Page 60 of Nobody in Particular

“Well, I don’t intend on making iteasierfor you to leave me.”

“Rose, I’m sorry,” Danni says, and she lets go of my hands. “If I realized, I wouldn’t have started this at all. I’m so sorry. But we’re going to be okay, okay? I—I still care about you, and we’re going to stay friends, and we don’t even need to keep the whole space thing going. Molly knows we’re still hanging out, and she’s fine with it. We can just go back to the way things were at the start of the term, and it’s gonna hurt for a bit, but then it won’t hurt anymore, and we arebothgoing to be fine. Okay? I promise.”

But I’ve stopped listening. It’s apparent her mind is set, and I have no say in things, and my fear and hurt are already ebbing away. Loose sand through parted fingers. I’m sure Danni’s right. A week or two from now, three at the most, we will simply be something that briefly occurred. If she only wants to be friends, then we will be friends. It doesn’t much matter, really. Nothing does, in the grand scheme of things. Everything starts, and everything ends, on and on like that for eternity, and feeling any particular way about it is a waste of emotion. The only thing that ever changes is the time that elapses between the two points. And perhaps Danni is right. Perhaps shorter is better.

I might as well face this new reality without flinching. I get to my feet and gather my wet clothes in a bundle. “Do you have a bag?” I ask. “I should probably hide these as I walk back.”

She gives me a funny look and then digs around in her wardrobe for a tote bag. “Are you okay?” she asks as she hands it to me.

“Of course,” I assure her. “I understand what you’re saying. Really.”

She’s studying me, her eyes flickering around my face as though she’s seen something quite alarming there. “Are you sure? You don’t seem okay.”

I think—it’s entirely possible—that she’s finally seen it. Whatever it was Molly saw. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, I suppose. With any luck, it’ll help her move on from me fast. I don’t want this to be hard for her. I don’t want her to hurt.

“I’m okay,” I insist, smiling, but from her reaction that only serves to disturb her more. “Let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”

“Sure,” she says uncertainly, and I give her a brisk nod.

“Have a good night,” I say as warmly as I can manage. With a straight back, I leave, and make my way back to my own room.

With every heavy step, I shove a silent scream out of my body and into the ground.

And I message Alfie as I walk.Your fake-dating idea. I say we do it.

TWENTY-FIVEDANNI

After Rose and I break up, life goes on as normal without me. Eventually, I join it.

The first week or so I totally withdraw, even from Molly. It’s too hard for me to pretend to smile, and it feels like if I try, I might cry instead, and I can’t think of anything more humiliating than bursting into tears in the middle of math.

So, instead, I become really, really busy. At least, that’s what I tell Molly. As far as she knows, I have an urgent deadline for every single class she doesn’t share with me. We go to class together, we barely talk, I do my best not to look at Rose—because that feels dangerous, too—and then I rush to the ballroom to get on with piano practice. Then, once I’ve played for so long my fingertips are aching and my mind is sufficiently numbed into sludge, I sneak back to my room to lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Or browse stupid videos online. Or, if I’m feeling especially masochistic, search the internet for any references to me and Rose being in a relationship.

The only ones I find are the ones William sent through to Rose, but I read them over and over again. It’s weirdly comforting, to think someone else out there believes Rose and I had something special. Because now, it feels like it never happened at all. Something something if a tree falls alone in the woods.

Weirdly, even though there’s not a whole lot of stuff on me and Rose in particular, every day it seems like there are more mentions of me. I guess because Molly’s posted about me a few times now, or because royal-focused media outlets have noticed I exist, but it’s getting clear I’m not exactly anonymous anymore. Not famous enough for people to hate—yet—but my name’s getting brought up alongside Eleanor and Molly in magazine articles about Rose, and some of Molly’s fans have started dropping my name in forums like they know me personally. Like,Did you see the latest video Molly filmed in Danni’s bedroom? What would you call Danni’s haircut, I want to describe it to my stylist? Danni said something about Zach Knight in Molly’s story today, do you think they have tickets to next month’s concert?

It’s all friendly stuff, but the whole parasocial aspect of it is pretty weird.

The second week, things get a little better and a little worse. Better in that I’m confident in my ability to fake being happy, so I start actually interacting with Molly again—in class, anyway. Worse, in that when I lock myself alone in my room and start googling Rose, a bunch of articles about her and Alfie start popping up. Apparently over the weekend the two of them went on a coffee date, and held hands across the table while they talked.

Personally, I think it’s pretty screwed up of Rose to lead him on like that, but I guess it’s none of my business anymore. Whatever. As long as they’re both happy. And according to the articles, they’re very,veryhappy. Look at them, being happy over their coffees, and happy walking side by side out of the café, and happy happy happy as they stop under a leafless tree to whisper to each other on a street corner.

It doesn’t help that Rose has pretty much shut me out. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. If we cross paths, her eyes pass over me like I don’t even exist, and she never seems to be anywhere near me while we wait outside the classroom to go inside. It’s like she never met me. A couple of times, I catch myself wondering if I imagined the whole thing.

And the worst part is, I deserve every single stab. I know I do, because I asked for this. I demanded it, even. So, what right do I have to expect Rose to stay friends with me? None at all.

But damn, I wish knowing that made it magically sting less.

In week three, I dip again. Monday and Tuesday, I think I’m feeling better. Good, even. But just when I think I’ve moved on, the person who wrote the mini-essay insisting Rose and I were a thing updates their post to say they stand corrected, and Rose is obviously in a relationship with Alfie, and I break. So, I do the only thing I can do. I call Rachel in tears.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” she asks, and her voice is so comforting it makes me cry even harder.

“I can’t tell you everything,” I say, climbing under the covers of my bed fully clothed. “But I can’t just sit on it anymore. I was dating someone, and I had to keep it secret because she’s closeted. But we broke up, and now I can’t talk about it with anyone, because no one knows it happened.”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

I choke. “No. It won’t stop hurting. I thought it would’ve stoppedhurtingby now.”

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