Brianna
Thinking about you... You coming to the Alpha Si party tomorrow night?
The timestamps show these are from the past week—while he's been with me. While he's been calling me his girl. My stomach twists into a tight knot.
I notice another notification further up—a fire emoji reaction from Troy on one of Brianna's Instagram stories. The story has expired, but the record of his reaction remains. A fire emoji? Surely that’s only to one of Brianna’s “selfies” that are really just boob shots.
I carefully put the phone back exactly as I found it, my hands trembling slightly. There's a rushing sound in my ears that drowns out everything else.
He hasn't explicitly flirted back, but he hasn't shut it down either. And that fire emoji...
“Pancakes almost ready,” Troy calls from the kitchen.
“Coming!” I reply, my voice unnaturally bright. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
This is why I don't let myself get comfortable. This is why I don't trust easy charm and smooth words. I knew better, and I let myself forget.
I paste on a smile and head back to the kitchen, not knowing what to believe anymore. The warmth and belonging I felt yesterday has been punctured, deflating slowly but steadily with each passing minute.
The rest of the day, I go through the motions. I make pancakes with Troy. I laugh at his stories. I help Claire with dishes and accept Tara's invitation to get coffee next week.
But something inside me has shifted, retreated. I'm already planning my exit strategy, already rebuilding the walls I let down.
Because good things don't last. Not for me. And I was a fool to think otherwise.
34
TROY
Icheck the rearview mirror for the fifth time in as many minutes, watching Mom's house disappear around the bend. Somewhere behind us, Tara and Delilah are in Tara's car, “having girl time” or whatever excuse my sister conjured up to separate us on the drive back.
“You're going to break that steering wheel,” Alfie says quietly from the passenger seat.
I loosen my white-knuckle grip, forcing my shoulders to relax. “Just making sure we don't lose them.”
“They only left a couple of minutes after us.” Alfie doesn't look up from his phone, but I can hear the amusement in his voice. “And Tara knows the way home just as well as you do. And,you know, smart phones exist bro. They're fine.”
“I know they're fine,” I mutter. “That's not what I'm worried about.”
Alfie finally glances over, his expression frustratingly unreadable. He's always been like this—quiet, observant, revealing only what he chooses to. It's what makes him such a good listener and such a terrible person to try to get information from.
“So what are you worried about?” he asks eventually.
I stare at the road ahead, debating how much to say. Alfie's my best friend, has been for years. But talking about Delilah feels complicated.
“Did something happen at dinner?” I ask instead. “With Delilah, I mean. Did she seem... off to you?”
Alfie considers this with his typical care, like he's reviewing footage in his head. “No. She seemed to be having a good time. Laughed at your mom's stories. Asked Tara about her classes. Normal stuff.”
“But this morning she barely said two words to me,” I press. “And then suddenly, she's riding with Tara instead of me? I don't get it.”
“Maybe the weekend was a bit much for her,” Alfie suggests. “She strikes me as an introvert. Being 'on' for an entire holiday with your family might have been draining.”
I snort. “If she's trying to avoid an energetic Hawkins, Tara's the wrong choice. My sister talks more than I do.”
A small smile crosses Alfie's face at the mention of Tara.
“You've got a point there,” he admits. “But Tara's... different.”
