28
28
“The group of kids over there is looking at us,” Val mutters, drawing my attention to the large group of teens hanging out a little farther down the beach, a cluster of them staring and trying to take photos discreetly.
“Used to it,” I say with a shrug. “I’m surprised you’re bothered at all.”
“I’m not,” Val says, “but I’m telling you they’re about to come over—yep, here they come. Great.” She sighs, and I look up to find two of the girls approaching us, excited smiles on their faces.
“It’s cute,” I say with a laugh, standing up to greet them and proceeding to pose for a selfie with one of the girls.
“You want a photo with me too?” Maya offers, looking up from where she’s sunbathing with a magazine splayed over her face to block the sun completely, her latest method to combat premature wrinkles or something.
“Uh.” The girls look at each other, giggling, and I laugh at Maya before saying, “I guess you don’t know who she is, right?” When they shrug, I tell them, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Oh, she’s just a friend, no one famous. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for the photos,” one of the girls says, already starting off across the sand toward their group.
“You’re welcome.” I smile.
“Hey, are they actually buying it?” Maya sits up instantly, slamming the magazine down on the towel beside her. “They really don’t know who I am?”
“How would they know who you are?” Val teases, prodding Maya with her toe. “Miss Magazine Head over there.”
“It’s to stop the UV damage!” When she sees both of us laughing, Maya rolls her eyes and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, whatever. Prevention is the best cure, bitches.”
A few minutes later the group of kids clears off, and pretty soon after Maya leaves me and Val alone on the beach too. Unwanted thoughts of memory lane with John creep into my mind so I distract myself chatting with Val about pointless shit until the inevitable comes up.
Coachella.
“How are things with Tripp?” I ask casually, rubbing tanning oil onto my legs, as if I’m not really focused on her answer. Really, though, I’m eager to know all.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
Of course. She’s still in denial about him.
“We need to talk.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “I know about the voice message you meant to send to Tripp.”
She nervously looks away. “Oh, what do you mean?”
“Babe, you accidentally send it to Maya.”
She’s silent for a while. “Oh.”
I finish applying my oil and turn fully to look at her. “Val, I think it’s so brave to be honest about your feelings, and I needed to tell you so you know he didn’t ghost. Tripp is in love with you, it’s so obvious. You need to tell him how you feel.” My voice drops a little lower as I try to reach out. I can’t stand the thought of her going through so much while feeling like she can’t even open up to her best friends. “I’m here for you for whatever you’re going through. I got your back, always. I’ve been worried about you and I think you need to talk to someone.”
“Princess.” She breaks her silence as she looks up at me finally. It comes out of nowhere as she says in an emotional rush, “You don’t even know how stressed I’ve been this whole time. It’s exhausting holding my feelings in, and I don’t want to anymore. I’m in love with Tripp and I know he loves me, but I was so thrown off by why he wouldn’t have anything to say back to my message. Thank you for telling me, it all makes sense now. And I know I need to talk to someone, I’m going to figure that out right away. I can’t keep living like this. I’m not going to put it off any longer. I want to be healthy, I want to be better.”
“Okay, good. This makes me so happy. I know you can do it, you’re one of the strongest people in my life.” I squeeze her hand and relief washes over me. “I’m always here for you.”
Val continues, “Can I just say, I feel so fucking sorry for how John and Riley have treated you these past few weeks. Like, it’s so goddamn cruel and totally unnecessary. Sometimes I wonder when the fuck it’s going to end.” She shakes her head. “God, I just wish things were different.”
I let out a nervous chuckle but it doesn’t really sound like anything more than a small noise in the back of my throat—which suddenly feels way too dry. Why is she talking about this? “Thank you, Val, but you don’t have to feel sorry about that.”
“Just—” She leans forward and grips my hand, the action so unpredictable, seeming so serious, my heart skips a beat. “Listen to me, Princess, I’ve been thinking a lot about things. Can you take my advice here for a sec?”
I stare back at her, worry flushing my skin. “Of course, Val. What is it?”
She glances around and then leans in close, keeping her words quiet. “Maybe it would be best if you started acting a little more . . . friendly, I guess, with Riley, in public, just in case.”
I draw back. “What?”
“I know, I know,” she says quickly. “It sounds fucked-up, but it might be good for people to think you two are cool again, what with”—she waves her hand around—“you know, the current situation.”
“You mean John.”
She presses her lips together tightly and gives a nod.
“Where’s this coming from?” I ask, immediately suspicious. Since when did Val become so invested in my relationship with Riley? A million unwanted thoughts flood in. “Are you talking to her? Did she ask you to say this?”
“No.”Val recoils as if I’ve physically hurt her. “Princess, I’m saying this because I care about you.”
“And I care about you, Val—I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. What you just said is so not like the Val I know.”
She gives a bitter laugh, her voice faraway, on the verge of shutting down again. I don’t miss the despairing drift of her words as she looks down at the sand and says with a weary sigh, “Well, I’m not the Val I know anymore, Princess.”
I know I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t stop myself.
It’s late evening and I’ve spent the past hour perfecting the song I wrote in bed last week, recording an acoustic version of it on my own, just my vocals and the piano, and it’s the most raw, real song I’ve recorded in forever.
