The important thing though was that it had solved a problem. I didn’t know who she was who had made the comment, and frankly, I didn’t really care. What was important here was that it had allowed me—or Destanie as my spokesperson—to take back control of my image. It was always better, I’d learned, to take ownership of what could be considered an insult, rather than become immediately defensive. So much of social media was pure strategy. Not just in what you posted and the image you chose to put forth, but how you responded to others online as well. And though I’d only been in the spotlight for about a year, I was getting better by the day at cultivating an image.

I should be proud of that. So why did it make me feel sort of…depressed? Why did it sometimes feel like social media—instead of singing—was my new full-time career?

Destanie continued to punch keys into her phone, and I turned back to the window.

Tuck Mattice.

It’d been surreal to see him, a grown man, no longer even a trace of the boy he’d once been. Now a honed and hardened felon. Chiseled. Muscled. Gorgeous. He’d always had a quick smile and an easy laugh. He’d always made bubbles explode under my ribs. His eyes had hung on me then, his expression part bewilderment and part something else I’d been too young to discern and couldn’t conjure now. I’d shown off for him because I’d loved his reaction. And I’d craved that inner turbulence—part off-putting but mostly exciting. We’d fought like little wildcats sometimes, but we’d also played, and chased salamanders, and explored, and gotten into trouble together. I’d thought about our old exploits as I’d gotten ready for his arrival, taking extra care with my hair extensions and makeup. I’d expected that same old look that made me feel fascinating, but it would be even more blatant, more raw, now that I was a woman, a star. Instead, when I’d walked in the room, his face had fallen. He’d looked at me like I was nothing but a deep disappointment. My stomach knotted, those bubbles dissipating one by one.

How dare he?

I’d made the decision not to judge him hastily, but now that I’d seen him in person, I’d realized that I’d had every right to make assumptions. If anything, he’d confirmed exactly what I’d imagined about who he’d become. Hardened. Bitter. Still as unaffected as he’d been the last time I’d seen him. Cold.