The drive to UCLA takes three hours.
I blast music the whole way, windows down, singing along to every breakup song on the radio even though I'm not breaking up with anyone. The wind whips my hair into knots I'll regret later. I'm going to see my boyfriend. He has a surprise planned. Everything is perfect. The 101 stretches out before me, familiar and endless, taking me from Sacramento's flat valley heat into LA's hazy sprawl.
I practice my smile in the rearview mirror at red lights. Check my makeup. Reapply my lip gloss twice.
By the time I pull into the UCLA parking structure, my heart is hammering. The concrete structure is dim and cool after hours in the sun, smelling of motor oil and exhaust. I text him: here!
No response.
I check his location. He shared it with me weeks ago, back when we were still in that honeymoon phase where sharing locations felt romantic instead of paranoid. It shows his dorm building.
I park and walk across campus. It's beautiful. Brick buildings and green lawns and students everywhere, looking busy and important and college. This is going to be my world in a few months. Our world. The late afternoon sun slants golden across everything, making the campus look like something out of a brochure.
The sun is starting to set, casting everything in gold. I snap a quick photo for my story. UCLA vibes 💫
I find his dorm. Third floor. Room 314. The hallway smells like stale pizza and air freshener, muffled music bleeding through various doors.
The door is closed. I raise my hand to knock, already imagining his face when he sees me. The surprise he has planned. Maybe flowers. Maybe a promise ring. Maybe just him, which would be enough.
That's when I hear it.
Laughter. High and bright and familiar.
My sister's laugh.
I stand there frozen, hand still raised, not breathing. Not thinking. Just… suspended. The hallway lights buzz overhead, fluorescent and harsh.
It's probably not her. Probably just someone who sounds like her. UCLA is huge. Thousands of students. The chances of…
"Liam, stop." Madison's voice cuts through the door. Giggling. Breathless. "You're gonna make me spill my drink."
The world tilts.
I should leave. Should walk away. Should get in my car and drive home and pretend I never came here.
Instead, my hand moves on its own.
I turn the handle.
I can't move.
My hand is still on the doorknob, cold brass against my palm. My feet are planted on the scratched linoleum of Liam's dorm hallway. Everything in my body is screaming at me to run, to leave, to unsee what's right in front of me.
But I can't look away.
The room smells like his cologne mixed with Madison's perfume, a cloying combination that makes my stomach turn. Empty beer bottles line the windowsill. A pizza box sits open on his desk, grease stains bleeding through the cardboard. The afternoon light slants through the half-open blinds, striping everything in gold and shadow.
Liam sits up fast, the sheets falling to his waist. His hair is messed up, lips slightly swollen. "Avery, wait."
"Wait?" The word comes out strangled. Not my voice. Someone else's voice using my throat.
Madison stretches like a cat, languid and unbothered. She's wearing his UCLA shirt, the navy blue one with the gold lettering. The one he wore in half the photos on his Instagram. The one I commented "so hot 🔥" on two weeks ago. Her legs are bare, tan against his white sheets. Her hair is messy in that deliberately perfect way that takes effort to achieve.
She looks at me like I'm interrupting. Like I'm the one who doesn't belong here.
"This isn't..." Liam starts.
"Isn't what?" I step inside, my sandals squeaking against the floor. I don't know why. My legs move on their own. The door clicks shut behind me, trapping us all in this moment. "Isn't what it looks like?"
"Avery." He swings his legs off the bed, reaching for his jeans crumpled on the floor. His chest is bare, a few faint scratches visible near his collarbone. "Let me explain."
Madison laughs. Actually laughs. The sound is bright and cruel. "Oh, Liam. Don't."
"Shut up, Madison."
"Why?" She tilts her head, examining her nails. They're painted the same shade of red as the lipstick I saw smudged on his desk lamp. "She was going to find out eventually."
My vision tunnels. The room shrinks to just the three of us. Him. Her. Me. The air feels thick, hard to breathe.
"Find out what?" My voice is too calm. Detached. Like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
Liam won't look at me. He's staring at his jeans, fumbling with the button. His fingers shake slightly. "It's not... we didn't mean for it to happen."
"How long?"
Silence. Just the distant thump of bass from somewhere down the hall. Someone laughing. Normal college sounds. Normal college life.
"How long, Liam?"
Madison sighs like I'm boring her. She reaches for a water bottle on the nightstand, takes a slow sip. "Since spring break. April? God, I don't keep track."
April.
Three months.
Three months of good morning texts. Three months of I miss yous and can't wait to see yous and you're so beautifuls. Three months of me posting photos with captions about finding the one while my sister...
