I lean back against the wall. I had big plans knowing my mom and sister were away and that I had the house to myself. Am I really going to sit here all night knowing my friends are probably all together, discussing me?

  Whatever. I’ll give them a minute and take one for myself. I’m not great company right now and I’m scared that if I push, they’ll back off further.

  I can take a day to myself. Being home alone isn’t something that happens often. I really thought I would love a week of it, but my mind isn’t allowing me to enjoy it.

  All I can think about is the horror of today, my heart still fluttering from the crash.

  Chocolate is the only answer.

  On my way to the kitchen, my phone dings. I inhale, bracing myself—too drained for whoever it is, too afraid it’s bad news about Ellie. Right now, I want to shut out the whole world.

  Get a freaking grip.

  The danger is imaginary. I’ve watched too many stupid killer TV shows. The real danger already happened…to Ellie.

  I take a long breath and work through each instance of paranoia, ticking off each fear when I’ve rationalized it away. The engine wasn’t someone looking for me, just a UPS driver looking for the neighbor. People stare because we’re a public family, not because they want to kill me. I’m spiraling, twisting today’s events into something darker.

  If I want Mom to take more trips, like visiting Isla when she’s at college, I need to do better.

  Another breath. Chin up, shoulders back. You’re okay. Ellie will be okay. Breathe. Focus.

  I’ll be fine, I’ll make sure of it. Things with my friends will settle once they’ve had a little space. I just need to stay calm, give them time, and not overthink.

  With my dramatics behind me—at least for now—I pace the house. The living room windows are huge, nearly floor-to-ceiling, facing the street. I close the blinds, shutting myself off from the rest of the world. Or at least, that’s how it feels.

  In here, I’m safe.

  I move to the next room, and fall into the quiet, the peace. No orders to record, no retakes, no vlog planning. The little library is one of my favorite spaces. It’s small but lined with bookshelves packed with paperbacks, hardcovers, special editions, and first editions. Tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of books live here. Mom’s always been a big reader, the only trait I’m glad to inherit from her.

  I walk to the window—identical to the windows in the living room but on its own, making it feel more intimate. A perfect place to read.

  I find the book I’ve been reading, drop into my favorite chair, and get lost.

  7

  Stretching, I put the paperback down and rub my eyes. I’ve ignored my phone for hours—two and a half, to be exact. The sun still sets early, but the days are starting to get longer.

  The dark is cozier anyway.

  I glance out the window—just my reflection and a distant streetlight. Then something out there moves. An animal?

  Squinting, I inch closer. Too dark to tell. No, it’s a person. But whoever it is, they’re now out of sight.

  Probably Sandra, the attorney from down the street, out for a run after work. She told me once that she runs at night because she needs to run off her frustration with her condescending coworkers. She usually wears a headlamp, though. Maybe I missed it.

  No…I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a light.

  I should remind her to keep it on at night.

  Tugging the blind shut, I move around the house, closing any that are open in other rooms. I left a few lights on earlier—I don’t love roaming around in my dark house alone. Besides, leaving a few lights on makes it appear as if more than one person is home. I switch on Isla’s bedroom light for good measure.

  It’s late but not too late. I have the house to myself, which means staying up until the early hours, watching TV or whatever reels Rosa will inevitably send. Or maybe she won’t.

  No notifications from her—just likes and comments on my socials, and I don’t have the energy to look at them. Isla sent a message, which I skim: They’re fine, eating dinner. I should message her if I need anything. I always rely on my sister. She never lets me down. I won’t tell her I’m still shaken over Ellie’s accident. She deserves this road trip.

  Upstairs, I clean my face and change into pajamas so soft I never want to take them off.

  A year ago, Mom’s success landed us in this massive house. It doesn’t feel so big anymore.

  I curl into the sofa, phone in hand, scrolling Netflix. True crime, of course—though I know these shows fuel my paranoia. This one isn’t about home invasions, so that’s something.

  There’s a bunch of new notifications on YouTube. Maybe Mom has posted something. There’s also an unexpected but kind of irritatingly late text from Seth.

  That’s the one I check first because he seems extra off with me right now. We’ve been together eighteen months and the more my mom vlogs, the more stressed and angrier he gets. It wears on me.

  Seth: You good?

  Connie: Fine, watching TV. You okay?

  I want to ask: Are we okay? But I don’t want to push it if he still needs time. His text suggests he’s pretending our fight never happened—classic Seth.

  Seth: You know you can call if you need anything. I’m sure seeing Ellie hurt was a shock

  Him downplaying what I went through is kind of annoying. More than kind of, actually. He won’t put aside his frustration long enough to properly check in. We’re supposed to act normal now.

  I know that I can count on him. It doesn’t matter if we’ve had an argument. He’d be there if I called and really needed him. But I wish he’d just come to me—he knows I was shaken today. And he hasn’t answered my question. We’re pretending.

