Chapter 20
A COUPLE OF MONTHS LATER …
My new house is a four-bedroom a short walk away from my family’s home. It still has that empty-place smell, and it feels a little lifeless, but if people are the heart of a home, I’m determined to make this house’s heart beat again.
I still spend most days at my moms’ place.
I need help with self-care and keeping a routine, and I feel more emotionally grounded when I’m around them and my sister.
So for now, I only come here when I need independence or time alone in the studio I added.
I’ve slowly begun to decorate, but there’s no pressure for me to move in full-time until I want to.
I’m back in therapy, and I’m learning how to honor the real Sasha—the person I’ve always been, the person I’m not trying to hide anymore.
We’ve been chatting more about the autistic spectrum, and a lot of the things my therapist has mentioned do sound like me.
I’m taking things one step at a time, figuring out what I need and what support means to me.
My soul still feels exhausted most times, but I feel privileged that I have access to tools and support, which not everyone does, and I’m able to pick up better strategies to recharge.
“Where are you going to put your Grammys?” Shirley’s laughter echoes through the screen. We’re doing a Live together, along with María and Zoya, the two musicians I met in New York. They reached out in support after my speech, and I introduced them to Shirley.
They’re all hanging at Shirley’s studio right now while I’m at my new place, trying to put together some furniture.
“Maybe it’s because it’s only been a little while since I got them, but I keep having this dream where I have to travel with them in my suitcase and I lose it at the airport. Then everything floods. What do y’all think it means?”
I wait for a few comments to roll in. Someone mentions that dreaming of a flood symbolizes an emotional release, and, I mean, that tracks. It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing since the Grammys.
“You assembled the middle piece backward.” Shirley’s leaning forward, narrowing their eyes at my bookshelf through the screen.
“No, it’s supposed to look like that—shit.” I slump against the floor when I realize they’re right. “I don’t even know if this shelf is going to fit all my books.”
I refocus my attention to the screen, where a flurry of comments pours in. There are currently fifty thousand people watching me fail at building furniture.
sashaspiercings is the new album coming out soon? are you finally free? #freesasha
“Hopefully?” I say. “I can’t talk about it yet.”
sashaseyelash01 we got your back #ReleaseKaleidoscope
More comments roll in, a lot of them including the hashtags #FreeSasha or #ReleaseKaleidoscope.
My former label wasn’t too happy with my Grammy speech, or that I came out publicly without their consent.
But numbers are numbers, and my new song, “Kaleidoscope,” is trending while still unreleased.
They want to sink their teeth into it, even though it isn’t part of the new album.
They threatened to drop me and Shirley if we ever pulled something like that again, which Shirley took as an invitation to quit on the spot.
Shirley is starting an independent label they want me to co-own.
I want to work with them, but my situation is tricky.
Technically, I still owe my former label an album, but I own my masters, and if I can prove that the label was involved in Marissa’s plan, or threaten to go public with the details, it’s likely that I’ll be able to break my contract and walk away free.
Lawyers are involved, so the release of my second album is on hold, which has given me actual time to recharge and just write.
And I have a new manager—Asher referred me to his team—someone who treats me like a person and not a product.
“Actually…” María chimes in, looking from Shirley to me. “Can we tell them? The secret we’ve been keeping?”
Shirley nods.
“Yes,” I say. “Let’s tell them.”
“Well,” Zoya goes on with a smile. “There might be an Easter egg in the studio right now that hints at Sasha’s new song.”
Excited comments rush in:
sashassunglasses omg guys i think i’ve figured it out. the clock on the wall reads 5:08. New song coming out May 8? Or August 5?
iloveyousasha omg omg omg
sashasformerpinkhair someone screenrecord
sashasshampoo can we get a clue? is it about a character? a love story?
It’s become a game between me and my fans, for them to find Easter eggs in my lyrics and videos and figure out what piece of media each of my songs draws inspiration from.
I was so scared that coming out would be the end of my career, but my fans have fully embraced me.
And the ones who haven’t, the ones who liked me just for who I pretended to be, well, I haven’t cared enough to read their comments.
They can become a fan of whoever Marissa signs next.
leviackermanscravat just cried again watching your Grammys speech. i’m aroace too, and you gave me the courage to come out to my family.
