Page 4

Chloe

I swipe to another photo, knowing it’s the dumbest move and this isn’t dislodging the ache in my chest but unable to stop myself. A photo of Brendan at the last house party we went to. One taken by my mom of us before leaving for prom. A selfie with Brendan on a school museum trip.

I frown at our smiles. He moaned the whole time and dragged me through the exhibitions as quickly as possible, even though he knew I wanted to take my time.

The door creaks open and I toss the phone guiltily onto my bed to spy Sara’s blonde head inching through the gap.

“Hey, Chloe,” she says softly, padding across the room in her usual mismatched socks. Pink pigs on one foot and what looks like slices of cake on the other.

She quickly drops down beside me, wrapping me in a warm vanilla-scented hug, as if she’s trying to hold my broken pieces together with just her arms.

“I come bearing gifts,” she murmurs against my hair, pulling back only to hand me a box of tissues with a sympathetic tilt to her lips.

“Thanks,” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at the remnants of mascara betraying the fact that I've been crying for what feels like a century.

“Anytime.” She plops down next to me, close enough that I can lean on her if I need to. And oh, how I need to.

“Have you heard from Brendan yet?”

I grab my phone and unlock it, my stomach twisting as I scroll to the last message he sent—the one that shattered everything.

I show Sara the curt, detached words, as if they don’t hold the weight of two years together.

Each time I read it, it feels like a fresh slap, a reminder of how little I apparently meant to him.

He made it clear he didn’t want to talk to me and we were most definitely over, leaving my texts after unanswered, like echoes in a void.

All my texts after have gone unanswered.

“God, what a dick.” Sara shakes her head, her eyes narrowing. “If I were you, I’d hunt him down and--”

“And kill him, I know.”

Sara already offered to hurt Brendan in various ways when I texted her about the breakup, and I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s the girl who kneed Tom Carver in the crotch when he tried to grope her last year, after all.

“I already tried to hunt him down but he wouldn’t even answer the door to me.” I swallow hard, still able to feel the way my heart thudded as I waited at his front door, bracing myself for a confrontation or for Brendan to emerge, smiling and telling me it was all a mistake.

Neither happened.

I’ve been ghosted.

“You deserve answers, Chloe. I can’t believe Brendan would do this. We’re not fourteen, for God’s sake.”

“I’m not sure I can face him now.” I gesture to my blotchy face. “Especially not like this.”

We sit in silence for a while. I can’t cry anymore. My whole body feels wrung out, too dry, and like the ache in my chest will never go away. How does someone just end things after two years like that?

“Does your mom know what’s happened?” Sara asks.

“Not really. Dad’s not doing too well and she doesn’t need the stress.”

“She’d want to know.”

“I’ll tell her when I’m feeling more stable. I don’t want her to worry.”

Sara's hand is warm on my shoulder, grounding me. “She’s your mom, Chloe. It’s her job to worry about you. But this will get better.”

“I thought we’d be together forever.” I crush the tissue in my hand. “I’m an idiot.”

“Chloe, you’re not an idiot. You don't deserve this,” Sara murmurs. “You're one of the best people I know. Brendan's...he's making a huge mistake.”

“You’re a bit biased, I know.”

She cocks her head. “Biased, but not stupid.”

I draw in a shaky breath. Thank God I have Sara.

We’ve been friends for years, and she’s seen me at my absolute worst and somehow never faltered.

She’s the one who stayed up with me the night before finals, talking me down when I spiraled.

I'm beginning to realize Brendan knew the curated version of me—the me I thought I had to be to keep him interested.

“I just—I thought he loved me, you know?”

She squeezes my shoulder gently. “I know you did. And you loved him. But sometimes love isn't enough, especially if it's not coming from both sides.” Her voice is soft but firm, like she's trying to etch her words onto my heart.

“Maybe,” I concede, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence stretches between us, comfortable yet loaded with the unsaid.

“Chloe, there's something else,” Sara says abruptly, her tone shifting. I look up, caught off-guard by the sudden steel in her voice.

“What is it?” I ask, a new knot of anxiety forming in my stomach.

“I don’t want to hurt you but I think you need to know.”

“There’s a rumor going around that Brendan was seen well...” She pauses, her jaw clenching. “Kissing someone else.”

The room tilts, and I grip the edge of the bed to steady myself. “Kissing?” My voice sounds distant, like someone else's echo. “Kissing who?”

“Maisie Collins.” She huffs out a breath. “When’s his next shift at Joe’s? I should hunt him down and—”

“God, Sara.” I try to absorb the words. Maisie was in the grade below us. She’s cute and bubbly, and I know the boys in the grade used to go mad for her.

