be at your graduation,” Bea groaned.
