BRIE

          The truth is that I'd rather swallow freshly made glass than trust Rhett Price with my heart again.

          The nice thing about the start of a college year is that there's a lot I can do to keep my mind off stressful things (breaking up with Cole—I refuse to keep thinking of it as being dumped, even though that's what it was—is just one of them), especially when classes won't keep me as busy as I would like.

          If anything, I feel ridiculous when I know I'm trying to keep myself occupied, especially mentally, just so I can speed up my healing process instead of looking like a hung up fool. After chastising Cole for giving too much value to what people might think about him, it's a tad bit hypocritical of me to find myself in the exact same situation, so concerned about the impression I'll give off to other people if they catch me weeping over him. It's usually easy to brush off snarky comments coming from people I know won't matter to me in just a few months, but then there are moments when I find myself beginning to spiral over the thought of being seen as obsessive and boy crazy.

          Nancy Huang, my roommate, has been my saving grace this week.

          Though we're not particularly close—which is surprising, considering we've been roommates since sophomore year—and I can't classify us as best friends in the regular sense of the word, we spend more time with each other than we do with other people, so the forced proximity has been helpful to strengthen our bond. She's a social butterfly, even more than I am, thanks to her newspaper duties and sports communication major, which means she gets invited to all sorts of events.

          On the other hand, her social battery gets drained incredibly fast during most group activities, which is why I usually tag along. With my wonderful talent of never knowing when to stop talking, I can keep people entertained for long enough until she has rested and recovered, which also helps with networking. I'm not too versed in sports communication and am not particularly athletic, but you never know who you'll end up meeting at these events, and, with my future on the line thanks to Cole's brilliant sense of timing, I'm taking every opportunity I can get. I owe it to myself to at least try and make something out of it.

         So, when she invites me to be her plus-one to some charity gala whose purpose she's not entirely certain of, I immediately jump out of bed and out of my misery. After convincing myself the entire male population is simply not worth it and I'm better off staying single and far, far away from men—including Rhett Price—I decide that my nights are best spent with my friend and media professionals. It's a win-win.

          "I honestly don't know why you enjoy these things so much," Nancy comments, curling her hair with a Dyson curler that probably cost more than anything I'm wearing for tonight's event. My baby-blue cocktail dress is expensive, more expensive than I feel comfortable with, but I like dressing to impress, especially now. "The charities these galas are for aren't the ones actually benefiting from the fundraisers, no matter what they want you to believe."

          "Networking is important, too," I point out, fixing the pearl necklace adorning my neck. From afar, no one can tell they're fake; usually, I wouldn't dare wear them to a prestigious event where everyone is judging everyone else based on their appearances, including their choices in accessories, but I'm feeling surprisingly confident.

          If there's one thing I've learned from accompanying Nancy all these years, it's that sometimes it's more important to present a confident and prepared exterior, even if that doesn't necessarily match how you feel on the inside. As long as you can play the part convincingly and pray no one sees right through your bravado, there's a high chance you'll be successful in your schmoozing efforts.

          Like Rhett said, failing at schmoozing is loser behavior, and I've already lost way too much in the span of a mere week. This gala is the first step to fall back on track and start chasing my dreams again before I can let stupid boys distract me from what truly matters.

          Part of me wonders if he'll be there and, if so, if he'll demand an answer.

          I hate to admit I actually have been giving some thought to his proposal, but I have, and it's absolutely infuriating. It's an indecent offer; even worse—it's somewhat degrading. It feels like a disservice to everything I've had to do to get over him and the wreckage he'd left behind in my life, so realizing that he expects me to forget about it and fall for his charms like every other girl in his life makes me feel like I'll never truly be free from these dumb feelings.

          It's not the girls' fault. I blame Rhett for all of it; he knows how charming he can be and he uses it to his advantage whenever he needs something, be it sponsorships or a quick fuck. Even if I use networking to get ahead, I want to believe I'm far more morally correct than he is, as I still have some self-respect left, enough to remember there's more to me than just my appearance.

          If he does all of this because he thinks his looks are all there is to him, then . . . well. That's something he'll have to deal with alongside a professional, but it saddens me to think he might be reducing himself to one aspect of him, even if it's the one that immediately jumps out. He's so damn attractive with those sparkling green eyes of his, high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, lined with short stubble, and I know how hard he works to keep that physique. Besides hockey, he lives for the gym and a strict diet filled with macro counting and gains, and I'd be naive to lie and say it's not working.

          It is. 

          Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn with flaming hatred, as I'm definitely not supposed to still be attracted to him after all this time, after all the pain and heartache stupid Rhett Price has put me through.

