Her dad finally handed her his beat-up old Honda after she got her license, and she’s been picking me up for school since I got back. The inside smells like coconut air freshener and gym socks. Familiar. Normal. Safe.
We pull out of the Royal Oaks parking lot before I can say a word.
After a minute, Shani glances over at me and goes, “You know Leo’s not the only guy in that school staring at you, right?”
I bark a humorless laugh. “Please.”
“No, seriously. It’s like you’re allergic to male attention and refuse to see it. Even the nerdy AV club boys practically walk into walls when you pass.”
I shake my head. “The last thing I need is another bad romance.”
Shani smirks. “Or maybe you needmoreof them. No better way to get over Leo than getting wrapped up in someone else. Could be fun.”
I nudge her knee. “Stop.”
“Just saying.” She flicks on her blinker. “Options, babe.”
My phone vibrates.
It’s a text from Tristan’s PR girl — Lane.
Your first social post passed 100k views. 15k likes.
Do NOT let rumors define you.
You choose the narrative now.
Are you ready to use your own voice?
A chill runs down my spine.
My voice.
My story.
My power.
Shani raises an eyebrow. “PR Barbie checking in?”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “She wants me to speak for myself.”
Shani taps the wheel thoughtfully, then grins. “You know what? I know where we’re going.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re in Newport, at the Cliff Walk, the ocean stretching endless and wild beneath us. The wind is sharp. The light is golden. It feels cinematic. Reborn.
“Perfect,” Shani says, pulling out her phone. “Stand there. No—there. Where the wind blows your hair like some tragic heroine.”
I give her a look.
She gives one right back.
“This is your moment, bitch.”
So I do it.
