"I thought you were driving back to my grandpa's," I sigh. "Not to my actual house."

Idris cuts off the engine. "Sarina asked me to take you here, so she can talk to you later."

I glare at him, but I don't know how effective that is when my eyes are probably red and my face is blotchy. "I don't want to talk to Sarina."

Idris takes my hand. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't want to talk about it with Sarina—or at all—and I'll drive back to Boucreek."

I hold his gaze for a moment before glancing away, and that's all the answer he needs. He gets out of the car first. I wait a moment before following him. He locks the car doors and takes my hand, leading me up the walkway to the house.

I let go of Idris' hand once we're inside and wander around the living room for a while. I dump my bag on the couch, but the weight doesn't seem to leave my shoulders. I rub my arm and try not to look too closely at any of the pictures. If I do, the extra weight of the memories might make me burst into tears. I've been holding it in pretty well so far. Which isn't saying a lot, but still.

My eyes linger on the piano in the corner of the room. I slowly take a seat and lay my hands over the keys. I find myself playing "Dear Theodosia," and all I can think about is how I wish Mẹ was playing with me now as I press down on the keys.

All the same, the music washes over me. So does every single mistake I make, but it still drowns out everything Myron said back at the theater. So I keep playing because I know the moment I stop, Idris will expect me to talk at least a little bit before Sarina gets here. And I can't talk when I feel like crying.

I'm calmer by the end of the song, sitting back with a deep breath. After a moment of silence, I feel Idris tentatively pull my hair back, his hand brushing against my neck. He rests his hands on my shoulders and kisses the top of my head.

"That was amazing," he murmurs against my hair.

I smile, putting my hand over his. He intertwines our fingers, holding our hands against my chest as he pulls me against him. I stare ahead as he runs his free hand through my hair.

"Are you okay?" he finally asks. "What did Myron say to you?"

I take a deep breath, Myron's blazing brown eyes and the low rumble of his voice flashing through my mind. I shut my eyes and whisper, "He told me that I shouldn't act all smug just because I was getting a few compliments." I swallow. "He said that Wright was only telling me I did a great job because I wasn't actually part of the production so I didn't need constructive criticism, but if I was, Wright would've torn into me." The tears start to cling to my eyelashes as they escape, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself and continue. "He said if I wanted to stop embarrassing myself, the door was right there and I should leave. But he also said he got why I kept sticking around and that it was so generous of me to make everyone else feel better about how they were doing."

The more I recount what Myron said, the more tense Idris becomes. After I'm done—or really after I can't keep talking without sounding incomprehensible—Idris gently turns me around and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. "You know none of what he said is true, right?" I shrug, making him frown. He brushes some of my tears away with his thumb. "You're talented. Everyone was complimenting you because of that. Not because of whatever the hell Myron thinks."

"That doesn't mean I should let all the compliments get to my head." Idris doesn't say anything, but his thoughts are loud and clear from the way his eyebrows knit together and the way his jaw tenses. I exhale, running my hand along the gleaming wood of the piano bench. "Did you know I always wanted to be on Broadway?"

I see Idris smile out of the corner of my eye. "I didn't know that, but I can see it. Why Broadway, though? Why not Hollywood or songwriting?"

"Being on stage always seemed so much better than being in front of cameras, and I can't write to save my life. But ever since Myron said what he did in that last play, it feels like I can't even be on stage."

Idris kisses my hand. "Everyone messes up every once in a while. Besides, that wasn't even your fault." He exhales, a dark look flickering across his face. "I know when you first told me about Myron, I said you shouldn't care about what he thinks—and I still stand by that—but I didn't know he was that much of an asshole about it. So I'm sorry."

I run my free hand along the bottom of my eye, smearing tears across my face. "No. I really shouldn't care about what he says."

"Right, but if he cornered you like that and sounded as intense and unapologetic as he looked, of course, it'll be hard not to care."

His voice cracks a little, and my heart mirrors it. His eyes are tinged pink with unshed tears again, so I know we're not just talking about Myron right now. I squeeze his hand and move to sit on the floor with him.

"I'm sorry you understand what this feels like," I whisper.

He nods, resting his chin on top of our hands. "I'm sorry you understand, too."

I gently place my hand on his knee. "You know what the worst part is? A part of me wants Myron to be right."

Idris' eyebrows draw together. "Wants him to be right?" I nod. "Why?"

"Because if he's right and I'm that awful, then that gives me a reason to stop performing. It wouldn't be on me. It would be on the fact that I didn't deserve the roles I got, and now I'm giving other people the chances they actually earned."

He nods slowly, sitting back. "So... you don't want to feel like you're sabotaging yourself?"

I nod. "Yeah. Partly."

"What's the other part?"

I hesitate. Not because I don't want to tell Idris but because I don't know how to put it into words. So I just say, "I don't know how to say it."

