Three days before we got the news that changed our lives. Instead of going overseas to a cute little school in a misty village, we would be staying in Florida, going to a charmless state school and living in awful dorms.

I shut my eyes now, unable to think about what happened later.

I inhale deeply and put a hand on my chest and try to keep a potential panic attack at bay. Breathe in and out. Everything’s fine.

But it isn’t. I know, in my heart of hearts, that I was supposed to go to Avalon, and since I did my part wrong, I’m living out the wrong version of things. That’s what it feels like.

I scroll through more pictures and videos, skipping around and coming to one from college. I don’t recognize it.

I’m holding my phone up in the mirror, showing my own reflection in the video.

“Okay, Aimee is in a mood, so we’re going to try and see if this works.”

College-me points the camera at my feet as I walk, laughing to herself as she does so.

Oh God, I do vaguely remember this.

With my iPod plugged into a portable speaker, I walk into Aimee’s room blasting “Who Let the Dogs Out” by Baha Men.

Aimee looks jarred and shakes her head, gesturing to turn it off.

I do, and then say, “Okay, so like I said, Aimee’s in a mood.”

“Are you filming right now?” She looks exhausted with me. “I don’t want to be filmed right now. I mean it—stop.”

I hear a meager sorry and then the video ends.

It may as well have been a slap.

I feel so embarrassed that I’m actually nauseous. I hate seeing myself on camera. It’s an oddly common affliction for actors. I can’t watch my own stuff without feeling itchy. But it’s way worse in a video like this, when I was actually myself, not even a character. Young and unselfconscious, hadn’t learned tact or social caution. My voice was loud, unbraced for rejection; I was uncool in every sense of the word.

Why had I even kept that video? Why would I ever want to revisit that feeling?

I sit up, tossing my phone aside and taking off my headphones. The hot, fabricated breeze ripples over the porch.

I need to do something. I don’t know what, but I need to do something.

I pop the bottle of Bolli and take a big swig.

Then, as the bubbles foam over and spill down my front, I am struck with an idea.

Maybe I need to get out of here for a little while.