The prom after-party had descended into chaos by the time the spinning bottle stopped, pointing straight at Natalie. “Of course I have a boyfriend.” Her gaze slid toward Byron, the boy I had loved for ten years. The room fell silent. Then everyone erupted. I looked toward the corner, where Byron sat. He had told me countless times, “Celeste, on prom night, I’ll tell everyone that when I become Godfather, you’re going to be my wife.” But now he was slouched on that leather sofa, not even looking at me. Someone whistled. “Prove it.” Natalie smiled. She stood and walked straight to Byron. She cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him in front of everyone. He didn’t push her away. He reached up and deepened the kiss without so much as glancing at me. I dropped my gaze. My ten years were over. … Whistles. Screams. Applause. The noise hit me like a wall. “Oh my God! I knew it!” “When did this happen?” Natalie straightened, a pretty flush on her cheeks. “The day Byron became Godfather,” she said. “That was when he finally stopped hiding us.” Every eye in the room fixed on the new couple. No one saw me in the corner. No one noticed the breath leaving my lungs. I watched Byron lift a hand and casually wipe his mouth. “Come on, tell us. Who made the first move? We want details!” The crowd pressed in around them. Natalie gave Byron a coy little look. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. The day he became Godfather, I texted him to congratulate him…” She laid it all out: asking him to meet her by the lake, taking his hand, the way he hadn’t pulled away, how naturally it had all happened. Every detail drew louder teasing. Every detail sent another glance in my direction. “Wait, wasn’t there something between Byron and Celeste? They grew up together! Wasn’t Celeste supposed to be Byron’s future wife?” “Who told you that? Byron never even looked at her that way. He probably just treated her like a sidekick.” “Celeste? The tomboy nobody even sees as a girl? Why would Byron want her?” “Exactly. Who would want her? Byron is the Godfather. He has standards.” “You guys know about her seafood allergy, right? That ER thing? Byron made her pasta with shrimp paste and didn’t even remember she was allergic. Sent her straight to the hospital.” “Natalie wanted that full-ride scholarship back then. Celeste was her only real competition. You figure it out.” “That’s brutal. Natalie really went all in.” Natalie wore a look of perfect innocence, without a shred of remorse. Victory shone in her eyes. “Celeste, I’m truly sorry. I did mention the scholarship to Byron. He must have been so focused on helping me that your allergy slipped his mind. Please don’t blame him. If you have to blame someone, blame me.” Everyone could see how little Byron cared. Everyone except me. Or maybe I had known all along. Byron had started keeping his distance when I was fifteen. Sometimes I would see him on the street, and he would duck his head and walk past me like I was a stranger. Once, I caught up to him and asked what was wrong. “I’m afraid you’ll be targeted by rival families. I’m afraid you’ll be in danger,” he said. Back then, it had made me dizzy with hope. I thought it meant he loved me too. Then I saw him with Natalie, tucking a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, smiling like he had stepped into sunlight.
That day, I walked over to ask what was going on. His smile vanished, and his voice turned cold. “Need something?” I told myself he was only putting on an act, protecting his authority as Godfather in front of outsiders. Then he unfollowed me on Instagram and deleted our photos from his page. I told myself he was only cleaning up his social media so no one could identify his “weak spot.” Now I finally understood why that excuse had never felt convincing. He wasn’t afraid of rival families. He was afraid Natalie would see–afraid she would be upset. He had used the trust I placed in him to destroy my chance at a full-ride scholarship. He had handed me that plate of pasta so gently, his voice soft, his movements careful. This was the boy who had grown up beside me, ridden bikes with me, and written in my yearbook that we would love each other forever. And because of another girl, he had forgotten the one thing that could have killed me. That day, I used my EpiPen and missed the final scholarship interview. My eyes burned. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, sharp and metallic. I looked at Byron and forced the words out. “Is it true?” He sat beside Natalie, frowning. “Does it matter? It can’t be changed now.” His tone was flat, as if we were talking about what to have for dinner. It felt like a hand had closed around my throat. I couldn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the eighteen years we had spent growing up side by side. Not about the future we could have had. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, clinging to the sharp sting to keep myself from falling apart. I stood up and ran out. Laughter followed me out, turning my escape into one final humiliation. “Celeste! Don’t go! You put up with him ignoring you before, so why act hurt now?” “Is she actually crying?” “Let her go home and cry! Byron was never with her. Why is she being so dramatic?” I stood for a long time on the dark suburban street while the night wind dried the tears on my face. My phone lit up with a message from Byron. [Where are you? Come back. Don’t make this ugly.] I stared at the words and became seven years old again, small for my age, always unwanted when the neighborhood kids played games. Byron had been the one to take my hand and tell me he would always stay with me. That boy had once been my shield against the whole world. Now he was telling me not to make things ugly. [It was just truth or dare. Come back. I’ll explain.] Just truth or dare. My hand trembled around the phone. The memories wouldn’t stop. When I was ten, I came down with a brutal cold. My father wasn’t home, and Byron climbed over our backyard fence to bring me cough syrup. The neighbor’s golden retriever chased him for three blocks. When I was twelve, I lost the spelling bee. He tossed his first-place trophy into the trash and told me losing didn’t matter; next time, he would help me win it back. When I was fifteen, a boy at homecoming made a filthy joke and reached for my skirt. Byron hit him so hard the boy ended up badly hurt. Byron needed three stitches above his own brow, but he grinned at me and said it didn’t hurt at all. Had he changed? Or had he always been like this, and I had refused to see it? Had I been lying to myself all along? I decided to believe him one last time. I clenched my teeth, turned around, and ran back. Full of hope, I pushed open the door. A bucket of ice water came crashing down from above the doorframe, soaking my hair, blurring my vision, and plastering my T-shirt and jeans to my skin until every curve of my body showed. I stood there shaking while the crowd burst into laughter and the boys looked me up and down with filthy eyes. “Holy shit! She actually came back!” “Natalie, how did you know she would come back?” Natalie only smiled, her eyes fixed on Byron’s neck. “Byron, a bet is a bet. Give me the necklace. Now.” Natalie leaned into Byron, her fingers sliding over his neck before tracing lazy, suggestive circles on his chest.
Natalie laughed. “Your favorite fallback girl. One call, and she comes running.” Byron’s gaze skimmed over me. Then he lifted a hand and unclasped the silver chain around his neck. Half an antique compass pendant hung from it. I wore the other half. I had loved that pendant the moment I saw it. Byron had no money then, so he saved every dollar he earned boxing until he could buy it for me. “Our lucky charm,” he said. From then on, we each wore one half and never took them off, not even in the shower. I had imagined we would wear them until our wedding day, when we would finally fit the two halves together. Now he was handing his half to Natalie. She held it up to the light, her smile bright and vicious. “So pretty. It’s mine now. And so are you.” I wiped ice water from my eyes and stared at Byron. He glanced at me, and the sneer on his face disappeared. “What? Do I need your permission to give away something that’s mine? I bought it.” No explanation. No apology. Just a bucket of ice water, a room full of malice, and his indifference as he ground our vows under his heel. He was no longer the boy who would fight the whole world for me. “Let’s go. I booked a room downtown. Karaoke next! Keep the party going!” The crowd surged toward the door. As Natalie passed me, she shoved me. I pitched forward and fell, my knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot through both knees. She looked back with a sweet, innocent smile. “Oops. Celeste, did you trip?” Then she hooked her arm through Byron’s and walked out with a sway of her hips. He let her pull him along. As he passed me, he lowered his head for one brief glance. It was so brief I couldn’t tell what was in it. Then he looked away. And left with her. I knelt on the cold floor while blood from my knees mixed with the ice water dripping from my hair. Drip. Drip. Barely audible. Somehow unbearable. I could not go home. If Dad saw me like this, his heart would break. I didn’t have much cash on me. I had spent almost all of it on the cufflinks Byron liked best, so the only place I could afford was a cheap motel. I stood under the hot shower for a long time, waiting for my body to remember how to feel. When I came out, my phone screen was lit. Every notification was from Byron. [Your dad called. Asked when you’re coming home.] [I said you were with me. Go back early.] [Where are you? Are you safe?] Then came a FaceTime request. I hesitated, then answered. His face filled the screen, still unfairly handsome. When he saw the room behind me, he frowned. “You’re in a motel? Which one?” “None of your business.” Silence. Then his voice hardened into a command. “Stay there. Don’t move. I don’t want to deal with your dad.” Back then, my father had believed Byron loved me too. Quietly, he had given Byron enough help to secure his position as Godfather. Now my father was just someone he had to deal with. “Byron.” I looked straight into his eyes through the screen and asked one last time, “The compass pendant. Are you really giving it to her?” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “You said it was ours. You said we would put the halves together on our wedding day.” Silence. “You gave it to Natalie. So what am I?” He swallowed. “It’s just a cheap piece of metal.” I laughed. “Right. Cheap. Worthless. Just like me.” “Celeste…” He frowned, and I hung up. Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door. It was a delivery driver. Inside the bag were a tube of antibiotic ointment for scrapes and a warm box of mac and cheese. I sat on the edge of the motel bed while my phone kept buzzing. In the class Instagram group chat, someone had posted a video. Natalie and Byron were singing at the party. Natalie leaned on his shoulder, drinking. Together, they sang a Taylor Swift love song. The comments came pouring in. “Oh my God, the way Byron looks at her. I’m dying.” “They are perfect together! Kiss already!”