Since the Riley Vega TikTok incident kind of killed the last release, my label decided it was best if we leave that song alone. So the idea of posting the new one online—with no involvement from producers or managers, just me putting it out there in the world and seeing what listeners think—popped into my head, and I can’t get it out. Clearly people like that, so most of my downtime between promo and planning for the big event in Miami next week has been spent perfecting it, listening back and rerecording certain sections, scribbling out lyrics here and there and writing over them with words that capture what I mean more clearly. It’s been cathartic.
And now, as I sit here with my mouse hovering over the Post button, about to share my most personal song yet with the world, I pause for a second to consider what people will think.
But really, why does it even matter? Isn’t that kind of the point—to release a song that’s entirely made up of my unfiltered thoughts and feelings? A song that reaches out and grabs listeners’ hearts in the most intimate, emotional place?
Without thinking twice, I click Post and the video goes live.
Here goes nothing.
I wait for a second, watching the view count jump up slowly as fans realize I’ve posted.
I’m still confused about why Val thought to give me that advice earlier as I look down at my phone screen an hour after posting the new song to see an unknown number calling. Unknown, and yet it looks familiar. The longer I stare at it, the faster the realization sinks in.
I know this number because I used to call it all the time.
I know this number because it’s Riley’s, and I’ve deleted and added it back more times than I’d ever admit.
What the hell?
I stand up from where I’ve been sitting on my couch and walk over to the windows, anxiety buzzing in my belly at the thought of answering.
With time running out, I grit my teeth and swipe to answer, bringing the phone up to my ear with a grimace. “Hello?”
“Princess?”
Unmistakably, it’s her. The buzzing in my belly gets faster as more anxiety sets in.
“Hey, who is this?” I have no idea why I’m pretending like I don’t already know.
“It’s Riley,” she says, and then quickly, she adds, “Don’t hang up.”
“Hey.” I glance around the room as if looking for someone to share my confusion with, but of course, I’m alone. “This is . . . unexpected.”
“Yeah, I know, babe, I’m sorry.” Babe. I hate that. So fucking patronizing. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about how things have been between us since last year. We used to be so close, and it all just seemed to fall apart for no real reason. Do you remember a reason?” Before I can even find my voice to answer, she cuts in with, “I don’t. So, I know you’re performing at the event next week in Miami, and like—” She pauses to sigh, and I fall back onto my couch, certain I’m dreaming this. “Why don’t we meet up while we’re there, huh? Grab lunch together, do some shopping, just hang out like old times. I miss you and I know we can get back to that place where life just felt fun.”
“Where’s this coming from?” I can’t help myself—I have to ask. Frankly, I’m too stunned to think of anything else to say. “Weren’t you fucking my boyfriend at a party last week? And why did you try to say you wrote my last song? I’m so confused.”
“Princess . . .” She drags my name out as if she’s already tired of hearing about it. “I am so sorry, and I wish it didn’t happen. When I’m drinking I just get wild, fucking messed up, and I do shit I don’t even realize is gonna hurt in the morning. Because it hurt me, too, you know, realizing what I’d done to you and John. I never wanted to split you guys up. Truth be told, though, you’re better off without him—everyone thinks that. As far as the song, I honestly didn’t think anyone was going to take that seriously and I’m sorry for messing that up.”
“Great, thanks.” My voice lacks any emotion. This has to be the worst apology I’ve ever heard.
But at least she’s apologizing. The thought pops into my head, and I straighten up, trying to focus back on her words.
“Look, I know this is out of the blue and you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, but it’s so impossible to get my thoughts clear on the phone, and that’s why I think we should go out for lunch next week, you know. It’ll give us both a chance to talk, and you won’t be on the spot so much. Like, I get that this is unexpected.” She tries a laugh.
“You’re right,” I say reluctantly, looking around for inspiration to give me some kind of out. I don’t really want to get lunch with her, but sometimes I can be quick to write people off. Even after all the horrible things Riley has done to me, I still have a soft spot for her for some reason. Maybe I should hear her out? Besides, there’s so much shit circulating about me, Riley, and John right now that, at the very least, maybe it’d be good for us to be seen hanging out together to stop any more rumors.
“Please say yes, Princess. I’m sorry . . . for everything.”
I swallow hard. She sounds genuine. Like the ghost of my ex-best friend Riley came back to haunt me through the phone. I’m so shocked for a second that the easiest answer spills from my mouth before I even know what I’m doing.
“Okay, sure. Let me get Kimi and Wayne to give your people a call and figure out a time and place.”
“That’s perfect.” She sounds excited, and my stomach knots with nostalgia. It’s been so long since I heard her speak to me like this that I actually feel . . . emotional? Maybe it’s just the relief of knowing this could be the beginning of the end of our war with each other—that maybe in the future, even if we don’t become best friends again, we can quit all the bitchiness and just start being supportive of each other again.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
“Yeah,” I say with a smile, relaxing into the idea. “Yeah, I’ll get them to set it up. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too!”
“Great, I guess I’ll see you next week, Riley.”
“Text me anytime, Princess. I mean that. And hey,” she says before she hangs up, “thanks for this. You won’t regret it.”
I place the phone in my lap and stare out over the city, hoping like hell she’s right.