“Just so you know, your death would also end the curse.”
“Yikes, my bad,” said Kian, laughing. “It’s just, I have this big audition for Berklee College of Music. I have to perform a live piece and do an online interview, and I can’t reschedule. But it’s on the twenty-seventh. Which”—he pulled out his phone, checking the date—“is the day after the next full moon.”
It was already October 5. Riya’s stomach dropped like a failed rocket launch.
He said it so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it wasn’t everything. But like her, Kian had a direction, aplanfor his life. One she might’ve completely derailed.
“We’ll fix it before the 26th,” she said. “Before your audition date. I won’t let my mistake ruin your future.”
Kian was quiet for a moment as he tugged the edge ofhis beanie. “What about you? Are you staying on the East Coast for college?”
“West Coast,” she answered absently.
Kian’s face fell. “Whoa, that’s too far. I could skip Berklee. There are plenty of schools out—”
“No.” The word shot out of her, sharp. “If Berklee is your top choice, keep it your top choice.”
Kian grinned. “Well, damn. So youdocare.”
“I just don’t want to be the reason you don’t go after what you want. Plus, I get it. I’ve been gunning for Caltech since I was fourteen.”
“Caltech? Like, for smart people shit? Not surprising.”
“I like astrophysics,” Riya admitted. “The formation of planetary systems. Black holes. But I’m really interested in the multiverse.”
“Damn. Just when I thought you couldn’t get cooler.”
The silence between them stretched. Oppy let out a tiny snore, blissfully unaware of their turmoil.
Kian shifted awkwardly. “So ... can I help?”
Riya stared. “With what?”
“Anything,” he said. “Iced tea runs. Giving you rides. Moral support.” A beat. “Or we could, you know, not rush. See what happens.” He caught himself, laughed it off. “Joking. Mostly.”
“Not funny.” She sighed. “Anyway, I work best solo. For now, justtryto sit tight. No ripping up the school flower bed. No more poems. No more—”
“But how will I show you how much I care about you?” Kian cut in, pouting.
“You don’t.”
“That’s impossible.”
“If you must, then just keep it small.Small.”
“Deal.” He offered a ringed, callused hand. “Well, Miss Justice Junkie, my life’s in your very capable hands.”
Riya hesitated. It was just a handshake, a meaningless gesture. Except it didn’t feel that way.
This was going to be averylong month.
Jaw tight, she took it. And it was warm. Solid.
Like a thread pulling taut between them.
Chapter 12
No one—friend or stranger—would call Riya a “happy” person. Happy people, she thought, ran on a carefree optimism she didn’t possess. Happy people did not keep receipts, did not keep running tallies of their mistakes, did not side-eye a good day.