  Connie: You know I will. What have you been up to?

  Seth: Just chilling after football. Have practice tomorrow.

  Forced small talk. I hate it.

  Connie: cool

  No mention of Dustin. Maybe he just hung out with his brother after football.

  Not everything is about you.

  Seth isn’t replying and I can’t be bothered to try speaking to him again, so I move on to Isla’s messages. I can see there are several, but I’ve only read the most recent one.

  Isla: I’m so over driving.

  Isla: Did you know that Mom can talk for hours WITHOUT STOPPING!

  I laugh.

  Isla: We made it to the hotel. SEPARATE ROOMS THANK GOD!!!!!! U OK? Check in pls

  Connie: all good here, I’m ok. Mom never stops—just tune her out. Excited for college visits tomorrow?

  Isla: I can’t wait. I’m so ready!!!!

  I hope she lays off the exclamation marks in her applications. Isla might be ready for college but I’m not ready for her to go. It’s still over a year away, but I know time will fly by. Then it’ll just be me and Mom. A thought somehow more terrifying than randos knowing where I live.

  Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. I open her message next and instantly wish I hadn’t.

  I grit my teeth, blinking against the sting. That’s it? Just reminding me to film some content. No checking to see if I’m okay here alone.

  Do not let her make you cry.

  Anger builds in my chest, tight as a pressure cooker. I wish I could log in to her YouTube and delete the whole account—hit her where it really hurts.

  I open Insta, checking the comments on the reel I posted from a movie night with Seth and Rosa. Never just me and Seth—that invites questions.

  It’s not even recent. I filmed it the last time we were at the movies. As long as I don’t show the screen, no one will know it’s a month old.

  Whoa…

  Okay, Blue is online again, one of the first to comment.

  Glad ur out having fun rather than recording

  Same, Blue. Same.

  There’s a reply so I click to view the response.

  Hope ur ok at home and have someone staying with u

  Mom was very careful with her words when telling viewers that I was staying behind. She never directly said I was alone. Never said someone was here with me. She ignored the questions, or if she answered, it was vague:

  I’d never leave Connie without knowing she’d be taken care of.

  Blue sees through her. Really well. And maybe—I don’t know—maybe I’m starting to like this person. Or at least not fear them. Sure, the social media stalking thing is a red flag. But it’s not like I’m going to marry them.

  My thumbs hover over the keypad. I won’t tell them that I’m completely alone. That would be a terrible idea. But where’s the harm in replying to someone who actually seems to be on my side? Especially when it feels like they’re the only one who is.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I tap a reply.

  Having fun thx and have someone with me.

  It’s not like I’m lying. My friends will come over and the sheriff’s going to come by or drive past at least twice a day.

  My lungs burn as I wait for them to reply.

  Maybe that was a terrible idea.

  This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve responded to viewers, but it’s the first time from my personal account, which means my mom hopefully won’t find out. She only checks that a post has gone up.

  She can’t stop me from talking to someone, but she will lose it if she knows I’m messaging a viewer who doesn’t like her.

  Blue finally replies.

  Good I was worried ur mom just left u alone

  What does it say that strangers care about me more than my own mom? Since Dad took off when I was twelve, she’s been obsessed with proving herself, showing him what he walked out on, I guess. Isla thinks that’s why she vlogs, so he can see how well we’re doing. It makes her more sympathetic to Mom because she thinks she’s sad.

  Nothing like that, she’ll be back soon. Just touring colleges with my sister. I’ll go next year.

  Defending her leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Pretending my life is perfect is exhausting. I feel like I’m in that old movie The Truman Show—except I know it’s fake.

  I’m applying in the south bc I’m over snow!

  So this person is probably in high school if they haven’t applied yet. They let the part about my mom go and I’m relieved. She takes up too much space in my head.

  Totally on board HATE SNOW

  Winter always drags on forever. Seth, Rosa, and Dustin love it—skiing, sledding—but after a couple of weeks, I’m done. I want sun. I want to be lounging by the community pool.

  U moving south for college?

  Nope, not telling a stranger that one.

  Not sure yet

  Ull get in wherever u want

  Thx

  I watch the comments, waiting to see if they reply again. The conversation has naturally died, and if they restart now, that’s…weird. It will be a good indicator that I need to block this person. If they keep coming back after a conversation’s natural end, they’re a stalker.

  It was probably a bad idea to engage in the first place—but they haven’t actually done anything wrong. I looked up Sabrina Carpenter’s Insta after hearing her sing, and sometimes I comment on her posts. Isn’t it kind of the same thing?

  I’m comparing myself to Sabrina Carpenter now. I need more sleep.

  When it’s clear they agree our conversation has ended, I scroll, losing myself in my phone for a solid hour.

