A knock comes from the cabana door.

My spine goes rigid. Not Mateo. Obviously not. He wouldn't...would he?

I run my hands over my face like that's going to erase the balcony moment from earlier. Quick mirror check in the bathroom. There are thick bags under my eyes and I curse that I'm not allowed to use an affinity to make them go away. Can I blame the puffiness on allergies and not the fact I've been crying over this boy?

I open the door.

My heart leaps, then drops immediately. Definitely not Mateo.

Dr. Santos stands there like she's ready to rate me two stars on Yelp just for existing. "You have company," she says shortly.

And behind her, peeking out, is Harley Cranston.

"Harley!" I shriek, sliding right past Dr. Santos to hug her. She smells like vanilla perfume with a sprinkle of weed. The sweet smell of chaos mixed with comfort.

She's different, but not unrecognizable. She's still my Harley with a shock of red hair and curves, but now she's glossy. Her hair is smooth, with makeup blended like she's in a Sephora ad. She's in a chic leather jacket with jeans, and her nails look like they could slice through glass. Since when did Harley get acrylics?

"What are you doing here?" I ask her, squeezing her extra hard.

"That's a good question," Dr. Santos cuts in, voice sharp as a knife.

Harley doesn't blink. "Tried calling you, babe. Kept getting your stupid voicemail. I actually thought you ghosted me. So I called your dad. Next thing I know--" she spins and curtsies "--I'm here."

Dr. Santos looks at Harley like she's peed in her espresso. "This will not become a habit. Preston is here for healing. For rest. For--"

"He's been 'resting'--" Harley's air quotes are so big I bet you can see them from space "--all summer. He needs fun before you turn him into a monk."

"Fine. But no magic. He could get in big trouble if there is," Dr. Santos says, exhaling through her nose.

Harley tilts her head, all innocent. "Please. I barely touch the stuff."

I snort, but Dr. Santos scowls.

"Promise we'll behave," I say, raising my hand like I'm swearing in court.

"We'll cruise the Pacific Coast Highway, grab snacks, discuss life's probing questions," Harley adds. "We'll be so wholesome it hurts."

Dr. Santos fastens her eyes on me with a hard stare. "Share your location with me."

I open my mouth to argue, but she slices the air with her hand. "It's that or back to Halcyon."

"Say no more," Harley says with a sweet smile. "He'll share it. I'll make sure."

Once Dr. Santos leaves, Harley whistles. "She's got you on lockdown like you're El Chapo."

"And I didn't even kill anyone."

She lifts a brow. "Well...you almost did."

"Almost doesn't count."

She comes in, closes the door behind her and flops onto the bed. "If I believed in God, I'd say She's trolling you. Serving your sentence at your ex's mansion? That's telenovela-core."

"I hate it here."

"You secretly love it."

"No, I don't."

"You also secretly still want to see Mateo naked."

I throw a pillow at her. "Shut up."

She turns serious for a moment, really studying me. "Are you going to be ok, Press? Being here? With him?"

I don't trust my voice to answer so I just shrug. "I don't know, Harley. I just don't know."

✨✨✨

Harley drives her apple red El Camino like she's auditioning for Fast & Furious, elbow out the window, crimson hair whipping around. The sun is setting, casting us aglow in fiery oranges and pinks. I forgot how good it felt to cruise down the PCH with my bestie, watching the sun light up the ocean.

Ella Fitzgerald pours out of the speakers with big band horns. We shout-sing the chorus. Swing music was Harley's thing first, but my obsession with it started growing after a while. When the song ends, Harley rolls up the windows and cranks the AC.

"We never really talked after your garden party fiasco," she says, eyes on the road. "If it wasn't for your dad calling me, I wouldn't have even known what to tell your sponsors."

"I didn't have time to call you. The police made sure of that. Sent away quietly. No press release required." I try to make it a joke and fail halfway through.

She doesn't laugh because she knows me too well. "What really happened, Press? I've heard everyone else's version. But not yours."

I stare at her new dashboard because it's easier than trying to remember. "It's a blur. I honestly don't remember. And it's not because I don't want to. I do."

Harley glances at me, then back to the road. "You think it was the affinity?" 

My stomach tightens into a pretzel. "What do you mean?"

"The elementalism one your dad got you. I remember you said it felt different than the others. Stronger."

 I did say that. Back in January, right after Dad gave it to me to make up for missing my Vale College awards ceremony. It had activated faster than any affinity I'd used before. The magic felt sharper and hotter, like it was burning to get out of me. Luxecaster ate it up with a spoon. They loved the way I manipulated the weather, making the sun hide behind clouds or whipping up a fierce wind with just a flick of the wrist. 

Since Old Magic families can trace their lineage back to ancient wizards, their magic is formidable and in some cases astonishing (just ask the Williamsons who can freeze large bodies of water at will). But when temporary magical affinities became eligible for sale long before I was born, non-magical families suddenly had access to abilities they once could only dream about--if they were willing to pay the price. My dad was. That's how I became known for my elementalism.