          It's one thing to admit someone is objectively attractive, but Rhett Price is one of those people who seem to have been tailor made for me in particular, checking off all my boxes if I am to ignore our history and the fact that I loathe him. Being attracted to him and admitting it to myself is a dangerous move, and I need to be extra careful moving forward so as to not let him crawl his way back into my life and ruin it again.

          "Have you decided what you're going to do?" Nancy questions, pulling me out of my painful inner monologue and turmoil.

          Though she's far from being the only person I've told about Cole and the breakup—my other friends and my family were furious on my behalf, and my mom threatened to make a menacing phone call that, realistically, wouldn't change a thing, but I appreciate the sentiment—she's the only person who knows about Rhett's proposal besides the two of us. I figured it's the type of thing Rhett doesn't want to get out, and I'm not the type of girl to kiss and tell.

          Not in that way.

          I know the importance of secrets, and I know what it's like to want to protect your dignity. Sometimes you'll need to go through extra efforts to do so, and I'm not going to be the one to stab him in the back and steal his bright future away from him. That's the kind of thing people like Cole do, and the funny thing about me and my highly competitive profile is that I have a pathological need to win at everything I do—including breakups, as stupid as that sounds.

          It's not the sympathy I'm after necessarily, but I keep my side of the street clean just so I know I'll remain in the right. If I don't do anything wrong, no one can blame me for the implosion of my future and my broken heart, and I've had enough of being blamed for my ex-boyfriends' mistakes and indiscretions.

          However, I still needed someone to talk to, and I can't exactly go to Rhett to talk about my concerns regarding his proposal when I know he'd be able to find a logical counterpoint to every argument I'd raise in favor of not accepting it. Back in high school, he'd win every debate, even those that seemed impossible, and now he has the added advantage of knowing exactly how to get under my skin. So, Nancy had to be the one to put up with all my woes—as usual.

          "Not really," I confess. "I wanted to speak to my advisor before making a decision just so I know what my options are. I don't think it makes much sense to agree to do it while being hesitant if there's another way out of it; maybe she'll let me switch projects. It's still early in the school year, but all the paperwork was filled and sent months ago, so . . ."

          She presses her lips together. Under the warm lighting in our bedroom, the freckles speckled across her cheeks and nose like constellations are even more apparent, no matter how hard she works to cover them up with foundation. "Fucking Cole. I still can't believe the nerve of that guy."

          "Yeah." My heart pounds at the mention of him. Even though he screwed me over in ways I couldn't have seen coming from a mile away—you never expect the people you care about to hurt you in such callous ways, but that's the nature of betrayal, after all—I still loved him once.

          Maybe those feelings changed somewhere along the way, weakened by the time we spent apart and by the blow he delivered straight through my heart, but they were there once, and they're not easy to overlook. I would know.

          "I know you have a soft spot for Rhett"—I grimace at this; I do not have a soft spot for Rhett Price, out of all people on this planet—"but please be careful around him. There's something about this whole thing that sounds suspicious as hell. Maybe I'm overreacting or seeing things where they don't exist, but it sounds awfully convenient that he just so happened to be standing right outside when you and Cole broke up. It sounds awfully convenient that he had a seemingly perfect solution for your conundrum, and all it would take for you to sort everything out is to do exactly what he wants you to do. He fixes his reputation, and you'll just have to humiliate yourself in the process. It doesn't feel fair, that's all."

          I straighten my back, halfway through struggling to tie my shoes' straps around my ankle. "Do you think he's behind this whole thing?"

          "Not really. Not in that way; like, I don't think he got Cole to break up with you. I mean, why would he?"

          "Well, if he wants me to pretend to date him, it's probably better to do it when I'm single."

          As I utter these words, I realize just how over the top these theories are. Rhett doesn't like Cole and, no matter how casually cruel Cole is capable of being, he wouldn't break up with me for Rhett's sake. He's always been self-serving, choosing to do what benefits him the most, so I'm inclined to believe the breakup was his own idea. The senior project, too; although it pains me to admit it, Rhett would never do that to me. Even if he did, I would figure it out eventually, and all the pretending would be over in the blink of an eye.

          "Still. I'm just saying I don't think he got involved in that way, but I'm starting to think he might have been thinking about it for a while, and the timing was just too perfect to pass up on," Nancy continues, standing up from her vanity corner. "Every piece fell into place—you're single and desperate, and he thinks that's enough to make you jump at the chance to make everything right in spite of everything he did to you. It feels disproportionately more favorable to him than it does to you, especially when he knows how much your career means to you."

