I’m happy for India. Thrilled, in fact, and genuinely, too. She and Felix are perfect for each other, and most importantly, he adores her. We all love him, and it doesn’t hurt that he and Cyrus were best friends before he ever got together with Indy.
Still, as my bleary eyes dart around my spotless bedroom, they catch on my desk.
Maybe it could use a good wipe down before I sleep after all.
When I getup the next morning and go downstairs, my body feels heavier than usual. I don’t know why. But I drag myself through my morning routine until I get to my breakfast, popping a few pieces of bread into the toaster.
Jules arrives in the kitchen a moment or two after I do, announcing her presence by the click of heels. “Morning!” she says, and I look over my shoulder at her. “I’m glad I caught you. We didn’t get the mail yesterday, so I brought it in this morning. There’s something for you.”
She’s clearly been up for a while, because she’s already dressed with a black ribbon tied in her curled hair. Now she points at the table, where my eyes find a messy stack of envelopes and newspapers.
“What is it?” I say, looking back at her. “A bill? Or a bank statement?”
“It’s not from anywhere I recognize,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe one of those prequalification things or a credit card company? I don’t know.”
I groan at this as my toast pops up. I manage to get both pieces onto a plate, touching them as little as possible while they cool down, and then I move to the table and settle myself in achair. I blow absently on the toast as I shuffle through the pile of mail until I find it.
And Juliet is right—the envelope is foreign enough that when I see it, I know this is the one she was talking about. I frown and peer at the return address, but it’s a generic company name I don’t recognize.
It’s dumb, the way my pulse picks up and a tingle of foreboding zips down my spine. But something deep inside me wants to throw this envelope away without opening it, for no discernible reason.
I slit it open instead, one nail down the side, and slide out the folded paper from within. It’s just mail, and I’m being absurd.
So I open the letter and read it—slowly at first, and then faster as my gaze is dragged helplessly along. The skipping pulse that was stupid and overreactive before grows more justified with every word, and a sense of panic begins to rise in my chest as I read.
When I reach the bottom of the page, my jaw is hanging open, my heart is pounding, and rage is simmering in my gut.
“No way,” I say in disbelief, the words croaking out of me. With my fingers clenched and suddenly sweaty on the letter, I read it again, just to see if I imagined everything the first time.
I didn’t.
“Aurora?”
It’s Juliet, sounding concerned, but I barely hear her. I slump back in my chair at the table as my mind races.
Collections. The letter is from a collections agency.
And according to them, I owe money. Alotof money.
AURORA
“I’m sorry, I’m confused.”India’s voice is blank, blunt, and the furrow in her brow mirrors my own.
The three of us are seated around our kitchen table, all eyes on the letter from the collections agency. It looks deceptively normal sitting there in the middle, plain folded paper that could be a grocery list or a journal entry.
But there’s a vague screaming noise in my head that I haven’t been able to banish yet, one that’s going to drive me quickly insane.
“Youcosigneda loan with your ex?” India goes on as that line in her forehead deepens.
“I remember Tyler,” Juliet says thoughtfully. “Vaguely. A long time ago, right? Him and Barf are the only ones I can think of.”
“They’re the only ones that exist,” I say with a sigh.
“Why did you cosign with someone you were dating?” India says.
“It was our small business loan,” I say, resisting the urge to bang my head against the table. “For our cleaning and organization business.”
“Why would you even need a loan for something like that?” Juliet says. “You put things in order and scrubbed windows.”