Idris nods. "That's okay." He pulls me towards him until I'm sitting on his lap, and he cradles me in his arms. I let him, resting my head in the crook of his neck and shutting my eyes. "But you are talented. The roles you got and the trophies you won were all you. You earned those. If you end up on Broadway, you would have earned that, too."

I don't have the energy to argue. I just nod and bury my face in his neck. It feels like only a moment passes when the doorbell rings. Idris gently sets me on the ground before he goes to open the door. The moment he does, Sarina pushes past him and goes straight to me. I'm barely on my feet when she throws her arms around me. When she pulls away, she takes my hands and guides me towards the couch.

"I'm really sorry about Myron," she says.

I glance away. "So he told you what he said?"

"No, but I can take a guess." My eyes flicker back to Sarina. She sighs. "Briar, do you really think I don't hear his implications or the things he flat-out says to you?"

Idris frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you know, why do you still hang out with him?"

I want to tell Idris not to take out his anger on Sarina, but a part of me knows he has a point. I force myself to meet Sarina's eyes, raising my eyebrows. "Why do you still hang out with him if you get mad at him for saying the things he does to me?"

Sarina sighs. "I don't want to make excuses for him—"

"Then don't," Idris scoffs.

"—but you know he's a big fan of your dad's books, right?" I shake my head. I didn't know actually. If anything, he was one of those people who would tell me everything they thought was wrong with the series just to spite me. "Well, he is. He loves your dad's books. He relates to them. Especially Hien and her parents."

"Oh," I breathe. I see what she's about to tell me.

Idris sees it, too. His eyes darken as he scoffs again. "Don't you mean he relates to Hai? Not Hien?"

Sarina hesitates, squeezing my hands. "Yeah. I guess he does act a lot like Hai instead of Hien. But that's not the point. The point is his parents hate the fact that he's into theater even if he's good at it. They come to some of the plays, but they act like doing that for him means he owes them something. On top of that, they think it's more of a hobby than anything else and that he needs to wake up one day and stop acting when there are more important things out there.

"So when it was obvious that your parents supported you no matter what, he got jealous. Back at the theater, he was on the phone with his dad, and something came up like it always does. While he was listening to his dad yell at him over the phone, all he could focus on was how everyone thought you were great even if you were gone for so long. He knew your parents would've reacted the same way if they were there, and he knew the best he could ever get from his parents is indifference. So he took his anger out on you."

She looks down at our hands and lets out a sigh. "We both know Myron's arrogant, but he's just compensating for his parents thinking he's a disappointment. You're an easy target for him because he knows your parents will reassure you that you're nothing less than talented, and he thought that would outweigh what he says to you."

I glance past her at Idris. He rolls his eyes, but for a split second, understanding flashes across his face. Weird how he could have this in common with Myron but handle it so differently.

I look back at Sarina. "I didn't know that."

She barks out a humorless laugh. "I mean, even when you were performing, you tried to keep your distance from him. I wouldn't want to be near him after everything he said to you either."

"But you are around him," Idris points out, tightening his arms over his chest.

Sarina finally acknowledges Idris, turning to face him. "I don't have to explain my friendships to you. Myron has different sides to him just like everyone else. What he's said to Briar isn't okay, but that doesn't mean he's not a completely awful person." Idris' eyes narrow as he holds Sarina's gaze. His jaw tenses as he exhales loudly through his nose, looking away. Sarina looks back at me with an apologetic smile. "Myron has been out of line for a long time, and I'm sorry I haven't stepped in as much as I should have. I know what his parents are like, and I want to be there for him. I'm sorry that meant I wasn't always there for you."

I nod. "Everyone needs a Lanh in their life. Looks like you're Myron's Lanh."

Sarina shrugs. "Maybe, but I'm your friend first and foremost no matter what we are to each other. So I'm telling you as your friend that I hope you get back into performing. You're just as good as I remember."

"Thanks, Sarina."

"No problem." She glances behind her at Idris before leaning towards me and lowering her voice. "Also, I've been meaning to tell you that Idris is really cute."

I smile, trying not to look at him. "I know."

She gives me a mischievous smile. "You have to tell me the whole story one day. Maybe when you come back after the summer, we can sit and talk." I nod. She hugs me and kisses my cheek. "I'll tell Myron off some more when I see him next."

She kisses my cheek one more time before standing to leave. When she's behind Idris, she makes a show of checking him out and exaggeratedly mouths, "Good job! Really hot!" at me. I laugh, but by the time Idris looks behind him, she's already closing the door.

"I'm glad Sarina has kind of been defending you," Idris says, taking Sarina's spot on the couch. "I think she still could've done more, though."

I nod. "Yeah. Guess so..." Even as I say it, I understand why she didn't. Sounds like she was in a hard place. I tuck my hair behind my ear. "I feel kind of bad for Myron."

Idris scoffs. "I don't."

I arch an eyebrow, putting a hand on his knee. "You don't mean that."

