One
Emma
“Tell me again why we’re driving forty minutes into the middle of nowhere for a cancer benefit at a bar.”
Maya’s voice sliced through the warm evening air as she leaned across the center console, glaring at the directions on her phone like they had personally offended her.
I clicked my seatbelt into place and shut the passenger door. “Because it’s apparently the only place in town big enough to hold this many people.”
“That feels fake.”
I laughed, settling back against the seat as she pulled away from the curb. “Derek said the owner donated the space.”
“Derek also said this would be fun.”
“It could be.”
Maya shot me a look. “Emma, I love you, but your definition of fun is deeply concerning.”
I smiled, turning my face toward the open window. Warm summer air drifted into the car, carrying the scent of cut grass, sun-warmedpavement, and the faint sweetness of somebody’s lilac bushes. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, coating everything in soft gold.
It should’ve felt like a nice night.
And it did.
Mostly.
But there was something about events where you only half-knew the people going that always put me a little on edge. Not enough to ruin my mood. Just enough to make me aware of myself.
The outfit. The drive. The fact that this was a bar in the country and not some quiet fundraiser in a church basement where people politely clapped and ate sheet cake.
This felt like the kind of event that could go one of two ways.
Completely harmless.
Or completely unhinged.
Maya adjusted her grip on the wheel. “I’m still saying it’s weird.”
“You think everything outside city limits is weird.”
“Because it usually is.”
I glanced over at her and smiled. Maya looked exactly like she always did—perfect. Glossy blonde hair, flawless makeup, tiny little black tank top that probably cost more than my electric bill. She had a kind of effortless beauty that made people look twice without meaning to.
I used to think women who looked like Maya had easier lives.
I didn’t think that anymore.
Pretty only got you so far. Sometimes all it did was make people expect things from you. Or assume things about you. Or let you get away with being mean because people were too distracted to call it what it was.
Not that Maya was always mean.
But she definitely had moments.
She glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
