Page 105 of Movers and Shakers

I closed my eyes, feeling the now-familiar wave of guilt. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Sleep on it,” Juno suggested. “And then you’ll feel better.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better,” I muttered. “All of this is so wrong.”

“It’ll work out.” Her voice was soft, meant to be comforting. But I didn’t think anything would make me feel better.

Not when I’d fucked it all up with the perfect guy.

I went to my room, still feeling uneasy about this whole thing. The correct answer was to tell him, I knew that.

But what if he told everyone?

Maybe you deserve that.

When the thought hit me, I fell on the bed. Ididdeserve it. I deserved every ounce of his anger and I didn’t know if my self-preservation was enough justification to keep lying to a man who’d done nothing wrong.

I tried to think of Mom and how she would react. That usually snapped me back into line, but even the fear of that was nothingcompared to the guilt I felt. I’d promised her I would never do this, but my guilt was morphing into something else.

Conviction. Painful, righteous conviction.

Barry

In my dream, the bar was different. The pink and teal neon lights faded together and I had a drink in my hand, something I’d never done since my first year owning the place. I took a sip, expecting alcohol, but all I got was fizzy tartness and fruit.

Cranberry juice and soda water.

“Don’t steal all of it,” a lyrical voice said. “It’s my favorite.”

My eyes snapped up and I saw Lila in front of me. She gave me a heart-stopping smile and grabbed the drink out of my hand. Her hair looked different today—a slightly lighter shade of black.

“Did you dye your hair?” I asked.

“Come on, you’d know I’d never do that. My hair has been the same for over a decade.”

And it had. She’d never shown a sign of roots or an outgrown haircut. She’d always been the same. She’d always beenLila.

She handed back the drink and the song turned into the one we’d written together. The angsty rock song about Blaze wasn’t dancing music, but she laughed as if she had entirely moved on from the pain I’d seen her in. She twirled, and in the shifting light, her hair had red strands.

When she stopped, the red was more prominent, but like this, she didn’t look like Lila at all.

I blinked, thinking I must have been losing my mind. When I opened my eyes, Lila would be back.

But then she wasn’t.

It was Rose.

Her red hair glistened in the light, just like when she came out of her house to see Wilfred with me. Her lips weren’t painted red like Lila’s, and it hit me how similar they were to the pop star’s.

My eyes went to Lila’s, and I realized theyalsohad the same shade of hazel.

“Come on, Barry,” Rose said, but her voice mixed with Lila’s. “Come dance with me.”

My legs followed of their own accord and the horror rising in my chest did nothing to stop me. Her hair was red in the pink lights and freckles danced on her skin. In the green, it was darker and she was the pop star I longed for.

But she was somehow both.

“You’re the only one I’m like this with,” she said, two voices somehow one.

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