He hesitates. In the end, he sighs and puts a hand over mine. "I get what he's going through, but that doesn't mean I don't think he's a jerk. Going through what he's going through doesn't give him a reason to treat you the way he does."

"Agreed." I rub my thumb against his knee. "I'm glad you're not so angry about your parents that you feel like you need to tear other people down like Hai and that you're more like Hien."

"I have other outlets."

"Like what?"

"Skateboarding. Reading. Talking to Marlowe and watching her draw." A soft smile spreads on his face. "Watching you perform." I glance away. Idris takes the opportunity to kiss my cheek. "I love seeing you in your element. And I don't care if I relate to Myron. That doesn't excuse what he said to you or how he's acting."

"I guess not, but it makes me sad. I'm happy my dad's books make people like you and Myron feel like you're not alone, but the way he acts like Hai... that could've been you." Idris pauses, his eyes darkening. His hold on my hand tightens. "But you're not like Hai," I assure him. "That's all that matters."

"I hope I'm not like Hai."

I give Idris a pointed look. "I know you're not like him."

He laughs, turning so his entire body faces me. "Good to know that you have faith in me."

"Of course, I do. I've seen how nice and supportive you are. You're nothing like Hai or Myron. I'm glad that no matter what your life at home is like, it doesn't make you bitter." I pause, swiping my thumb back and forth on his knee again. "I think Myron's still doing his best, though."

Idris scoffs. He pulls his hand away from mine and sits back against the couch. "Doing his best is antagonizing you?"

I shrug, sitting back, too. "I didn't know what he was going through. I don't want to excuse his actions, but maybe he was just trying his best. Maybe Hai was, too, for the entire series. Maybe that's all you can assume about anyone."

Idris sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think you're too nice to him."

I laugh. "Yeah. Maybe. But at least I understand him a little bit now."

Idris doesn't say anything, but I know he understands Myron a little bit now, too. And Hai. Maybe a lot more than I ever could. And it terrifies me to think that Idris and Myron could easily switch personalities and outlets for how they handle their relationships with their families.

Idris could've been bitter and hateful.

But he's not.

But he could've been.

"I'm glad you're you," I murmur, resting my head on his shoulder.

He turns his head to kiss the top of mine. "I think it helps that I got to read your dad's books. Good escape from my parents."

That still doesn't explain Myron, though. Or... I sit up. "And your brother."

"Good escape from him and his moods, too."

"No." I put my hand on his thigh. "I mean your brother and Myron are similar."

Idris tenses. "Roman is Roman. Myron. Hai. Whoever. But he doesn't get to tear people down either."

"But do you think Roman feels like a disappointment, too?"

Idris arches an eyebrow, leaning a little away in incredulity. "Roman? A disappointment? To who? If you mean to my parents, no. If you mean a disappointment as a compassionate human being, then sure."

As much as I don't like Roman and completely agree with Idris, I can't stop thinking about how similar Roman and Myron are in some ways. "He has to be the way he is for a reason."

Idris shrugs, pushing himself into a straighter sitting position. "I think he's just arrogant. If anything, my parents adore him."

"But if Myron's arrogant because he's compensating for what his parents say to him, doesn't that mean it could be the case for Roman?"

Idris scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Even if my parents make him feel bad about himself, he could compensate for it some other way." His eyes darken as he takes a deep breath. "Roman doesn't have to act the way he does just because of our parents like how Myron doesn't have to act the way he does because of his parents."

His voice is nothing but annoyed. No empathy whatsoever which I know isn't like him. Guess their relationship has really fallen over the years. Not that I blame him considering how his brother treats him.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Idris furrows his eyebrows, taking his hand. "Sorry for what?"

"Your family life."

He shakes his head, but his other hand twitches towards his pocket. The one with the outline of his phone. "I'm used to it."

I squeeze his hand. I know that's not true. He wouldn't have cried the other day about it if he was used to it. Or been on the verge of tears so many times today when his mom hung up on him. Or checked his phone when he thought I wasn't looking.

"That really sucks," I say.

Idris doesn't respond to that. Instead, he brings my hand to his lips. "I'm glad we met and that you really care about me."

I force myself to smile, letting the subject go. If he doesn't want to talk about it right now, I won't make him. "Of course, I do. Just like you care about me."

"Of course, I do," he echoes. He leans forward and kisses me. "Best thing that happened this summer."

I laugh. "I think meeting your favorite author and becoming one of his beta readers is a lot better than meeting me."

"Debatable."

I smile and kiss him. He lets me, relaxing into it. I try to focus on the kiss, too, but at the back of my mind, I can't stop thinking about how similar Myron and Roman are. And how Idris turned out so differently even if all three of them might know exactly what Hien and Hai were going through. Exactly what Dad was going through.

Maybe there's more to Hai than I've been thinking about throughout the years. And maybe it's time I look a little deeper into his character.