I stand there long after she’s gone, my hand still on the doorframe, my heart feeling like it’s been put through a shredder.
She’s gone. Just like the mermaid in the show. Disappearing back into her own world, leaving me behind because she thinks it’s for the best.
But unlike the drama, there’s no happy ending. No promise that she’ll come back. No magical intervention to bridge the impossible distance between us.
There’s just the empty house behind me and the empty driveway in front of me and the hollow ache in my chest that whispers she’s never coming back.
I close the door and lean against it, sliding down to sit on the floor.
She’s right about one thing—she is like the mermaid. Choosing to leave the person she cares about to protect herself. Disappearing into the ocean rather than risk the pain of staying.
But what she doesn’t understand—what she can’t see through all those walls she’s rebuilt—is that I would have followed her. Would have done anything to make this work. Would have waited as long as it took for her to believe that some people do stay.
ThatIwould havestayed.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. For half a second, hope flares—maybe it’s her, maybe she changed her mind, maybe?—
But it’s just my mother, texting to tell me I can still go to Stanford, that it’s not too late.
I let my head fall back against the door and close my eyes.
Kiera’s gone. And I have no idea how to get her back.
CHAPTER 22
KieraEmmerson
Saturday, July 10
The campus auditoriumlooms ahead of me, all glass and steel and windows. My hands are sweating as I pull into the parking lot, and I have to wipe them on my jeans before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt.
This is it. The Future Chef Challenge. The thing I’ve been working toward for months. The thing I’ve sacrificed for, and placed all my bets on. Does River know it’s today?
I turn and grab my bag from the passenger seat, scolding myself. I’m not thinking about River today. I’m thinking about winning this scholarship, proving I can make it on my own, showing everyone—including myself—that I can do it.
The auditorium is buzzing with activity when I push through the main doors. Cameras are set up at various angles, their operators making final adjustments. In the center of the space, twelve individual cooking stations are arranged in neat rows, each one equipped with a stovetop, oven, prep space, and an impressive array of tools and equipment. Large screens hangfrom the ceiling so the audience can watch close-ups of what we’re doing.
A woman with a clipboard and a headset spots me. “Name?”
“Kiera Emmerson.”
She checks her list and smiles. “Station seven. You can put your things in the prep area and get familiar with your space. We start in thirty minutes.”
I make my way to station seven, my heart hammering against my ribs. The cooking space is pristine—stainless steel surfaces gleaming under the bright lights, every tool in its place. I set down my bag and run my hand along the counter, trying to ground myself.
I can do this. I’ve practiced. I’m ready.
Through the large windows at the back of the auditorium, I can see food trucks setting up in the parking lot. The audience is already starting to filter in, taking seats in the rows of chairs arranged theater-style around the cooking stations. This is really happening. This is real.
I take a deep breath and look out at the growing crowd, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
That’s when I see them.
Kiki and Tobias, settling into seats about halfway back. Kiki waves when she catches my eye, her smile so bright and genuine it makes my pulse race. Tobias gives me a smile, and I can see him saying something to Kiki that makes her laugh.
They came. They actually came to watch me compete.
I give them a small smile, and something warm settles in my chest. Whatever happens today, I’m not alone. I have people who believe in me, who showed up to root for me, who care whether I succeed or fail.
