Monday morning, I was running late. I'd stayed up too late thinking—about the party, about cheer tryouts, about the newspaper about how maybe, possibly, just a little bit, I had actually had fun. And maybe I was starting to not completely despise it here. Which is probably why, in my rush to leave, I didn't check my surroundings as I reversed out of my driveway.

I heard the crunch before I felt it.

Panic surged through me as I slammed the brakes, heart dropping into my stomach.

No, no, no, no—

I scrambled out of my car, eyes widening in horror at the sight of my poor, innocent mailbox now half-toppled, its post cracked at an awkward angle.

"Really?" I whipped around just as Drew's car rolled to a stop, his window down, amusement written all over his face.

"Do you actively prey on damsels in distress," I snapped, "or is it just routine now?"

He hummed, considering. "I believe the phrase you're looking for is chivalrously assist." He shook his head with a dramatic sigh, "And they told me you were good at English." I raised an eyebrow and Drew blinked. "What?"

"Nothing." I sniffed. "I'm just surprised you knew the word chivalrous."

He grinned. "You wound me, Sterling."

I groaned, rubbing my temples. "I don't have time for this."

"You don't have time?" He gestured to the crime scene. "You just committed vehicular manslaughter against a mailbox."

I shot him a look. "Are you going to help me or just stand there?"

Drew tapped his fingers against his steering wheel, considering. "Depends. How much are you willing to beg?" I turned back to my car, prepared to struggle rather than give him the satisfaction, when he sighed. "Get in, Sterling," he said, putting his car in park.

I frowned. "What?"

"I'll drive you."

My brows furrowed. "Why?"

Drew rolled his eyes. "Because you clearly need all the help you can get. And believe it or not we're heading to the same place." I hesitated, then—begrudgingly—grabbed my bag and climbed into his car. Drew smirked as I buckled in.

"If you say one word," I warned, "I will open the door and roll onto the pavement."

He just laughed, backing out of his driveway. And, unfortunately, I had a feeling this was going to be a very long ride. If being late to school wasn't bad enough, being trapped in a car with Drew Wilder made it exponentially worse. It wasn't just that he was insufferable. It wasn't just that he kept smirking at me like this—this whole situation—was the funniest thing that had ever happened to him. It was the fact that the car was small. Or maybe it was big enough, but his presence made it feel small. Made the air feel thinner, charged in a way I didn't like. I stared out the window, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the suburban scenery passing by.

"Not even a thank you?" Drew mused, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

I exhaled sharply. "Thank you."

"For...?"

I clenched my jaw. "For driving me to school," I said flatly. "Even though you're only doing it for your own amusement."

Drew hummed. "That's only partially true."

I turned, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's the other part?"

He shrugged, that maddeningly effortless shrug, like nothing ever actually fazed him. "Maybe I like making sure you don't get yourself killed before third period."

I scoffed. "I backed into a mailbox. Hardly a near-death experience."

He shot me a look, unimpressed. "You didn't even check your mirrors."

My lips pressed together. "Shut up." Drew just smirked, gaze flicking back to the road as he changed lanes. Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't comfortable. It was thick, heavy, buzzing in the space between our seats. I shifted, crossing my arms tightly. "I loathe this."

Drew chuckled. "What, spending quality time together?"

"Yes," I deadpanned.

He sighed, feigning disappointment. "That hurts, Sterling."

"Good." The rest of the drive was mercifully quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional turn signal clicking into place. By the time he pulled into the school parking lot, I had my hand on the door handle before the car had fully stopped.

"Chill, neighbor," Drew said, laughing as I practically launched myself out.

I slammed the door shut and leaned down, peering through the open window. "Thanks for the ride," I muttered, before adding sweetly, "May your lacrosse stick snap in half."

Drew grinned. "May you not run over any more stationary objects." I flipped him off and turned toward the school, pointedly ignoring the way my heart was hammering against my ribs. This day was already off to a horrible start. Only marginally made better by the official cheer team roster posted outside the gym, my name right there in black and white: Eliza Sterling - Varsity Squad. Via's shriek of excitement echoed through the hallway as she launched herself at me, nearly knocking us both over.

"I knew it! I knew you'd make it!" she squealed, spinning me around. "We're going to have the best season ever!"

