I’ll be lying, but who gives a shit. I’ve lied before. Like when I used to steal out in the middle of the night, my heart racing, to meet Mackenna.

“Let’s talk about the guy, shall we?”

“No, we shall not.”

“Then let’s talk about this—I can’t believe you’re going to be in a fucking movie!”

I snort. “It’s not a real movie. It’s like the Katy Perry and Justin Bieber ones, which is sort of lame.”

“It’s a movie, Pandora. Played in movie theaters. And I loved both Katy and Justin in them! You kept asking how could Brooke just leave town for a guy she loves? Now you’re leaving town for one you hate! That’s a karmic lesson for you. Stop judging people in love for what they do. You’re doing worse shit for someone you don’t even love,” she says with a smirk.

“Judge all you want. I got this big fat check, and what did you get? Not even a picture with them.”

“I have Greyson, duh! He’s all I want. And I finally discovered the name of your asshole ex. Kenna is the hottest of the three and you know it, dude. Tell me what happened. We’re supposed to be friends. Who do you even talk to about this shit? You get sick when you hold it in. You need to let it out.”

“I just let it all out, in the form of tomatoes.” I grin when I remember, and for a moment, I feel happy when Melanie laughs.

“Will that part be in the movie? Please say yes!” she begs, taking my shirt in her hands and shaking me.

I laugh. “I hope so,” I admit, jerking my shirt free. “Hell, I hope I can do it again at Madison Square, just before I kiss him. That’ll show him.”

“Just so he can take off his shirt. God!”

I hit her. “Mel! He wears wigs and grabs his cock when he’s dancing. He’s disgusting.”

“Dude, watching him work it up there got half the people around us pregnant, I swear!” She laughs, but I stare out the window and glare, my anger resurfacing as I remember what it felt like to stare into those odd, eerie silver eyes again.

It did not feel good at all.

It felt uncomfortable, messy, complicated, and definitely not nice.

I remember him squishing tomato into my scalp, and my stomach feels like a hot little pot, bubbling with toxicity.

“Pandora, you both looked a little too murderous with each other. Maybe you should talk to your therapist first? So she can give you some pointers on how to stay cool?”

My pride prickles. “I don’t need tips. I’ve got this. She’s been giving me tips for six years.”

“Fine. Just get back here in one piece and in time to get measured for your bridesmaid dress. Pan, it’s my wedding, so suck it, bitch.”

I groan, and she laughs and slaps my butt as I get out of the car. Mel is always excited. Always upbeat. She’s not like me. And I’m happy for her. I am. But I also hate that I feel mad because she’s so happy. Sometimes I feel like I can’t stand happy people.

I just don’t fucking understand them.

I head into the apartment, trying not to make noise. In case you haven’t guessed it by my name alone, my mother didn’t want me, and she never lets me forget it. The words “So you don’t make the same mistake I did” have been ingrained in my head since I got my first period, and I’ve never quite forgotten that the mistake was me.

I should probably live alone. But my cousin Magnolia saved my mother and me. She lost her mom, my mother’s sister, to leukemia, and came to us as a baby a few years after my dad’s death. She pulled both my mom and me from a deep sadness. If it weren’t for seeing her perceptive little gaze every morning, I’d be on drugs. Or booze. Or both. I don’t know why I’m drawn to drugs or booze or both, but when my dad died and Mackenna left, and my mom slapped me every time I cried and told me to get a grip, be strong . . . I just didn’t feel like life had a lot to offer at the time. Until little Magnolia came to us. My mom focused her efforts on her, and so did I.

I ease into the bathroom we share, turn on the shower, and pull free of my clothes. The water rushes over my head and I see his eyes, glittering silver and angry, and my stomach knots because I thought I’d feel better after hurting him. I felt that little rush at first, when we attacked him during his concert, but then I saw him, and all I know right now is that I don’t feel good.

After my shower, I can’t sleep, so I sit on the living room couch, listening to the patter of soft rain and the whoosh of wind outside. I tiptoe into Magnolia’s room and look at the way she’s twisted on the bed, all innocent, her dark hair fanned out on the pillow. She, like Melanie, really likes the pink streak in my hair.

“PanPan, read this for me,” she said only two nights ago.

She pulled out a princess story, and I cleared my throat and began reading. Magnolia remained quiet and in rapt attention, until I lowered the book. “Mag, look, I don’t think these books give you the right expectations of what a man is really like,” I said. She has no father figure, no brother, no male influence in her life, and it worries me. “You’ll fall in love with this prince and never find him.”

“Eww!” She jumped on the bed, yelling, “I don’t read these for the princes! I read them for the magic!”

“But soon you’ll be lured by a prince—”

“No prince! I want the dragon to eat the prince. Helena says that the boys with crowns in these stories don’t even like girls anymore. They like boys!”