Page 11 of The Last Session

“You have to go!” She sprayed granola particles in her enthusiasm.

“No way. I’d never want to see any of them again.” At her consternation, I continued. “It was a Christian school—just twenty-three of us in the grade. There was bullying, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh.” Amani became more subdued. “I see.”

“I wonder if it was easier or harder being a thirteen-year-old in—what year was that?”

She chuckled. “We’re only a few years apart.”

“But that can make such a difference!” I cried. “You’re—what, twenty-six? I’m thirty-three. So that’s… wow, seven years. What was popular back then, do you remember?” This felt weirdly compelling, connecting our thirteen-year-old selves across space and time.

“Well, we loved the movieRicky’s Room.” Amani laughed. “We’d get high on candy and drool over Charlie Becker.”

“He was after my time. But I had some major crushes too. Do you remember Sebastian Smith?”

She stared blankly.

“You don’t know Sebastian Smith?” I asked.

“Maybe it sounds familiar?”

“Oh my god. He was gorgeous. And talented. It was actually really tragic; he died young, in his twenties.” I pulled out my phone, googled, and showed her a moody black-and-white portrait.

“Oh, he’s cute.” She considered. “He kind of looks like Leonardo DiCaprio inTitanic.”

At least she’d seenthat. “Yeah, he had the same floppy early 2000s hair.” Warm nostalgia spread through my ribs. “Melissa and I really thought we were in love with him. He was in this bizarre movie that we loved:Stargirl.” Something twitched in the back of my brain.

“Stargirl,” Amani echoed.

“Have you seen it?” I asked eagerly.

“No. But if you saw it at thirteen I was only—what. Six?”

I clicked back to the images of Sebastian. Many were from his heyday as a young teen: middle-parted blond hair, large blue eyes, freckled snub nose. He looked so young, delicate, even feminine. Maybe that’s why Melissa and I had liked him. Compared to older men with muscular arms and bulges in their pants, Sebastian was pretty and safe.

“What wasStargirlabout?” Amani asked. Clearly, she didn’t want to start work today either.

“It was kind of bizarre. It was about this Egyptian priestess.” I typed it in. The Rotten Tomatoes ratings showed a 22 percent critical score and 31 percent audience score. The still images from the film reminded me of the other reason I’d liked the movie so much: the actress who’d played the titularStargirl, a thirteen-year-old redhead and Sebastian’s love interest, had looked a little like me. I googled the cast. The picture of Sebastian was from when he was older—still acting but swiftly moving towards his death by heroin overdose. His feminine features had morphed, his large eyes alien-seeming in his gaunt face.

“Egyptian priestess?” Amani echoed.

“Yeah. She was in love with this guard, played by Sebastian. But… yeah, I think she was also having an affair with the king?” The actress was Catherine O’Brien. Of course.

“Scandalous.” Amani yawned and stood, grabbing her purse and walking to the lockers.

And ithadbeen scandalous. Melissa and I had snuck into the R-ratedfilm after buying tickets for a PG movie. We’d both been shocked and titillated by how someone our age could be so tantalizing that adult men couldn’t stop themselves from seducing her. Thinking back now, it was quite horrifying that a thirteen-year-old could be sexualized to that degree. But at the time, at least in my memory, most people hadn’t questioned it. Maybe because it had been set in “ancient” times?

I clicked on Catherine O’Brien’s headshot. I remembered that she’d dated Sebastian IRL after the movie—which had caused it to seem even more romantic. The pictures that popped up mostly showed her as a teen, her red tresses blow-dried into the chunky layers people had back then. Wow. She reallyhadlooked a lot like me, more than I remembered. I scrolled down and paused on one of the few pictures of her as an adult.

My stomach dropped.

“Amani.” I waved her over and showed her the screen.

She squinted. “This is… the actress?”

My mouth was suddenly dry. I licked my lips. “Who does that look like?”

“What do you mean?”

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