The floor feels unsteady beneath me.
"You're my sister." I'm looking at Madison now. Really looking. Trying to find something familiar in her face. Something that looks like the person who taught me how to do winged eyeliner when I was thirteen. Who drove me to my first school dance. Who I called crying when I got my period at school and didn't know what to do.
"Half-sister," Madison corrects. Like it matters. "Different dads, remember?"
"That doesn't..." I can't finish the sentence. My throat is closing.
"Look." Liam finally meets my eyes. His are green, flecked with gold in this light. I used to think they were beautiful. "You're a great girl, Avery. You really are. But come on. You're still in high school. You're still... I don't know. Young."
"I graduate in three days."
"Graduated," Madison says, still sipping her water. "Past tense. We were at your party, remember?"
The party. Three days ago. When Liam showed up and kissed me in the rose garden and told me he had a surprise. When Madison showed up late and said tell Liam I said hi with that weird smile. When they both looked at me with faces I trusted and lied through their perfect teeth.
They knew. They both knew. And they looked me in the face and lied.
"So what was I?" I ask. My voice sounds hollow, echoing in my own ears. "What was this?"
Liam shoves his hands in his pockets. Won't meet my eyes again. "It was fun. We had fun, didn't we?"
Fun.
Six months of staying up until 2 AM on FaceTime. Six months of driving to LA every other weekend. Six months of planning our future, talking about living in the same city, going to the same school, building something real. Six months of believing every word he said.
Fun.
"You told me you loved me," I say.
"Avery..."
"Two weeks ago. You said you loved me. You said I was different. You said..." My voice cracks. I hate that it cracks.
"He says that to everyone," Madison interrupts. She's examining her cuticles now, completely uninterested in the bomb she just dropped. "It's kind of his thing."
Liam glares at her. "Jesus Christ, Madison."
"What? You want me to lie to her too?" She looks at me finally, really looks at me, and there's something in her eyes I've never seen before. Something sharp and ugly and satisfied. Like she's been waiting for this moment. "Someone should tell her the truth."
"And what's the truth?" I'm shaking now. I can feel it in my hands, my legs, my voice. The tremor running through my entire body like an earthquake.
Madison stands. Walks toward me in bare feet, her steps silent on the cheap dorm carpet. She's taller than me in bare feet, but right now she feels ten feet tall.
"The truth," she says slowly, like she's explaining something to a child, "is that you were practice."
The word hits like a slap.
"Madison..." Liam's voice has an edge now.
But she ignores him. Keeps her eyes locked on mine, that satisfied gleam getting brighter. "He wanted someone easy. Someone who'd worship him. Someone who'd take cute pictures and boost his ego and not ask too many questions." She steps closer. I can smell the wine on her breath now. "Someone young and stupid and desperate enough to believe that a college guy actually gave a shit about a high school girl."
I can't breathe. The room is spinning.
"And once he got bored? Once he realized you were exactly as immature as everyone said you'd be?" She shrugs, casual as discussing the weather. "He upgraded."
"That's not..." Liam starts, but he doesn't finish. Can't finish. Because we both know she's right.
"You're horrible," I whisper.
"I'm honest." Madison crosses her arms. "There's a difference."
"You're my sister."
"Half," she corrects again, that word like a knife between us. "And being related doesn't mean I have to protect your feelings. Especially when you're throwing yourself at guys who are way out of your league."
Something inside me snaps.
"Out of my league?" My voice rises, echoing off the concrete walls. "He's a freshman. He's barely older than me. He's..."
"He's mine now." Madison's smile is poison. Pure venom. "And you're standing in his dorm room crying about it like a child. Kind of proving my point, baby sis."
"Get out," Liam says suddenly. He's looking at me. Not her. Me. "Avery, you need to leave."
"Excuse me?"
"This is my room. My space. And you're... you're making this harder than it needs to be."
I stare at him. This boy I've spent six months falling for. This boy who drove to Sacramento for my graduation. This boy who whispered promises in my ear while we took photos in my backyard. This boy whose favorite song I memorized. Whose coffee order I know by heart. Whose hoodie is still in my car.
He's looking at me like I'm the problem.
"You're telling me to leave?" I can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"What did you expect?" He sounds frustrated now. Annoyed. Like I'm the one being unreasonable. "You can't just show up unannounced and..."
"You invited me!" My voice cracks again, louder this time. "You told me to come this weekend! You said you had a surprise!"
Madison snorts. "Well. Surprise."
Liam runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "Look. You're a high school girl, Avery. A high school influencer. That's cute and all, but you don't belong in my world. You never did."
