Page 39 of For The Record

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.” I unlock my ear, sliding into the leather seat.

“About this fatal subject? I wouldn’t dare.”

“I’ll try the grovelling,” I say. “Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh, and try not to get the stomach flu,” I should hang up. But part of me wants to cling to this—to her—for as long as possible. It’s selfish, I know. Numbing myself with work and her voice, trying not to face the heartbreak I’ve caused in my family. All the hurt I’ve caused to Raina.

I hear the smile in her voice as she says, “I make no promises.”

After hanging up, the drive home is practically on autopilot, watching a pink smog descend on Los Angeles with the setting sun. The haze feels fitting: as cheerful as the colour may be, it’s still a hazard. Maybe even a warning. But telling me to stay away from what, exactly? Girls who don’t want relationships? Ghosts of future past, telling me about who I might become if I keep doing what I do. The path I’m spiralling down, the descent so slow that I’ve reached the bottom when I thought it was still level ground?

I shake my head, ignoring the clenching in my rib cage, the tightening vice around my heart. Raina will get over it. She has to. We’ll laugh about this one day.

I keep telling myself that, over and over. I am the definition of insanity and I don’t know how to stop.

#

@RainaAguilar8: I HATE MY BROTHER

@KateR: @RainaAguilar8 you okay???

@RainaAguilar8: no i will not explain

Chapter 19: Skye Holland

“I need to talk to you.” Ryder slams his guitar case shut with an emphatic click before straightening, his black hair flopping over his forehead in soft waves. The conference room is almost empty, the sun setting over the faint promise of the ocean in the distant landscape.

I pause in typing my email, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering, he shuts the door. “Did you sell my song to Naoya Sugawa?”

“What?” Is he seriously asking this of me? Does he hear the words that are coming out of his mouth? “Do you think I hate you enough that I would try to get a job with you, my ex-boyfriend, just to sabotage your career? Misery loves company, but I assure you that I’m not miserable.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” He yanks out a chair and plops into it, facing me. “Here are the facts. You worked with Naoya before you worked with me, and he literally flirted with you all the time—”

“Here we go again,” I say. “Always being so frickin’ jealous ofevery single guyI speak to. Do you want to know why we broke up? There’s why.”

“Naoya is aplayer, Skye,” Ryder says. “He probably used you to get to me.”

Something twists inside of me, a knife digging into my insides. “Don’t act like I’m some kind of helpless, pathetic little girl who can’t figure out when she’s being manipulated. If I’m the victim of anybody, I’m the victim of you, when you wrote a song and put my voicemail in it. I didn’t want to be here, Ryder. I never wanted to see you every day or work with you. But guess what? When you wrote a song about our breakup, the whole internet wanted to know my name. So here I am.”

“You’re not making a good case for yourself here, Skye.” He stands up again, pacing across the conference room. The blinds are drawn, at least, so that no one can see us arguing.

“I’d have an easier time not holding a grudge against you, if you didn’t seem to be holding one against me, first.” I push my chair back from the table, unzipping my laptop bag and shoving the computer inside.

“Do you hear yourself, Skye?” Ryder pauses in his pacing. “You sound like a twelve-year-old.”

“You wrote a song about me that got me doxed, Ryder!” I drop my laptop bag onto the chair, pull out my phone and open Twitter. “Look at this. I get DM’s with death threatsevery dayfrom fourteen-year-old fan girls, telling me how much they love you and yelling at me about how I broke your heart and should go jump off a cliff. So keep chastising me about how immatureIam. Go ahead.”

He scans the messages and his face softens. But his next words lance through me like a blade.

“Have you ever heard of deleting your Twitter account?” he says. “Great way to avoid online harassment.”

I straddle a plastic chair backwards, wrapping my arms around the back of the seat as though it’s a shield that will defend me from his daggered words. Sarcasm drips from every syllable. “Oh my gosh, I never thought of that. It’s not like I need to use social media for work or anything. Wow, Ryder, you aresosmart.”

“You know what I mean.” He sighs. “Do you seriously think you’re the only one who gets hate mail? In this industry, you need to grow a thick skin.”

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