Easy. Bright. Texas sunshine in sound form.
“Oh, she already did.”
The girls giggle.
I slide the sleeve over my hand and tell myself to go.
I don’t.
Because something in her tone makes me still.
Not mean.
Not cruel.
Just… knowing.
“My mom sent me six screenshots before breakfast,” Isa says. “And then called me to say,well, don’t screw it up now.”
More laughter.
One of the girls gives a dramatic gasp. “She did not.”
“She absolutely did. You know how she is.”
I hear the faint clink of bracelets. The whisper of fabric.
“My God,” another voice says, “didn’t she literally tell you to get on that portal news the second it dropped?”
I go still.
My hand tightens around the ice sleeve.
What?
The curtain shifts slightly from the AC vent and I can smell perfume now. Something expensive and floral and soft, layered over the antiseptic air.
Isa sighs in this exaggerated, amused way.
“Please. The second his name hit the portal, she sent me a whole voice note.”
The girls start laughing again.
I can hear Isa smiling when she talks.
“She was like,baby, if Tristan Vale is coming to Stanford, you need to make sure he doesn’t leave without remembering your name.”
The girls howl.
One slaps the treatment table.
“Oh my God.”
“No, wait,” another says, laughing so hard her words blur, “say it exactly how she said it.”
Isa clears her throat and drops her voice lower, warmer, a little theatrical.
“Go on, baby. Lock him down. We need six-foot-three NBA baller babies in this family.”