The words are worse than catching them together. Worse than Madison's smirk. Worse than any of it.
Because he means it.
I can see it in his face. He actually believes what he's saying.
"I'm going to UCLA in the fall," I say weakly. "We were going to..."
"Yeah." He cuts me off, sharp and final. "Maybe don't do that. This campus isn't big enough for... this." He gestures vaguely at all of us, at the mess we've become.
Madison laughs again, that bright cruel sound. "Oh my god, Liam. Brutal."
"Shut up, Madison."
"Make me."
They're looking at each other now. And there's something there. Something familiar. Something that's been building for way longer than three months. An intimacy I recognize because I thought I had it with him.
I'm the outsider here.
I'm the mistake.
I'm the practice.
"Okay." The word comes out flat. Empty. All the fight draining out of me at once. "Okay."
I turn toward the door. My legs feel like water.
"Avery..." Liam's voice softens slightly, but I don't look back. Can't look back.
"Don't." I yank the door open, the handle cold and solid in my shaking hand. "Don't say my name. Don't text me. Don't... just don't."
I step into the hallway. The fluorescent lights are too bright after the dim room. They make everything look washed out and harsh.
"Guess you were just practice!" Madison calls after me, singsongy and bright. Like a taunt on a playground.
The door slams behind me before I can respond.
I stand there in the hallway. Students pass by, laughing, talking, carrying laundry baskets and backpacks, living their lives. Nobody looks at me. Nobody notices the girl who just had her heart ripped out. I'm invisible here. Just another body in the hallway.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Zoey: how's the surprise??
I stare at the screen.
The surprise.
My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop my phone. The screen blurs. I blink and realize I'm crying. When did I start crying?
I open Instagram. Pull up the photos from my graduation party. Me and Liam in the rose garden. Smiling. Perfect. His arm around me, my head on his shoulder, both of us looking at the camera like we're looking at our future. Hundreds of comments about how cute we are. How lucky I am. How perfect we look together.
My finger hovers over the post button.
I could blast them both. Post receipts. Screenshots of his texts, the ones where he said he loved me, where he made plans for our future. Photos of Madison's smug face. I could ruin them. I have the followers. I have the platform. I could make their lives hell.
But my hands are shaking too hard to type.
And honestly? I can't see through the tears anymore.
So I do the only thing I can.
I walk to my car, my vision blurred and my chest heaving.
I drive home, merging onto the 101 on autopilot.
And I cry the entire three hours back to Sacramento.
By the time I pull into my driveway, my face is swollen. My throat is raw from sobbing. My chest feels like someone's sitting on it, crushing all the air out of my lungs. The house is dark. Mom's car is gone. She's probably at book club, laughing with her friends, living her normal life.
My phone has forty-seven notifications. Texts from Liam. Please let me explain. It's not what you think. I'm sorry. Call me back. Baby please.
I block his number.
Then I open Instagram.
Madison's already posted. A selfie in his dorm room, that same room I just left. Her in his UCLA shirt, messy hair, smug smile. Caption: "Upgrade 😘"
The comments are full of people asking who she's dating. Where she got the shirt. If she's seeing someone new. Compliments on how good she looks. How happy she seems.
Nobody knows it's Liam.
Nobody knows it's my Liam.
Nobody knows what just happened.
I stare at my own profile. Two million followers. Brand deals. Sponsorships. The perfect influencer life. Avery Lane, the girl who has it all. The girl everyone wants to be.
All built on a lie.
I close the app.
Walk into my house, my footsteps echoing in the empty rooms.
Lock myself in my bedroom.
And for the first time since I was twelve years old, I don't film a video. Don't post a story. Don't perform for anyone. My ring light sits cold and dark in the corner. My phone screen goes black.
I just sit on my floor in the dark and let myself break.
The sobs come in waves. Violent and ugly. Not the pretty crying from movies. This is the kind of crying that makes you choke, that makes your whole body hurt. I cry until there's nothing left. Until I'm empty.
But somewhere between the tears and the shaking and the replaying of Madison's voice in my head, guess you were just practice, something else starts to grow.
Something cold.
Something sharp.
Something that whispers: They don't get to win.
I wipe my face with my sleeve, leaving dark mascara streaks on the fabric.
Stand up, my legs wobbly.
Walk to my mirror.
My eyes are swollen, red and puffy. My makeup is destroyed, black tracks down my cheeks. My hair is a tangled mess from the car ride. I look like hell.
But underneath all that?
I look like someone who's done being practice.
I look like someone ready for the main event.