Mayor Bayor recovered with the exact amount of grace you’d expect from a man who’d led a one-sided mayoral campaign with the slogan: Taxpayer. Sax Player. Vote for Bayor. Your Number One Mayor. Three generations of Bayors had ruled our forgotten freeway town. There was no skill set required to take the title. A lucky last name, a Cadence address, and an uncontested race did the trick. Mayor Bayor wiped forehead sweat onto the sleeve of his jacket. The streak left a California-shaped wet mark below his right elbow. He couldn’t find his place in his speech, and heaved and hmmed until it seemed easier to surrender. “Let’s bring it back to what matters, yeah?” he said to cover. “You all know her. You’ve grown to love her.” A dig I did not miss. “Cadence’s very own Olivia Stanton!”

A hand pulled me back from walking up the stairs. Ms. DeVeau. The line of her lipstick went above her actual lips. The miscalculation of it transfixed me. “A young lady should not be up to such unbecoming things,” she warned.

As I shrugged off Ms. DeVeau, I caught sight of Marley’s empty, foam-board smile by the dessert table. On the other side of the tent, her new, oil-stained smile was propped up on an easel next to the DJ. I smiled back—at first out of habit.

Then out of joy.

All my life I’d been loyal to her, waiting for this moment. Carrying her when she couldn’t go anywhere anymore. Honoring her by copying her words, her mannerisms, her bravery, and her poise. Mimicking her ability to spin tall tales with believability and ease. Chasing her grand schemes.

I knew in my heart she was challenging me, but I couldn’t quite see how yet.

I needed to take a risk. Make my move.

“Good evening, Cadence,” I started, unable to make out the faces in the crowd through the harsh glare of the spotlight. Instead, I looked up, feeling Marley’s scattered, star-teeth smile in the unseen sky above me.

She was everywhere.

“Marley never left us,” I said into the mic, a bit too close. My last word caught reverb that rang out like a siren. “You’re all liars for pretending she did.”

The crowd let out a collective gasp. With one sentence, I’d erased years of work at crafting a palatable image for them. I was once again the messy little girl they all tried to forget, no longer masked by well-worded sentiments and Marley’s hand-me-downs. I’d worn the truth down until it fractured completely.

I knew my cue. I always did. It was a performance Marley Bricket would want, and it was a performance I gave. Eyes welling, I ran down the center of the tent until I found the parking lot on the other side. To the crowd, I’d regressed.