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AndIS this the best we can do??

AndLmao she really does look like AI.

Her DMs overflowed with nasty comments from girls who, just a week ago, had hounded her for links to buy every last thing she owned.

How quickly they’d turned on her.

On the media side of things, articles were written in response to Aly’s and published in well-respected publications likeVanity FairandThe New Yorker. Lola watched as notable intellectuals engaged with Aly’s ideas. Which meant her downfall wasn’t just trending—it had becomethe discourse.

Even her parents, who were chronically offline, called and left a voicemail. She couldn’t bring herself to listen to it, but the transcription read “Honey, we’re worried about you. Call back when you can.”

She didn’t call them back. She was too ashamed. Their sympathy would not feel good; it would just remind her of how badly she’d failed.

Because Aly, of course, was right. About everything. Lolahadbecome bland. Shewasnothing but a corporate shill. She’d lost herself in an ocean of brand deals until there was nothing about her lifethat really felt like hers. And now the world knew. She knew too. She couldn’t lie to herself anymore when the truth was there in print.

And she was alone in it, the shame and the failure. Every choice she’d made had brought her here. She couldn’t blame anyone—not even Aly. Aly was just good at her job.

She ignored calls from Justin. She couldn’t stand to hear him feel bad for her. Instead she let it go to voicemail and then textedsorry, nappingorcall you back in a sec, never following up.

After she’d been in bed for two whole days, there was a knock at the front door before she heard the familiar sound of Ryan letting himself into the apartment. “Lola,” he called and then sang, “Lolalala.”

“Bedroom,” she wailed.

Standing in the doorway, his arms full of Loops Beauty face masks and a fresh bottle of Chopin vodka, he sighed. “Oh, babe. Have we decided to just bed rot through this?”

She put a pillow over her face and groaned into it. “I’m trying to pass away.”

He sat at the edge of the bed. “No, you’re not. This will be over in three to five business days, tops.”

“No, it won’t,” she said. “Stop being a publicist, and just be my best friend.”

She grabbed a mug from the nightstand. It had a dried tea bag in it, which she plucked out and then dropped on the floor. She held the mug out to Ryan, and he dutifully filled it with vodka, a grimace on his face.

“That fucking bitch,” he said, taking a sip directly from the bottle. “I can’t believe she did this to you.”

“Did you see thatblandificationis still trending on Twitter?”

He rolled his eyes. “Babe, no one cares about Twitter.”

“Media people do!” she cried.

“Yeah, and who the fuck cares about media people?”

He was trying to get her to laugh with him, but she couldn’t.

“Ugh,” she said. “I just feel like the whole lesbian-chic thing could have blown over on its own. It was, like, very downtown NYC niche drama. But now it’s like…a national emergency. Anational emergency, Ryan! Soon we’re all going to get an Amber Alert on our phones about it.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Have you been abducted?”

“I wish!” She put the pillow back over her face.

“Do you want to do a face mask?”

“Okay,” she said meekly into the pillow.

They were sitting next to each other in bed, face masks on, watchingLove Is Blindon Lola’s laptop when Lola’s phone pinged. She reached for it, but Ryan snatched it away.

“Let me look,” he said. His face fell.