In the video, Byron was smiling at Natalie with pure adoration. He had never looked at me that way. Not once in eighteen years. The video froze at the moment Natalie leaned close to him, her lips parted. Then Natalie updated Instagram. She posted two photos: one of her and Byron at the party, and another of her full-ride award certificate. Caption: The perfect ending. A full ride. And someone who loves me. The comments from mutual friends stung. [So jealous! Future wife of the Godfather!!] She replied with a heart emoji. [Someone is definitely losing her mind over this!] [That tomboy. Yeah, the one hiding behind her screen and stalking this!] I locked my phone and fell back onto the cheap mattress. Water stains blotched the ceiling, and the fluorescent light stabbed at my eyes. I thought of all the years I had worked myself to the bone for that scholarship. I had given up cheer tryouts, studied until three in the morning, sacrificed every weekend, and filled more than a dozen binders with review notes. I had been one step away from that dream. With the scholarship, I could have opened the bakery I wanted in Boston someday. He didn’t know that every plan I had made for after graduation led to Boston, the place he wanted to go. He had said he loved the East Coast. Loved the snow in Boston. And now? I sat up, picked up my phone, and accepted UC San Diego’s offer. California. The place Byron would never go. He hated summer. Said he could not stand the California sun. Back then, my father had urged me to leave myself a way out, so I had applied to a college in a place I thought I would never set foot in for the rest of my life. But suddenly, the thought of palm trees and West Coast sunshine sounded damn good. California. The farther from him, the better. When the green acceptance banner appeared, I turned off my phone and dumped the cold mac and cheese into the trash. He knew I hated cream. The smell made me sick, and he had still bought it for me. He didn’t remember details like that. Just as he had known I was waiting for him and still never once walked toward me. The next day, I planned to go back to school and pack up my things. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, every glance that landed on me was loaded with contempt. “Ran off to a motel to hook up on prom night. Nasty.” “Who?” “Who else? That tomboy. Someone got a video.” I stopped walking. Natalie stood a few yards away, surrounded by cheerleaders. She was holding up an iPhone, playing a video. The video showed the motel hallway from the night before: me, soaked through, holding a room key. “Desperate to get laid, huh?” Natalie covered her mouth and laughed, each word dipped in poison. Whispers spread around me. Stares cut into my skin. I walked over and stopped in front of her. “Delete it.” “Why should I?” She tilted her head, all innocence. “You went to that dump of a motel all by yourself. That’s not my fault.” “You’re spreading rumors.” “Am I?” She turned to Byron. “Byron. Tell everyone. Did she go there to meet some guy?” Byron stood to the side. He looked at the video on her phone, then at me. “Byron.” My voice shook. “Tell her. Tell her why I was there last night.” He knew exactly what had happened. Every single thing. Even if he no longer cared about me. Even if eighteen years meant nothing. At the very least, he could tell the truth. Right? He looked me in the eye, his voice casual. “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear, right?” I thought I had misheard him. “What?” “If you didn’t do anything wrong, what are you scared of?”
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