The happiness on her face was infectious, and for a moment I let myself feel the pure joy of it—I'd made the team (officially), I belonged somewhere, I was part of something again. But the feeling was short-lived. As we walked to first period, I caught sight of Melody—the girl I'd briefly talked to at tryouts—standing with a group of other cheerleaders. She gave me a bright smile and a wave, but something in her expression felt off. Calculated, maybe. I shook off the weird feeling and focused on Via's continued celebration.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of congratulations and introductions to my new teammates. By lunch, I was exhausted from smiling and trying to remember everyone's names. All I wanted was to find a quiet corner and call Aaron—I'd been putting it off all weekend, but I missed him terribly and needed to hear a familiar voice.

I found an empty study room during my free period and dialed his number, smiling as his face filled the screen on the second ring.

"Eliza!" Aaron grinned, but something in his expression seemed different. "Look who finally decided to call me back." Eliza. I realized that I hadn't heard someone call me Eliza in what felt like ages. Everyone here called me Elle, my dad and Waverly called me Lizzie, and Drew— ugh.

"Sorry," I said, settling into a chair. "It's been crazy here. I ended up going to the party and— "

"I saw the story. Good for you! I can't believe you went, to be honest."

I felt a little stung by his surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know, this feels like a whole new you. Don't let these girls change you, okay?"

Something about his tone didn't sit right with me. "They're not changing me, Aaron. They're just... nice."

"If you say so," he said, but I could hear the skepticism.

"I made the cheer team!" I told him excitedly, eager to change the subject.

Aaron's eyebrows shot up. "You what?"

"I made the cheer team," I repeated, confused by his reaction. "I know, I know, it's not exactly something I ever saw myself doing, but—"

"Eliza." Aaron's voice was flat. "You hate cheerleaders."

"I don't hate cheerleaders—"

"You literally used to make fun of the girls at our school for being 'vapid and performative.'" He made air quotes, and something cold settled in my stomach. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me," I said, defensive. "I just... I tried something new. Isn't that good?"

"Is it?" Aaron leaned back in his chair, studying me through the screen. "Because that story you posted this weekend. You and that pretty girl, all dressed up at some party. You looked..."

"I looked what?"

"Different," he said finally. "Like someone I don't recognize."

The words hit me like a slap. "Aaron, what are you talking about? I'm still me."

"Are you?" His voice was gentler now, but somehow that made it worse. "Eliza, you've been there for a month and you've completely changed. Cheerleading? Parties? Designer clothes? This feels like a whole new you, and I'm worried these girls are changing you."

"They're not changing me," I snapped. "They're my friends. Via is the best friend I've made here."

The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Aaron flinch. We stared at each other through the screen, the weight of what I'd just said hanging between us.

"Your best friend," Aaron repeated quietly. "I see."

"Aaron," I sighed, "you know I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine," he said, but his smile was tight and fake. "I get it. New school, new friends, new state, new Eliza. Just... don't let them turn you into someone else entirely, okay? I miss my friend."

"I miss you too."

"Speaking of people who miss you—Jayden was asking about you at the party we had Saturday night." Jayden. My stomach did a weird flip at the mention of his name. We'd had a thing last spring—nothing serious, just some flirting and a few kisses at parties. But hearing his name now, from three thousand miles away, felt strange.

"That's... nice," I managed.

"Yeah, I think he really misses you," Aaron continued. "We all do. This whole East Coast thing is so weird for you, Eliza." He seen the rest of the call updating me on how everything was at Hyland, giving me the rundown of the first week and how classes were and how he wished I was there, but all I could focus on was the disappointment in his voice, the way he'd looked at me like I was a stranger. After we hung up, I sat there feeling unsettled. Was Aaron right? Was I changing into someone I wasn't? Or was I maybe becoming someone I'd always been but had been too scared to be?

I stared at the blank screen with tears pricking my eyes. Aaron's words echoed in my head as I walked to my next class: Don't let them turn you into someone else entirely. What if I already had?

Lunch was a disaster. It was clear that something was very wrong with Via. She'd been quiet since the list came out, distracted in dance class, and now she was sitting at our usual table stabbing her salad with enough violence to constitute assault. Priya and Zoey exchanged worried looks while I tried to figure out what had happened between this morning's celebration and today's storm cloud.

"Vi," Priya said carefully, "you want to talk about whatever's eating you?"