  No one else bothers me, which hasn’t happened in months. It’s a kind of peace that I forgot existed—one I suddenly want more of.

  If no one knew I was here, maybe I could disappear. No contact. No pressure.

  Just me, alone, in silence.

  8

  I wake up with a fresh perspective, ready to patch things up with my friends. Jules texted first thing—Ellie’s still stable, expected to make a full recovery. I pressed for more and Jules admitted that she’s not awake yet, but her body needs the rest. Not necessarily a bad thing.

  I get dressed and message Seth on the way downstairs for coffee.

  Connie: morning you okay?

  Seth: diner in 10?

  Connie: I’ll be there

  And just like that, yesterday’s mess is behind us. Either we’ve moved on or Seth is bottling it up, waiting to explode later.

  I skip the coffee since I now have plans. I swing around the banister, jumping the last two steps. Yesterday was an emotional, scary, and dramatic roller coaster but I’m not letting it ruin the time I have left. Not now that Ellie’s okay.

  I slip my shoes on and grab my keys.

  I’m so ready for pancakes that I swing the door open too hard, whacking the glass panel against the wall. I grit my teeth and pray there’s no crack.

  Oh crap, there’s a mark. No, no, no. Wait…I move closer and see a green smudge, something from outside, and not a crack. Thank god.

  I pull the door shut, locking up before investigating what’s out on the porch.

  “What the…”

  A pink flower lies there, big silky petals. Looks like a daisy, but not quite. Aren’t daisies supposed to be white? Not that I’d know—gardening isn’t our thing.

  Seth only buys me flowers for prom, when I’m sick, and on Valentine’s Day. Nothing like that is coming up. And why leave one when we’re about to hang out?

  I lift the flower to my nose and inhale. It’s fresh and sweet, not overpowering. The stem is jagged, like it snapped off.

  Probably blew off a neighbor’s yard after the strong winds last night.

  I tuck it into the planter by the door, lock up, and head out. I stayed up late last night to upload a short vlog to YouTube, using some footage from an old football game. I haven’t checked how it’s doing. Also, I couldn’t care less about how it’s doing.

  I can’t wait to eat diner breakfasts every day for the next two weeks.

  I crank the music, blasting Taylor Swift and singing at the top of my lungs. It’s going to be such a drag when Mom and Isla are home. Right now? I am loving the freedom.

  The parking lot is nearly empty, so I pull up in a spot close to the door. This time walking in alone doesn’t bother me. I need to learn to ignore the stares, not let people make me feel small. Usually, I want a buffer. Not this week. I have such a tiny window to be carefree—I won’t waste it worrying about what people think.

  They’ll talk whether I stress or not. Might as well enjoy myself.

  God, I hope this attitude lasts.

  Inside, I spot Rosa sitting alone. Seth didn’t say she’d be here.

  Maybe she’s waiting for Dustin. Maybe this is a coincidence.

  “Rosa,” I say. “Hi.”

  She looks up, smiling as she tucks her long curly hair behind her ears. Then scratches her arms, leaving marks on her tanned skin. A tell that she’s nervous. “Hey, take a seat.”

  Okay. “I’m meeting Seth. You joining us?”

  She lifts her oversized mug to her lips, sipping. “Sure, sit down, Connie.”

  What’s going on?

  I slide in the booth, raising a brow at the amount of caffeine she’s downing. I’m suddenly nervous. “What, you don’t want to sleep tonight?”

  “I need the coffee. Dustin and I were on the phone last night. He was ranting about your mom—after we’d spent the evening ranting together. Which, I’m really sorry about, Connie. I know home stuff is a lot. I’ve been worrying about Dustin, and with you being alone it all kind of got on top of me. I shouldn’t have canceled. Oh, and sorry for hijacking your breakfast date with Seth.”

  Canceled? Pretty sure that only applies if you actually tell someone you’re not coming. From that speech, I’m guessing Seth has “canceled” on me too.

  Fantastic.

  “Wow, that is a lot.” My mind is all over the place—not sure how to feel about them clearly talking about me behind my back. “And I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

  “Well, let’s fix that, because I bet you have questions after my little word vomit.”

  “Oh, I sure do.” I scan the QR code, ordering pancakes and the largest coffee on the menu despite just having teased Rosa for it.

  Rosa takes another long sip, then sets her mug down, tapping her fingers against the side.

  “All right, where to start.” I genuinely don’t know how I feel about this yet. “Seth’s definitely not coming?”

  “He told me to ask you to message him when we’re done. He’ll meet you to do whatever you want. He’s trying to make amends too.”

  Well, that’s something, at least.

  “You and Dustin had a big gossip session about me?”

  She holds up her hands. “Not at all. We were just brainstorming ways to help you.”

 

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