“I’m glad. I … Thank you. I don’t know what to say, really. You’re really brave.” The knot in my throat thickens. It still feels unbelievable … that my words can have this sort of impact. It makes me feel like this is what it’s all about. The only thing fame is good for.
To connect like this, not just through my music, but to know that me being myself is having an impact on people’s lives fills me with so much gratitude.
Thirty minutes and a collapsed bookshelf later, we call it a day and end the Live.
I decide to unpack some of the boxes in my room before I go home to hang out with my moms and Sonia for dinner, but a call from Mia interrupts my plan.
“Hey!” she says. There’s no video, so I can only hear her voice, but there’s noise in the background, like she’s driving somewhere. “You’re done with your Live, right?”
“Yeah! Just finished. Why?”
“No reason,” she goes on. “So you’re home alone, right?”
“Yeah?” I ask. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“Huh?”
“Okay, bye. I have to go, but I’ll call you back. Love you!” With that, the call disconnects, and I’m left smiling at my phone.
A gentle breeze stirs the curtains, music blaring from my speakers as I arrange my plushies around the desk and across my floating shelves, the soft glow of the evening sun washing over the room through the window.
My chest feels light, like I’m floating, but I’m no longer an untethered balloon.
The centrifuge hasn’t stopped spinning, but I can keep up with it now, and I’m even enjoying the ride.
When I unearth my keepsake box, a tiny pang goes through my heart.
It’s still filled with memories, both old and new.
The movie tickets from my and Kai’s first date are nestled next to a snow globe Asher bought me in London.
The friendship bracelet Kai, Mia, and I share is tucked around a stack of Polaroid pictures Asher took of us in London.
The Levi Ackerman plushie Kai got me forever ago is holding the spoon Mia and I stole at the Grammys.
As I rummage through my memories, I realize I no longer want to keep them tucked away, hidden inside a box like it’s a compartment of my heart I’m only allowed to open every once in a while.
This box holds my love for my friends, and I want it on display.
I put the Levi plushie with the spoon next to my pillow and grin.
When I think of Kai, it doesn’t hurt to think of the past anymore.
If anything, it makes me feel blessed to know we’ve shared so much.
Although I haven’t seen him in person since I ended the contract, and the way we parted still nags at me, we’ve spoken on the phone since I cleared his name.
Things are back to normal. Whatever normal means for us.
I’m not sure I even know what that is. For two years, normal meant being out of each other’s lives.
Then, all of a sudden, it meant being friends again, together all the time.
And right now, he and Asher are in some remote location, probably enjoying the spring breeze in a park.
Asher called in a panic the other day when a sheep broke into his living room.
Apparently, Muse attacked the sheep in his defense, so Kai’s started calling him Muse in Boots.
Things have calmed down since the Grammys, but Asher’s publicist told them to lay low for now to avoid overexposure. So they’re stuck in the countryside with a vengeful sheep.
I don’t know when I’ll see them again, but for the first time, I know that no matter how long we spend apart, our bond will never fade, even if it changes.
I think that’s what Kai meant when he said I would never lose him.
You can’t lose someone who’s made and unmade you in so many different ways. They just become part of you.
A sudden banging on the door jerks me from my thoughts. When I scramble to turn off my speakers, “Somewhere Only We Know,” one of my and Kai’s favorite songs, echoes from somewhere nearby. Huh? I can’t quite place where it’s coming from. Did I leave a speaker on in the studio?
My phone buzzes with a text from Sonia.
open the door. thank me later.
I frown at my screen. She’s supposed to be doing her homework. I’m going to kill her.
I rush downstairs when the banging on the door becomes more insistent. “Soni, ya te oí. Un momento.”
But as I swing it open, I find myself staring at the last person I thought would be here.
“Hey.” Kai stands on my doorstep, holding a cup of Froyo. There’s an unfamiliar expression on his face, something soft and shy I’ve only seen flicker through his eyes once or twice in my life.
I freeze, puzzled. “What the fuck?”
“Rude.” He cocks an eyebrow. “Even though I brought you a special delivery…” He shifts his weight from foot to foot, raking his fingers through his hair.
My eyes dart across the front yard as my brain races to catch up. How is he here? Where’s the music coming from?