          That's all true. Even though I've spent an entire week obsessing and ruminating over every single detail—or so I thought—apparently there's still stuff I've neglected to consider. I don't think Rhett is an influential mastermind that orchestrated this entire chain of events, but I do agree that the timing feels convenient, and he might be taking advantage of it.

          He knows I would never agree to be his fake girlfriend if I didn't need his help right back, and I would only ever accept that help if it concerned something as massive as my senior project. Even if he wants to make it up to me in the process and is truly remorseful for the pain he has brought upon me, something I desperately want to be true (mostly for my sake; I can't care less whether it makes him sleep better at night knowing we're cool or not), I'm still hesitant.

          We're not at an equal playing field here, and the consequences of pursuing such an agreement are far more serious for him, raising the pressure and the stakes for me. I'm clearly not the perfect girlfriend or the best choice for this plan—I wouldn't be single if I was that great at dating—and there are so many other girls who would jump at a chance to be with him, so why is he coming after me now? What changed? What made him decide I deserve an apology?

          "I should talk to him, right?" I ask. Nancy hums, nodding. "Before I decide anything, I need to know exactly what is going on."

          "Don't do anything rash. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

          "You don't date men, Nance. I'd always be doing something you wouldn't do."

          She wrinkles her nose, then breaks out into a bright grin. "I sure don't. I still don't get why anyone does."

ᓚᘏᗢ

          Lo and behold, no one at the gala can explain its purpose and which charities are benefiting from all this money being paraded and thrown around. It's not something I give much thought to, both because Nancy stops me from saying something regrettable the second I open my mouth to discuss class consciousness with billionaires, and because I find myself lost in the lights.

          In more ways than one, I'm like a cat. I'm attracted to shiny, pretty things and easily distracted by them, and everything and everyone around me shines so bright I hardly know where to look or what to stay focused on. It's a nightmare for someone like me in some ways, as I've come here to network and ensure I don't turn into a failure and the family disappointment, but there's something about intricately beautiful chandeliers that hits just right.

          I don't find myself in beautiful places like this very often. Even attending a prestigious university has already been more than I could have ever asked for and I've attempted to make the most of it, but, as my time as a college student dwindles and a scary future without a safety net grows closer, I fear I've been taking it all for granted.

          There won't be anyone to catch me when I fall after graduation, no Nancy Huang to come home to whenever my heart inevitably gets shattered, no kind professors to ask for advice. In a few months, I will be on my own, struggling to make ends meet with a career I adore but that doesn't guarantee financial stability unless I land a fantastic gig. Whatever apartment I'll find, during this housing crisis, will never compare to what other people will be living in, and I suspect I'll have to get a housemate to help with rent, not to mention all the extra luxuries I'll need to cut out to make ends meet. Some things matter more than pretty clothes and fancy food, and I can only hope one day I'll be able to afford those things without feeling like I'm drowning in a guilt tsunami.

          I know this makes me somewhat of a downer during these events, gawking at every expensive thing my eyes land on and devouring expensive treats like I haven't seen food in days, not to mention how uncomfortable it makes me to witness how careless some people choose to be with their money just because they have so much of it. I know it bothers Nancy, like she feels she's flaunting her wealth just because I didn't grow up rich, but I can't fix economic disparity on my own, and neither can she. We shouldn't feel like it's up to us to fix systemic issues when the people who can do something about it simply choose not to.

          As I walk away from the hors d'oeuvre displays, carrying a small plate of assorted appetizers and a tall flute of bubbly champagne, it quickly becomes apparent I'm a fish out of water.

          I haven't managed to strike up a conversation with everyone and, to make it even worse, I've heard people snicker about me behind my back, likely sensing my discomfort. Usually, I manage to brush it off, being far too self-assured to let it bother me, but I haven't been at my best lately, and even the simplest, dumbest things trigger my tear ducts. On an evening I conveniently forgot to wear waterproof mascara, I can't allow myself to go through the publicly humiliating scenario of crying in front of the people I'm trying to impress.

          Then, my breath gets hitched in my throat, mixed with the lump I've been trying to swallow before I start bawling, and I see him advancing through the crowd, making his way towards me in quick, confident strides.

          When Rhett grins at me, green eyes sparkling even in the distance, my stomach coils around itself, and I'm done for.

          Great job, me. World, meet Brie Sheridan, Glass Swallower.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

no one:

literally no one:

brie: but have you heard about ~capitalism~

(btw i love nancy she's baby)