"No," Via said shortly, then seemed to catch herself. "Sorry. I'm just... it's nothing."

"It's clearly not nothing," Zoey observed, ever the diplomat. "You look like you want to murder someone."

Via's jaw tightened, and she looked around the table like she was deciding whether to explode or retreat. Her eyes landed on me, and something in her expression made my stomach drop.

"It's about Drew," she said finally. "And Melody."

I frowned. "What about them?"

Via's laugh was bitter. "Oh, you know. Same old story. Girl meets Drew, girl gets completely obsessed with Drew, girl uses his cousin to get close to Drew."

"Via," Priya said softly, "what happened?"

"What happened," Via said, her voice getting louder with each word, "is that apparently at Milo's party on Saturday, our sweet little Melody cornered Drew in the kitchen and basically threw herself at him. And when he turned her down, she had the nerve to ask if it was because of me. If I'd told him not to hook up with my friends." Via's voice cracked, and I could see tears in her eyes. "This always happens. Every single time I let someone get close, every single time I trust someone, they're just using me to get to him."

"Via, I'm sure that's not—" I started.

"Isn't it?" She turned to me, and the pain in her expression was devastating. "She was just waiting for the right moment to make a move on my cousin. That conniving, two timing, little—"

Zoey reached across the table to squeeze Via's hand. "Honey, maybe you're reading too much into it. Maybe she just—"

"No." Via pulled her hand away, shaking her head. "You didn't see her face when she asked me about it this morning. She actually had the audacity to act hurt that I was upset. Like I was being unreasonable for feeling betrayed." A tear slipped down her cheek. "God, I'm so stupid. I should have seen it coming."

"You're not stupid," I said fiercely. "Melody is the one who—"

"It's not just about Melody," Via interrupted. "It's about..." She stopped, face shutting down. Priya and Zoey exchanged another look, and I felt like I was missing some crucial piece of information. "I should go," Via said abruptly, standing up and grabbing her bag. "I can't... I need some air."

"Vi, wait," Zoey called, but Via was already walking away, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

I started to get up to follow her, but Zoey grabbed my wrist.

"Just leave it," she said. "Give her some space."

"Am I out of the loop or something?" I asked, concerned. "Because I feel like that was a lot for just a hook-up that didn't happen."

"Melody and Via are pretty close," Priya explained. "Via's basically been mentoring her since freshman year. She's the reason Melody is spirit leader."

"Right.."

Zoey and Priya exchanged another look. "Her aggressively hitting on Drew is nothing new. And it wouldn't be a big deal except..."

"Except it brought up a lot of stuff with Shay," Priya finished.

I frowned. "Who's Shay?"

"Via's ex-girlfriend," Zoey explained. "They dated for over a year. Via was madly in love with her—obsessed, really. Shay was like this bisexual goddess, basically her first real love."

Priya tapped quickly on her phone and pulled up a girl's Instagram feed. She was stunning, with a nose stud and blonde hair and a body any Love Island bombshell would kill for. Her bio had a peace sign and she'd tagged Tufts University. Jesus. Her and via must have made a killer couple based on aesthetics alone.

"And?"

"And Shay was going after Drew while she was with Via," Zoey continued. "Via found out and it was a whole mess. The worst part was, this was right around when Via's parents' divorce was being finalized, and it was already a really hard time for her."

My stomach dropped. "Of course Drew would do that to his own cousin."

"Actually, no," Zoey said quickly. "He was the one who told Via. Drew didn't reciprocate at all—he was honest about how Shay was pursuing him and he shut it down immediately. But he had to tell Via, and it was awful. Shay is just... horrible. And it reinforced this thing Via has about people always choosing Drew."

I felt a strange twist in my chest. "What do you mean?"

"Via's had so many friends over the years who just use her to get to Drew. It's frustrating and hurtful for her. She's convinced everyone always chooses him in the end."

"This just happened at the end of junior year," Priya added. "They were planning to go long distance and everything. I think seeing Melody throw herself at Drew just brought up all those bad feelings."

