Chapter 36 Are You a Power Ranger? Be So for Real
AMANDA
By the time Raven arrives at my apartment, I’m working on my second glass of wine while Izzy claims she’s “pacing herself” with her barely touched glass, and we’re deep into a heated debate about whether Love Island contestants are actually looking for love or just Instagram followers.
“Obviously Instagram followers,” I declare. “Love is the vehicle for social media fame.”
“That’s so cynical,” Izzy protests from her spot curled up on my couch.
“It’s realistic,” I counter.
Raven sweeps in wearing all black, naturally, carrying a bottle of elderflower mead from the specialty section and a bag of what appear to be homemade tarot-card-shaped cookies decorated with tiny skulls.
“What are we being realistic about?” she asks, immediately making herself at home and pouring herself a generous glass.
“Amanda’s theory that love is dead and everyone’s just chasing clout,” Izzy explains.
“Oh, that’s not a theory,” Raven says matter-of-factly. “That’s Tuesday.”
And this is why I love my sister.
An hour and another bottle of wine later, we’re all sufficiently buzzed, and I’m feeling inspired to create what might be the greatest game in the history of girls’ nights.
I spent thirty minutes earlier trying to internet-stalk Chad and came up completely empty, so clearly I need to outsource this problem to my brilliant and equally wine-drunk sister and best friend.
“Okay, ladies,” I announce, shoving a stack of magazines off my coffee table before climbing onto it like a podium. “I have invented a new game. It’s called ‘Who Is the Real Chad?’ and it’s going to solve all my problems.”
“This should be good,” Raven mutters, grinning.
“Rules are simple,” I continue, swaying slightly. “I give you all the facts I know about Chad. You use your brilliant minds to figure out who he is. We solve this mystery once and for all.”
“I’m in,” Izzy says immediately.
“Obviously, I’m in,” Raven adds. “This sounds like sleuthing, and sleuthing is my brand.”
I pull out my phone, scrolling through my messages with Chad.
“Okay, the facts: He’s rich enough to retire before forty.
He knows way too much about my personal life.
He has access to places he shouldn’t have access to.
He rides a motorcycle like he’s auditioning for Fast and Furious—what are they on now, like thirty?
He won’t take off his helmet. And he’s really, really good with his hands. ”
“TMI on that last one.” Raven snorts.
“I’m hearing you want more details.” I grin wickedly. “And don’t worry, because I can tell you exactly how good those hands are. Like, the things he can do with just his fingers—”
“AMANDA!” both Izzy and Raven shriek in unison.
“It’s my game! I make the rules!”
“Okay,” Izzy says, settling in like she’s about to solve a murder. “First guess: He’s a celebrity in disguise.”
I shake my head. “Too obvious. Plus, celebrities are narcissists. No way someone famous could resist the ego boost of taking off the helmet.”
“Fair point. What about… a government spy?”
“Please. Government spies are broke. They don’t retire at forty, they die mysteriously in foreign countries.”
Raven jumps in. “Ooh, what if he’s, like, a tech billionaire? You know, one of those Silicon Valley guys with more money than sense?”
“Tech billionaires are all weird about personal hygiene,” I say with practiced authority, even though I’m completely making this up. “They’re too busy optimizing their lives to remember deodorant. Chad smells way too good.”
“How do you know what tech billionaires smell like?” Izzy asks.
“I don’t, but trust me.”
Actually, wait. I grab my phone and fire off a text to Chad.
Are you a tech billionaire?
The response comes back immediately.
No, baby doll. Wrong kind of rich.
I show them the screen. “See? Not a tech billionaire.”
“Oh my God, you’re actually involving him in this?” Raven cackles.
“Primary source research is important,” I say primly.
“Can we try to make him slip up and give us a hint by accident?” Raven asks, eyes wide.
I nod. “Between the three of us and this glass,” I say, holding mine up, “I’d say yes, we have the qualifications to make this happen.”
Izzy’s eyes light up. “What if he’s, like, a Mafia boss? That would explain the money and the secrecy.”
Are you in the Mafia?
You want me to be?
That’s not an answer.
No, I’m not in the Mafia. But I appreciate your faith in my ability to be that ruthless.
“He’s too charming to be Mafia,” I declare after showing them the exchange. “Mafia guys are all brooding and traumatized. Chad’s more like… playfully dangerous.”
“What about a professional athlete?” Izzy suggests. “That would explain the physical fitness and the money.”
“Athletes are terrible at keeping secrets. They’re chronic social media posters.”
Raven sits up suddenly. “Wait, wait. What if he’s a Power Ranger?”
We all pause.
“That…” I consider this seriously. “Actually explains a lot. The helmet, the motorcycle, the mysterious day job, the fighting skills…”
Are you a Power Ranger?
Which color would I be?
Black. Obviously.
Obviously?
Because you’re all mysterious and wear black leather. Very Black Ranger energy.
I’m not mysterious.
You literally won’t show me your face. That’s peak Power Ranger behavior.
