She had already applied to UCLA. She had a whole life waiting for her. Dorms, new friends, endless possibilities. She talked about it constantly, her excitement bubbling over in every conversation. I had nothing. I wasn’t Tiffany, who had been planning to study fashion since we were fourteen. I wasn’t someone with a clear dream, a destination that made sense to others.

I glanced at the clock. Blake’s going to college soon…

That thought had been creeping up on me for weeks, but now it was starting to suffocate me. He had already picked his classes. Blake was going to make so much money one day, and I…

I was going to be left behind.

Tiffany must have seen something shift in my expression, because she sighed softly and scooted closer, tucking one leg underneath her. “This is about Blake, isn’t it?”

“No,” I said automatically.

She gave me a look.

I huffed, sitting up. “Fine. Maybe.”

She rested her chin in her palms. “He’s just going to college, Bev. It’s not like he’s moving to another country.”

Might as well have been.

“You don’t need to compare yourself to him. You know that, right?”

I stared at my hands, picking at my nail polish. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

I didn’t know how to explain it.

How do you explain what it feels like to have someone be part of your life for so long that you don’t even remember a version of yourself without them? And then, one day, you wake up and realize they have a future that doesn’t include you. That their life is going to move forward, whether you’re in it or not.

That’s what Blake was doing. He had his future mapped out. He had somewhere to go. And me? I was stuck here.

“Bev,” Tiffany said gently. “It’s okay to not know what you’re doing yet. You don’t have to have it all figured out.”

“Blake does…”

“Yeah, but Blake’s not you.”

No. He wasn’t. He had plans, a scholarship, a future that was set in stone. And I had a part-time job at a movie theater and a dance class that wasn’t going anywhere.

I exhaled sharply, my shoulders slumping as I leaned against the headboard. “I’m just tired, Tiff.”

Her expression softened.

Tired wasn’t even the right word…

It was deeper than that. It was exhaustion in my bones, in my brain, in the part of me that was supposed to know what came next but didn’t. It was that gnawing feeling that I was supposed to be doing something. That I was supposed to be figuring it out.

Because wasn’t that what getting older was? You woke up one day and suddenly had a plan, a direction, a purpose.

That’s what it seemed like for other people.