I’m out of excuses, and I can’t put off my journal any longer. The night before my brain scan, I return to my secret room. Taking a deep breath, preparing to acknowledge my demons, I put pen to paper before I can talk myself out it.

September 6, 20X4

Truth: Life is easier when you cease to feel.

I got rid of Peter, and the girls spilled their secrets. Kylie’s was weak—her parents purchased likes and comments and followers to inflate her stock price—but Lil surprised me. It turned out the picture I sent to Samantha was from Lil’s private collection. The dick really did belong to Peter Waters. She was a complicated girl, and I believed the benefit to staying on her good side. And in some ways, knowing Peter was shady made me feel a little better about ruining his life.

“Look at all these clones wishing they were us,” Lil said, scrolling through the Network screen on her balcony. “They’re so boring.” Shutting down the screen with a swipe of her hand, she put her feet up on a chaise. Fire was in the air that night. The Santa Anas swept through the dehydrated city, setting the sky ablaze in a spectacular display of red and orange. Positioning her mojito against her pedicured toes with the Hollywood Sign glowing pink in the hills beyond the terrace as her backdrop, she blinked, snapping a picture. “I feel like I’ve taken this shot a thousand times. We need to shake this slumber party up or else we’re going to lose our audience.” Lil’s parents were out of town, and none of our parents cared if we came home. As long as we were livestreaming, they knew we were safe. We couldn’t hide offline much longer.

“We need fresh blood,” Kylie said.

“I can invite Jax over,” Deena said, lazily fanning herself, eyes on the crimson sky. He was her current crush. “Maybe he can bring some friends.”

My ears perked up, hoping “some friends” meant Adam. I’d only seen him in passing a few times since that day on the Boulevard, but, true to his word, he’d been in touch. My insides fluttered as I remembered the first note. He’d brushed passed me without so much as a glance on the Boulevard. I was shattered that he didn’t acknowledge me until later that afternoon when I found a folded paper square in my pocket. When I got home, I made sure my Life Stream was off and unfolded it in the back of my closet. It was a note written on real paper with gray lines and a torn edge, like it came out of a journal.

E—

I told you I’d find a way. If you want to play with me, leave your response in the flower box where ocean meets sand.

I like your hair today.

—A.