"Where did he even get it?" Harley asks. "Most elementalism affinities on the market are weak sauce."

I shrug, but my pulse picks up. "He has connections. Some private dealer, I think." 

"Hmm." She taps the steering wheel. 

Harley's phone dings. Her dash lights up with a text from Emma Kim.

I read the name twice.

"Since when do you talk to Emma Kim?" I ask.

"For a couple of months now. I like her. She's chill."

"Chill? You used to call her vapid with—"

"Great hair," Harley finishes, smirking. "I've grown. Or regressed. Depends on who's asking."

She opens the message so we can both see it flash across the dashboard.

Emma: I heard Press is back. Is he with you? Come to Mint Society. We have a table.

Harley signals and cuts over to the far right lane like she's training for NASCAR. She ignores the loud beeps from other drivers.

"Where are you going? We can't go to Mint Society." When Harley doesn't say anything, I add, "This is all so weird. My brain can't compute you and Emma Kim hanging out together."

She laughs and makes a face. "Not just her. Connelly Palmer too...though she's not as lowkey as Emma." She pauses. "And Bayer Ward. He's not so bad."

I know I cleaned my ears this morning, but I'm having a hard time hearing this. I was the one who straddled the two worlds of Old Magic and New Magic kids. Harley never tolerated either crowd. Vale College offered ten scholarship slots each year to non-magical students, and that's where she came in. Emma and Connelly would've never hung out with Harley before.

"It's ever since I went viral," she tells me. "Well, the first time at least."

"Viral? What?"

"I started making content on TalkThat. You know...just talking shit. And I guess people like my personality."

"I don't believe you."

"Take a look yourself."

I open the TalkThat app on my phone and Harley's face is the first one on my feed. I blink.

A million likes?

I hurry to her page and my jaw drops at her follower count. From thousands to millions over the course of a summer. She has more followers than me now. She ends each video with her signature sign-off, "The world sucks, but stay cheeky, baby," dragging out the baby like she's singing a note.

I am happy for her. But there's this ugly voice in my head that sounds a lot like my mother after her third glass of wine, "See? Everyone moves on. Everyone leaves you behind eventually."

I shove the voice down deep where it belongs. Harley isn't leaving me behind. She's my best friend. She came over just to check on me. That has to mean something.

"Okay, Miss Million Followers," I say, forcing brightness into my voice. "You're buying food tonight."

"Fair," she laughs. "But only because I love you."

"We can't go to Mint Society, though," I say again. "Location sharing is on, remember? Dr. Santos will pull up like a bounty hunter."

"Don't doubt my prowess, Press. Hand me my bag."

I blink at her new bag on the floorboard. A Bottega? I pass it over. With her eyes on the road, she manages to unzip it with a flourish, pulling out a small gold bar the size of a candy bar etched with a pulsing sigil. It hums like a beehive. It's her affinity-keeper.

"You swore you'd never buy affinities," I remind her.

"I couldn't afford an affinity. Now I can." She lifts the bar to her lips and sings, voice soft and clear, "Do as I say, do as I need, do what I want, do it with speed."

The sigil brightens, then pulsates. My phone pings like a confused bird. The location icon grays out and then switches back on. Somewhere in the cloud, a map just made it seem like we're still cruising the PCH. Dr. Santos won't know any different.

"Voicecraft?" I gape. "That's a felony if you use it on a person."

"I pointed it at your phone," she says. "Your phone consented. It told me so."

"You're a menace," I say, shaking my head. But I can't fight the smile crawling onto my face.

"And you love me. So we're going to Mint Society."

"Hard pass."

"It wasn't a question."

She smiles without letting it touch her eyes. For a second, I see the girl with scuffed boots who used to eat fries on the curb outside the theater and roast anyone who cared about catching the right light for the right angles.

The highway curves. A billboard for an affinity boutique flashes silver, promising Confidence, Clarity, Charisma in opulent text. I imagine buying the whole display and bathing in it. I rest my forehead on the glass, suddenly feeling very sorry for myself.

"I know what you're thinking," Harley says, tapping the steering wheel and glancing over at me. "It's all going to be ok. Tonight, we have fun. And we'll come up with a plan to make Caldera Heights and Vale College your bitches once again."

"First, I have to survive Dr. Santos," I say after a moment. "Then I can't blow anything else up. And I need to reclaim my throne as a minor internet prince."

"And Mateo?" Harley says, casually like she's asking about the weather. "How are you feeling about him?"

"Feeling is canceled," I say, watching the cars blur by. "We're doing apathy. It's easier."

I rub the heel of my hand over my chest. Tate at Halcyon taught me that. He also told me to imagine a jar and put my panic in it like a butterfly. But how do I explain that the damn butterfly keeps kicking the lid open?

I need to get hold of what I'm feeling because I can't show up to Mint Society looking like I've already been beat.

Especially since my blackmailer could be there.