I pad downstairs to get a glass of water. It’s probably close to midnight. All the lights in the house are out, and the only audible sounds are the thermostat humming and the coffee machine, which bubbles water automatically.

I grab a glass of water and make my way back to my room when the front door pushes open. I turn around on instinct. Stumbling in is a banged-up looking Penn. His face is bruised, cut, and downright purple. He limps toward the kitchen, dragging his left leg, his shoulders crashing into walls, a Greek statue, and a massive plant. He is obviously shitfaced on top of being injured.

I open my mouth to ask him if he was at the snake pit, then clamp it shut when I remind myself that it’s not my business. His baby mama can take care of him. He made it perfectly clear. If anything, I should stop humiliating myself by caring for the boy who so ruthlessly played me. Who took my virginity while promising himself to another girl. At least this time he wore a condom.

Perhaps you’re not a worthy longtime mistake to make.

I turn around and start climbing the stairs.

“Scullys,” he croaks. I keep my pace steady. Up, up, up to my room. I can do it. If I don’t turn around. If I don’t get lost in his light eyes and dark soul. “Skull…Eyes,” he amends.

A hand jerks at the hem of my shirt, and he yanks me the two stairs down, back to the landing. He pins me to the wall in an alcove between the kitchen and the living room in one ruthless shove. I wince when I smell the alcohol and coppery blood on his breath.

His eye is swollen, and his lower lip drips blood onto his shoes. Drunken Penn is a sight I didn’t think I’d see on a school night. He usually wakes up at the same time, rain or shine, for his morning strength training, always looking like a million bucks in a tattered ten-buck outfit.

“What do you want?” I hiss. I feel so breakable in his arms.

“A kiss.”

I push on his chest. He is not making any sense.

“Drop dead, Scully.” It actually looks like he might.

I turn back around toward the stairs. He tugs my wrist again. His eyes are pleading. His eyebrows pulled together. He looks…pathetic, and the old Daria would take great pleasure in basking in this sight. But the new one wants to die knowing he hurts. Even worse than that, that he is hurting. That Via reentering his life was not everything he hoped it to be.

“Clean yourself up,” I say quietly. “Or you’ll get seriously infected.”

“Help me?” he croaks, his voice throaty, laced with pain.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to do it?”

“Because she lives two towns over.”

“Wrong answer.”

“Because I don’t want her help. I want yours.”

I close my eyes. I tell myself that I’m just helping him clean up, not getting in bed with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Penn so messed up. Physically—maybe. He’s a physical player. But emotionally…for the first time since I’ve met him, I see him feel. The walls are soaked with his emotions, the air dense with them.

I make my way to the cabinet above the sink and take out a first-aid kit, motioning for him with my head to come closer. He hops onto the kitchen island and gulps me in as I wash his face with a warm cloth I’m pretty sure our cleaners use to wipe the tiles. Then I clean up his bruises with antiseptic wipes and put a Band-Aid on a gash on his forehead that probably needs some stitches. I don’t ask him what happened. He tells me anyway.

“I fought three guys at the snake pit.”

“That’s dumb,” I whisper.

“Simultaneously.”

“That’s seriously dumb.”

He tries to chuckle, but it splits the cut on his lip again.

“There.” I take a step back. “Bet you’re feeling brand new.”

“How was New York?” he asks.

I can’t even think about that city without wanting to throw up. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to set foot in it again.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend we’re friends.” I close the first-aid kit, push it back into the cabinet, and make my way upstairs to finish my entry.

When I get to my bed, the little black book is not there anymore.

Listen to the chaos

Brewing in your head

This, my pretty reckless lover

Is how our story ends

The next day, I’m a dead girl walking.

When I see Via in the hallway, I pass her wordlessly. I’m scared that if I say something, I might go apeshit, and my situation is very delicate. I’ve lost so much in the past few weeks, and I don’t trust myself to react anymore.

I’m passive. Timid. Scared.

Exactly as she wanted me. Precisely what she pretends to be.

Cheer practice is the only thing I have left, so when I put my uniform on in the locker room, I try to take a deep breath and enjoy the nothingness around me. Everyone is waiting for me outside. It’s time to shine. To be the old me. Whoever that may be.

I gather my hair into a ponytail, turning around to make my way to the door at the same time it bangs shut. I look up and see Esme leaning against it, arms folded. She is wearing her skimpy cheer outfit and a triumphant smile.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Her voice is sugary sweet, and my hackles immediately rise. I tilt my chin upward.

“Sure. I’m getting good at keeping them.”

She pushes off the door and saunters deeper into the room until we are face to face.

“I always knew you would be your own downfall. You were so pretty and perfect with your shiny hair and long lashes. So conceited and entitled with your crazy lineage, ex-teacher mom, and Hothole father. Sometimes, at night, I had to cry myself to sleep, convincing myself that you would fall, because it didn’t look like you ever would. And let’s admit it.” She chuckles. “The cheer captain title always belonged to me. I’m the better dancer. I’m a better leader, better mediator, the better human being.”

I stand straighter. She is talking about me in the past tense, and I don’t like that. I elevate my nose, reminding her who’s the boss. Though, truth be told, I haven’t felt in control for a really long time.

“You can’t strip my title, Esme. That’s not how things work, no matter how much you want them to.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” She puts two fingers to her mouth and whistles. The door opens and in trickles the cheer team in all their glory, complete with their uniforms. And at the end of the perfect line is Sylvia Scully, wearing a uniform she must’ve stolen. From me.

I see red.

I take a step back, twisting my mouth. Esme takes a step toward me, cleaning invisible lint from my crop top.

“You’ve been spacey, out of focus, and MIA when we needed you. Not to mention, poor Via told us about what you did to her four years ago with the letter,” she pouts.

Shooting an accusing glance at Via, I see that she not only meets my gaze, but she smiles, too. She got a new pixie haircut, stylish and expensive, and new studded earrings to go with it. She is already reinventing herself, and no one is stopping her from ruining my life. Melody is compensating for our lack of connection by showering Via and Bailey with everything I won’t accept from her anymore, and for whatever reason, Penn is firmly in her camp. The only person I still matter to is Dad, but even I know he is isolating himself in his quest to be there for me.