"Poor Via," I murmured softly, filled with renewed hatred of Drew. Via didn't come back after lunch, which meant that even the promise of my one on one with Miss Dawson after English couldn't cheer me up. English had always been my favorite class. It was the one thing that felt stable, no matter where I was. Whether I was at Hyland or Hopkins, whether I was in a classroom or curled up in bed with a book, literature was safe. Reliable. But all I could think about was how sad Via looked earlier, the judgment in Aaron's voice, Drew's infuriating smirk when I crashed my stupid car. I barely registered when the final bell rang, but I tried to smile because I was excited about the newspaper. It had just— been a hard day.

A familiar, grating voice echoed behind me.

"Run over any innocent mailboxes lately?" Drew said, still lingering in the classroom, presumably to bother me.

I mimicked him in a high-pitched, nasally voice. "Run over any innocent mailboxes lately?"

"Oh wonderful," Miss Dawson smiled. "I see you've already met your editor in crime." My head snapped up so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. Drew Wilder stood in the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

I turned slowly toward Miss Dawson. "No."

Drew grinned. "Yes."

"No," I repeated, voice edging toward desperate.

Miss Dawson smiled, entirely unaffected by my rising panic. "Yes, Eliza. Meet your co-editor, Drew Wilder." Drew sank into the seat beside me, slouching like this was the best news he'd heard all year.

I turned to him, horrified. "Doesn't this conflict with lacrosse or hockey or whatever pretentious stick sport you play?"

Drew's lips twitched. "Both." My fingers twitched with the violent urge to strangle him. "And no," he continued, "it doesn't conflict with either. But thank you so much for your concern."

I inhaled sharply. "Ugh."

"Is there an issue here?" Miss Dawson interjected, raising an eyebrow. Yes. Yes, there's a big issue, and his name is Drew.

Instead, I swallowed my pride, schooling my face into something vaguely neutral. "No. Sorry."

Drew leaned back, feigning innocence. "You sure, Sterling?"

I shot him a withering look before turning back to Miss Dawson. "Um. Just to clarify." I folded my hands neatly, voice steady. "How involved is this partnership? Like... can we just meet the week an issue is due?"

Miss Dawson's expression made it immediately clear that was not an option.

"I wouldn't recommend that."

I clenched my jaw, as Drew asked sweetly, "And what would you recommend, Miss Dawson?"

"Ideally?" she said, clasping her hands together. "You'd collaborate at least once a week outside of school hours. And of course, you'll run newspaper pitch meetings and brainstorming sessions together." I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Of course," Drew mused, tapping a pen against the desk. "I love a good brainstorm."

I turned to glare at him. "Do not make this worse for me."

"Oh, I would never," he said, utterly insincere.

Miss Dawson clapped her hands. "Great! Now, let's get started."

I slumped back in my chair, exhaling through my nose as Drew mimicked my exact movement beside me.

I turned my head, deadpan. "I hate you."

He smirked. "Gonna be a long year, Sterling."

The next day, Drew and I had our first official co-editors meeting. It was a disaster.

"We need to cover the homecoming dance planning," he said, scanning my list.

"That's fluff," I countered. "What about the budget cuts to the arts programs?"

"That's important too, but—"

"More important than who's wearing what dress?"

Drew turned to glare at me. "I wasn't suggesting we cover dresses, I was suggesting we cover the planning committee's fundraising efforts."

"Right, because that's riveting journalism."

Miss Dawson sat there watching us like it was a tennis match. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Several, actually."

"Such as?"

"An investigation into why certain students get preferential treatment in AP course selection."

"That's not news, that's you being petty."

"That's me being thorough."

"That's you being a--"

Miss Dawson cleared her throat from the back of the room. "Perhaps we should table this discussion for your staff meeting on Thursday?" She leveled us with a stern stare, "I hope the two of you can make this work, or we may find ourselves in a difficult situation."

I wanted to scream.

By Thursday, the tension from Via's breakdown had settled into an uncomfortable new normal. She was trying to act like everything was fine, but I could see the hurt in her eyes every time someone mentioned Melody or Drew. She'd been avoiding both of them all week, which meant she'd also been avoiding the usual group hangouts. Which is how I found myself walking into the newspaper office alone for our first official staff meeting, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Drew.

He was already there, of course, sprawled in a chair with his feet up on the desk like he owned the place. The sight of him sent a familiar surge of irritation through me. My dad had been driving me to school for the past few days, because apparently my car was worse off than they'd originally thought, which he was annoyed about. And I was annoyed about it too. And ugh. Everything was terrible. And also it was starting to get cold and also Drew. Drew was so—

"Sterling," he said without looking up from his phone. "Punctual as always."