Is this why I’ve been dumped? So he could date Maisie?

My heart comes to a shuddering standstill. I feel numb, hollowed out. “Did he cheat on me?” I say aloud, the words more of an experiment than anything.

Did he cheat on me? Was he capable of that?

“I'm sorry, Chlo.” She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “But maybe it's better this way. You see his true colors now. You're going to get through this. And I'll be right here with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, the word brittle in my mouth. As the reality sinks in, I lean into Sara, grateful for her presence, for her fury on my behalf. It's a small comfort, but right now, it's everything.

A mischievous twinkle replaces the stormy anger in Sara's eyes, and her lips twitch into a scheming smile. “You know, Chloe,” she starts, leaning closer as if about to share a top-secret plan, “if you want, I could always 'accidentally' spill my iced mocha on his precious varsity jacket.”

I blink at her as Sara stands, miming holding a cup and then flinging it with dramatic flair, her blonde hair swishing around her face.

“Oops,” she says with mock innocence, batting her eyelashes. “Clumsy me.”

A bubble of laughter escapes me before I can catch it. It feels foreign, this laugh, but it's like a breath of fresh air in a suffocating room.

“I could beat him up, you know.”

“You’re not that strong, Sara.” I roll my eyes and manage a smile.

“Hey, these muscles aren't just for show,” Sara retorts, flexing comically, and I shake my head.

I reach out, swatting at her arm lightly. “Stop it, you're being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous is my middle name,” she declares with a grin, collapsing back onto the bed beside me.

“Thanks, Sara.” I lie back on the bed next to her. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t forget it.” She nudges me gently with her shoulder. “And you’ve nursed me through so many heartbreaks, so I think I owe you.”

It was true. Sara had broken up with boys more times than I can recall. That was the difference, though. She’d broken up with them. Sara’s heartache was usually over the fact she could never seem to find the right one.

It wasn’t because she’d just had her heart torn out, stomped on, and apparently tossed away in favor of Maisie Collins.

We lie there for a while and stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling.

Mom was thrilled when I bought them, reminding me that glow-in-the-dark stars were all the rage when she was twenty.

When I first put them up, she came and lay next to me in the dark, and we just stared at them for hours.

I wish I could do the same with her tonight. Dad needs her, though. He’s barely able to make it out of bed this week, let alone go to work. I can’t worry her.

“You know,” Sara says eventually. “Brendan might have done you a favor.”

I turn to her, eyebrows raised.

“Think about it.” She gestures broadly with her hands. “You're brilliant, kind-hearted, and have this crazy passion for history that's gonna take you places. Maybe places without Brendan and his ego tagging along like excess baggage.”

“You think he has an ego?”

“Be real. He was hardly modest.”

I’d be lying if I said he was the same shy, nerdy boy I first met and fell in love with. In the last year of school, his acne cleared and everyone began to see what I always had—Brendan was a good looking guy.

He began to realize it to, I guess, but I never thought that was a bad thing. I wanted him to feel good about himself.

“Besides,” Sara continues, her voice dropping to an exaggerated conspiratorial whisper, “now you get to find someone new. Someone who'll geek out over old ruins with you and won't get jealous every time you ace a test or win an award.”

“Find someone who isn't threatened by my love for dead civilizations?” I quip, despite the pang in my chest at the thought of moving on. I’m not sure I can picture such a different future yet. I had it all planned out so perfectly.

“Exactly!” She waves her hands in the air as though summoning the perfect, hot, wonderful man to soothe away my heartache. “Someone better. Someone who gets you and all your Chloe-ness.”

“Chloe-ness, huh?” I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at her unwavering optimism. “Well, whoever this paragon of patience and virtue is, he's got some pretty big shoes to fill.”

“Girl, please.” Sara rolls her eyes playfully. “The only thing Brendan filled was his own ego. You'll see. You’re going to come out of this stronger—and with someone a thousand times better.”

I curl into her side. I don’t know if I can believe any of it but having Sara makes me feel like it’s at least a tiny bit possible for me to move on.

Then a realization hits me. “Oh God.”

She bolts upright. “What is it?”

“I have to see Brendan on Monday. He’ll be taking over from my shift.”

“Good. I know where I can find him and kill him then.”

“It’s going to be awful.” I cover my face with my hands. “Especially now I know he’s moved on already.”

“It won’t be fun,” Sara admits, pulling my hands from my eyes. “But you’ve got this.”

I draw in a deep breath, wishing I had as much confidence as Sara does in me. Fact is, seeing Brendan again is going to be awful and there’s no way of escaping that fact. Monday will officially be the worst day of my life.