Chapter 26 Cecily
Cecily
Marina was already at the gym when I texted her, so I raced through my house to find my favorite workout clothes and hopped in my car. Now that I’m in my car, I can’t stop replaying Dylan leaving.
Is he mad because I said we’re just friends?
Did he think I’d choose Dane over him?
Was someone really on the phone, or was he bluffing?
As I sit at this red light, I wonder if I should text him. I grab my phone and open his text message. He hasn’t texted. I huff, exiting out of it. The light turns green, so I keep driving.
“Cecily!” Gavin, the front desk worker, greets me.
I lean against the counter and smile. “It feels like it’s been a minute since I’ve been here. What did I miss?”
Gavin chuckles. “Surprisingly, Cory hasn’t asked, but he does look at the door every time it opens.”
I laugh. “I’m meeting with Marina today.”
Gavin nods. “What about your boyfriend?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s busy with sports. We probably won’t see him here as often.”
Gavin flashes me a smile as I walk towards Marina.
“Hey,” I smile.
She says, “Where’s Dylan?”
I stand tall and shrug. “I’m not training him anymore. He’s focusing on hockey.”
She nods. “You disappeared with him last night.”
I search her face, trying to figure this one out. Did she only agree to let me train her because she wants answers about last night? “We’re just friends.”
She laughs loudly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know you two are friends. I just thought––”
“How about we start with dumbbells today?” I say chipperly, keeping it professional. I don’t want to think about Dylan right now, nor do I want to explain that I can’t control Dylan, so whatever is going on between him and her stays between them.
“After you,” she says.
I set her up to do three different dumbbell exercises. Her rest time is my time to lift. We switch off after every set.
“You know,” she says as she stands with her hands on her hips. “I always see you do this and never try it.”
I smile. “Burns so good, right?”
She nods. “Thanks for the PDF, by the way. I loved reading through it.”
“Of course.” I set the dumbbells down. “Your turn.”
When we’re done, we walk to the bike machines and hop on.
“You never put Dylan on these,” she says as we pick up our pace.
I shake my head, agreeing that he and I never did. I don’t say anything, letting the silence sit between us.
When she’s ten minutes in, she slows down her pace. “I want to do social media like you do.”
I glance at her and then sit tall, slowing my pace. “You should. If you want something, go for it.”
She stares forward. “You know, not everyone is like you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking a sip of my water.
“You say things like…” She shrugs, mocking me, “If you want something, go for it–– and I don’t think you realize that it’s not that simple.”
I stop moving my legs and turn to her. “The world will tell you that it’s hard, that it’s not that simple, that you need to be lucky or rich or drop-dead gorgeous, but the reality is that most people want something and don’t go for it.
” I shrug back at her. “If you say you want something, it is as simple as doing it.”
She glares at me like I’ve just offended her.
“If someone wanted to go to college, for example, what would you tell them?”
Her voice is dead and annoyed as she says, “Apply. Pick a major.”
I can tell by her tone and expression that I lost her.
This always happens.
I say the things that make sense in my head, the things I think will help–– and they always land wrong.
I nod. “Or what if I said, pick your outcome. What do you want from college? Most would say a career. Maybe experience, friends, connections, fun times.”
She nods. “Definitely not debt.”I smile. “Get a scholarship.”
“Are you on scholarship?”
I shake my head. “I pay for my tuition with my job.”
Her brows furrow. “Your parents don’t pay for your tuition?”
“No.”
“Wow.”
I start biking again. “So, if you want to do social media, just do it. Just start posting.”
She huffs a laugh. “You’re funny. This is exactly what you told me to do with Dylan. Just go for it,” she mocks me.
I shrug, thinking about Dylan now. I mutter quietly, “If you want something, go for it, Marina. The world is yours.”
I say that like I didn’t just watch someone I want walk away from me.
I’m good at fixing things. Plans. Bodies. Goals. I’m not great at sitting in the mess of someone else. Maybe that’s why I don’t have friends. Perhaps that’s why Dylan walked away.
I pick up the pace on the bike, cranking the resistance so high my legs start to burn—the thought of going for something I want bruises my ego. Dylan walked away from me so that I won’t chase him.
After twenty minutes of pedaling, we hop off the bikes.
“How often do you want to meet?” she asks.
I lift a brow. “What’re your goals?”
She shrugs.
“Let’s meet three days a week. Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Does that work for you?”
She nods.
“Perfect. See you tomorrow at eight.”
As I leave the gym, Gavin tells me to have a good night. I wave at him, ready to get home and shower. I’ll need to dive right into work because I've piled myself with brand deals, deadlines, and homework.
I’m sitting at my table with my hair wrapped in a towel in pajamas, even though it’s only the afternoon. I get lost in a few emails, remembering that I have to schedule everything for that campaign I booked for Dylan.
Since I need to figure that out quickly, I shoot him a quick text.
Me: Hey, remember that campaign we talked about? I need to schedule it in. Still up for it?
I put my phone down and scroll through my content calendar on my laptop. I need to make sure I can achieve everything I set out to do.
The pile of boxes in the corner of PR keeps stacking, so before I dive into homework, I decide to film an unboxing.
I put my phone on the tripod and start filming myself opening up each box. On my sixth box, a text message comes through.
Dylan: No.
The message lingers on the screen for a moment, then disappears, leaving my reflection in the camera.
Okay, well… there’s my answer.
I’ll have to edit my face out of this video. I return to unboxing, wondering what the hell I did to deserve that. Each box feels heavier than the last.
I stop filming and open our text messages.
Dylan: No.
That’s it. No explanation. No three little dots. He’s giving me a simple no.
I close his text messages and film myself again. I need to get this over with. I put on a smile that feels inauthentic and push through. I only have a few more to go.
When that’s done, I rush over to my laptop and decide I need to find a male model for this campaign. I can’t dwell on whether Dylan can’t do it; I need to problem-solve. He joked that I could ask Scott, but I need to keep my distance. I’ll text a friend.
Me: Hey, Will. I have a last-minute faceless job that pays $500 an hour.
Will: Tell me when and where.
Me: Does Saturday work?
Will: Sure does.
Me: Let me sort out some details, and I’ll text you the time and location. Thanks!
Will: Sounds good.
That was easy, and he’s reliable, so now I need to book a photographer assistant and scout locations.
After an hour of searching up and down for the best location, I finally find one. I booked a photographer assistant.
A text notification comes through, and I think it’s Will. But it’s a friend I haven’t heard from in weeks.
Lily: Hey! Do you want to hang out tonight?
Lily: Girls’ night? I was thinking we could junk journal with some magazines, drink some fizzy drinks, and talk.
Me: Say no more. I’m on my way.Lily: Your place?
Me: Come on over!
I stand up and stretch my back, smiling. This is perfect. Exactly what I need. I walk down the hall into my bathroom to do my hair.