4,999,999.
5,000,003.
The room erupts. People are screaming. Jumping up and down. An explosion of shimmery silver confetti bursts from the roof, landing softly in my hair and the folds of my dress.
“Congratulations!” Lulu screams in my ear. “I am so proud of you!”
I don’t answer. I just stare at the board, waiting for that old flush of happiness that I used to live off. It doesn’t come.
I don’t feel happy. I don’t really feel anything.
My eyes drop to my reflection in the mirrored wall. A million Summers reflect back at me, still and sad-looking in a puffy pink princess gown. People dance and shout and film themselves all around me, and I feel nothing at all.
Huh.
I take a deep breath. I think I’ve done my duty for the evening. I want to go to bed.
“Thank you so much for the party,” I shout to Lulu. She’s currently live streaming both of us on her phone, pouting at the camera. “It’s been amazing. I think I’m gonna head out.”
Her lips part. “What? Are you okay? You can’t go yet?—”
“I’m really sorry,” I tell her and start pushing through the crowd. As I shove through, people gather around me, yelling. Phones get shoved in my face. Drinks get pushed at my hands.
“Summer, congratulations!”
“Summer, come do a TikTok with me!”
“Summer, shout out my new Crypto currency?—”
“Congratulations! Oh my God, you must be so happy. I’m so jealous?—”
My heart starts to stutter in my chest. The lights are too bright. My head is swimming. I’m getting overwhelmed. Handsgrab at me as someone tries to pull me into their selfie, and I shove them away blindly.
“Please don’t touch me,” I mumble. “I need to go.”
They don’t listen. Flashes go off in my face. Hands land on my shoulders, and I look up into a familiar face. Marco. Fitness influencer. I went on a date with him once. He wouldn’t let me drink the champagne he bought us for a full ten minutes, because he was trying to get a good shot of himself holding the bottle to put on his Picturegram story. He grins at me now, slicked-back hair shining under the lights as he looks me up and down.
“Hey, baby. Congratulations. You look great. Let me take you out for another drink sometime to celebrate.”
I try to push past him. “Let me go.” His grip tightens on my shoulders, and anger flashes through me like lightning. I stamp on his foot, hard. He swears and lets me go.
“What was that for, bitch? Jesus, you’ve really let this get to your head. You used to be really nice?—”
I shove past him, my heartbeat ratcheting in my ears. More hands grab at me, touching my arms, my shoulders, my dress. Flashes blind me. Strobes flicker. All of the shouting is melding into one deafening static of noise.
I’m starting to panic. “Please let me through,” I shout. “Please…” No one listens. I feel tears pushing up. God, I can’t cry. Not here, not with everyone filming me. I’ll just become a laughingstock again. I have to get out of here, I have to get out, get out?—
“She told you to leave her be!” a familiar deep voice bellows over the music, and my heart stops. There’s no way.
I go up on my tiptoes, frantically scanning the crowd.
Fraser, Cameron, and Alec are here, fighting their way towards me.
SEVENTY-THREE
SUMMER
Fraser reaches me first. “Summer!” he shouts, shoving aside Marco like he’s an annoying toddler. The next thing I know, I’m in his arms. My face is crushed into his broad chest, and I’m sucking in his fresh, piney scent.