"It's called being professional," I replied curtly, setting my bag down on the opposite side of the room. "You should try it sometime."

He glanced up as the rest of the staff began filtering in. Jeremy slouched into his usual seat, earbuds still in. Melissa arrived with a stack of celebrity magazines and her laptop covered in sparkly stickers. Two other students I'd barely interacted with—Sarah, a junior who wrote sports coverage, and Marcus, a senior who handled layout—completed our small but chaotic team. There were a bunch of junior staff writers as well, but I could assign them articles over email.

"Alright, everyone," I said, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. "Thanks for coming. Drew and I have been working on ideas for our first issue, and we wanted to get everyone's input."

"Actually," Drew interjected, sitting up straight, "I think we should start by addressing the elephant in the room. Which is that half our staff thinks journalism means copying and pasting from Wikipedia."

Jeremy looked up from his phone, offended. "I research thoroughly."

"Research involves more than clicking the first Google result," Drew shot back.

I felt my jaw tighten. "Drew, maybe we could discuss staff development in a more constructive way—"

"Constructive?" He turned to me with raised eyebrows. "Sterling, we're supposed to be running a newspaper, not a creative writing workshop. If people can't handle basic fact-checking—"

"If you'd let me finish," I said sharply, "I was going to suggest that we pair less experienced writers with more experienced ones. Create a mentorship system."

"A mentorship system," Drew repeated slowly. "For high school students writing for a high school newspaper."

"Yes," I said, crossing my arms. "Some of us believe in actually helping people improve instead of just insulting them."

"And some of us believe in maintaining journalistic standards."

"Oh, please," I scoffed. "Since when do you care about journalistic standards? You've been here for exactly one meeting."

"I care about not embarrassing myself," Drew replied coolly. "Which is apparently more than I can say for some people."

The rest of the staff was watching our exchange like a tennis match, and I could see Jeremy pulling out his phone to presumably record this disaster for social media.

"You know what?" I stood up abruptly. "Maybe we should table this discussion until we can have a productive conversation."

"Maybe we should table this whole partnership until you can separate your personal feelings from professional responsibilities," Drew replied, also standing.

"My personal feelings?" I repeated, my voice getting louder. "You're the one who's been impossible to work with from day one!"

"I've been impossible?" Drew laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Sterling, you've been fighting me on every single decision we've tried to make. You shoot down every idea I suggest, you refuse to compromise on anything, and you act like I'm personally attacking you every time I have a different opinion."

"Because your opinions are terrible!" I exploded.

"Pot, meet kettle."

"You are such a—"

"OKAY!" Melissa shouted, making everyone jump. "Maybe we should all take a breath here?"

I looked around the room at the shocked faces of our staff and felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. This was exactly the opposite of the professional image I'd wanted to project as editor.

"This meeting is adjourned," I said quietly, grabbing my bag. "We'll... we'll reschedule when we can discuss things more calmly."

I was out the door before anyone could respond, leaving behind the awkward silence and Drew's burning gaze. In the hallway, I leaned against the lockers and tried to calm my racing heart. What was wrong with me? I'd never lost control like that before, especially not in front of people I was supposed to be leading.

My phone buzzed with a text from Via: heard you and drew had a screaming match in the newspaper office. you ok?

Great. The gossip mill was already churning.

I'm fine, I texted back. Just professional differences.

But as I walked to my car, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was about much more than professional differences. And I was terrified of what that might mean.

Via's text came at 4:30: can you come over? really need to talk.

I didn't even hesitate before responding yes. After the disaster of the newspaper meeting, I needed Via's particular brand of comfort—her ability to make everything feel less catastrophic with snacks and terrible reality TV and the kind of unconditional friendship I'd never experienced before. When I arrived at her house, Lisa let me in with a concerned expression.

"She's up in her room," Lisa said quietly. "She came home early from school again today. I think she's having a hard time with everything." I found Via curled up on her bed in oversized sweats, surrounded by tissues and looking smaller than I'd ever seen her.

"Hey," I said softly.

"Hey." She led me up to her room, where we spread out our homework but neither of us really focused on it.

Instead, I found myself venting about Drew. "He's just so frustrating," I said. "He questions everything I suggest, he's condescending, and he acts like he knows better than everyone."