What about Red? Red’s the leader.
Um, what??? That’s not you at all. Red Rangers are all earnest and wholesome and give inspiring speeches.
And I’m not wholesome?
You put a vibrator in me and made me come at a shooting range. Wholesome left the building a long time ago.
Fair point. But no, I’m not a Power Ranger. Though I appreciate you thinking I could save the world.
“Damn,” Raven says, reading over my shoulder. “That would’ve been so cool. Also, talk about hitting the target.”
I snort at her joke, wine almost leaving my nose.
“Okay, final guess,” Izzy says, clearly getting into the spirit of the game. “What if he’s… Batman?”
We all look at each other.
“I see it,” I say slowly. “Rich, playboy, never shows his face, has all kinds of gadgets and access to places…”
Are you Batman?
Would you like that?
Stop answering questions with questions.
I’m not Batman.
“Well, that’s disappointing,” Raven says.
“You know what?” I announce, refilling my wineglass. “I’ve decided. He’s a time traveler from the future who came back to save me from making terrible mistakes.”
“That’s completely ridiculous,” Izzy says.
“Exactly. Which means it’s probably true.”
We all nod solemnly, satisfied with our results.
“Speaking of heroes,” Raven says, suddenly sitting up straighter, “I have to tell you about Amanda’s epic confrontation at family dinner last night.”
Izzy immediately turns to stare at me. “Um, excuse me, but why have I not heard about this, and it’s been twenty-four hours? Are we even friends still, Amanda?”
I gasp dramatically. “Oh my God, imagine not telling something important to your very best friend.”
“Insult accepted, it’s legit,” she agrees. “But please spill. Now.”
I launch into the whole story—Mom’s passive-aggressive commentary, the marriage dig, my epic meltdown—while Raven provides color commentary and increasingly dramatic reenactments.
“And then,” Raven says, standing up to demonstrate, “Amanda just goes full nuclear and tells Mom exactly what she thinks. It was beautiful.”
“Terrifying,” I add, “but gratifying.”
“What happened after you left?” Izzy asks.
Raven snorts. “Oh, Mom went full victim mode. Locked herself in her room like a teenager. Dad’s been texting us all day asking if we think she’ll come out for dinner.”
“Your mother is exhausting,” Izzy says. “And that’s coming from me. You know my mother.”
“Speaking of exhausting,” I say, turning to Raven with a pointed look, “let’s talk about your dating life.”
Raven immediately puts her hands over her ears. “Nope. Not happening. La la la, I can’t hear you.”
Before I can protest, she’s grabbing headphones, logging into my gaming system, and disappearing into whatever violent fantasy world she prefers over actual human connection.
“She can deny it all she wants,” I tell Izzy in a stage whisper, “but there’s definitely something with Jake.”
“Who’s Jake?”
“This guy she games with. Claims he’s just a teammate, but she gets all weird and blushy when he talks to her. It’s very suspicious.”
“Maybe she’s just not ready to talk about it,” Izzy says gently.
“Maybe,” I concede. “But still. I have excellent instincts about these things.”
“Do you, though?” Izzy asks with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey! My instincts are great. It’s my execution that needs work.”
I flop down so my head is in Izzy’s lap, and she immediately starts running her fingers through my hair in that soothing way that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.
“I think I’m falling for him,” I admit quietly. “Like, actually falling. Not just the fun, flirty stuff. Real feelings.”
“And that scares you.”
“Terrifies me,” I correct. “Because what if he’s not real? Not in the AI way but in the… ‘what if this is all just a game to him?’ way. What if I’m just entertainment?”
Izzy’s quiet for a moment, her fingers still moving through my hair. “You know, I’m probably not the most qualified person to give relationship advice, considering my husband literally stalked me through the very same hacked AI app.”
I snort.
“But,” she continues, “I learned that what you’re most frightened of can also be what you need the most. And sometimes you have to take the leap even when you can’t see where you’ll land.”
“That’s very philosophical of you.”
“I have my moments.”
I close my eyes, letting her words sink in. “What if I get hurt again?”
“You’ll survive. Because you’re stronger than you think you are. And because you have people who love you no matter what.”
I feel tears prick at my eyes, which I try to write off as the wine.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Maybe I’ll try being brave.”
“You already are.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a while, Izzy playing with my hair while Raven shoots digital bad guys in the background. It’s peaceful in a way that makes me remember why I love these women so much.
Eventually, I sit up and stretch. “All right, ladies. I’m calling it a night.”
I give them both enormous kisses on the cheeks, the kind that leave lipstick marks and make them protest.
“Love you both,” I announce. “Thank you for solving all my problems.”
“We didn’t solve anything,” Izzy points out.
“Semantics.” I wave her off. “You provided wine and emotional support. That’s basically the same thing.”
I head toward my bedroom, already pulling out my phone to text Chad. Because maybe Izzy’s right—maybe I am braver than I think.
And maybe it’s time to start acting like it.