"Sounds about right," Via said with a weak smile.

"And then today in our meeting, he completely undermined me in front of the whole staff. I'm supposed to be co-editor, but he made me look like an idiot."

Via listened patiently as I complained, and I was just getting warmed up when I suddenly stopped.

"God, I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't be shit-talking your cousin like that. That's your family."

To my surprise, Via laughed—the first real laugh I'd heard from her all day. "Are you kidding? It's honestly a great change of pace. It's refreshing."

"Really?"

"Really." Her expression grew more serious. And I settled back against her pillows, sensing she wanted to talk. "I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"What happened?"

Via sat up, tucking her legs under her. "I had it out with Melody today. Like, a real fight. In front of half the cheer team after our lunch meeting."

My stomach dropped. "What did you say?"

"Everything I should have said on Monday," Via replied. "I told her I knew what she did at the party, that I felt betrayed, that I couldn't trust her anymore. And you know what she said?"

I shook my head, dreading the answer.

"She said I was being dramatic. That she never meant anything by it, that it was just harmless flirting, and that I was overreacting because of my 'issues' with my cousin." Via's voice broke on the last word. "She made it sound like I was the problem for being upset."

"Via," I said, reaching for her hand. "That's awful. You have every right to be upset."

"Do I, though?" Via asked, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes. "Maybe she's right. Maybe I am overreacting. Maybe I'm just so damaged from what happened with Shay that I can't see straight anymore."

"You are not damaged," I said fiercely. "And you're definitely not overreacting. What she did was wrong, and the fact that she won't acknowledge that makes it worse."

Via squeezed my hand gratefully. "I just... I don't understand why this keeps happening to me. What is it about me that makes people think I'm disposable?"

"You are not disposable," I said, my voice fierce with conviction. "You are the most loyal, generous, amazing person I know. And anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve you in their life."

Via studied my face for a long moment. "You really mean that."

"Of course I mean it."

Via was quiet for a moment, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I don't know exactly what Zoey told you about the Shay situation, but there's more to it than just her going after Drew." She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "My parents' divorce was being finalized around the same time. Dad had been having an affair with someone from his firm for months, and Mom found out right before everything happened with Shay. The house was a war zone—Mom crying constantly, Dad barely coming home, lawyers calling at all hours."

My heart ached for her. "Vi, I had no idea."

"And Mom... she's not handling any of it well. She started drinking more, taking these pills her doctor prescribed for anxiety. Some days she won't get out of bed, other days she's manic and wants to redecorate the entire house or plan elaborate parties that never happen." Via's voice got smaller. "She puts me in the middle of everything. Wants me to carry messages to Dad, asks me to take sides, tells me things about their marriage that no daughter should ever know."

"That's not fair to you," I said quietly.

"The only person who's really been there for me through all of this is Lisa. She's the one who makes sure I eat, who helps me with homework when Mom's having a bad day, who listens when I need to vent. She's more of a mom to me than my actual mom right now." I squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say. "And Drew's family," Via continued. "His house is like my safe space. His parents are incredible—warm and stable and functional in a way mine haven't been in years. His mom, especially. She treats me like I'm her own daughter. She's present, reliable, interested in my life." She laughed, but it sounded hollow. "I don't know how she and my dad were raised in the same house."

"Via..."

"I know Drew sucks," she said quickly. "I know you hate him, and honestly, most of the time he drives me crazy too. But his family keeps me sane. When everything else in my life feels like it's falling apart, I know I can go there and feel safe."

The weight of her confession settled between us. "That sounds really hard," I said quietly.

"It is. And the thing with Shay... it wasn't just about her cheating. It was about feeling like I couldn't trust my own judgment. Like I was so desperate to be loved that I ignored all the red flags." She wiped her eyes. "And seeing Melody throw herself at Drew just brought it all back."

Via's eyes filled with fresh tears, but she was smiling now. "God, Elle, I'm so glad you moved here."

Something twisted in my chest at her words, a combination of warmth and guilt that made it hard to breathe."I think... maybe I am too," I managed, the words feeling like both truth and lie at the same time.

"Well, we're keeping you," Via said with a watery smile. "So you kind of have no choice."

I smiled back, but inside, I felt like I was drowning.

comment please

gag also who am i?

-coco