PART ONE
I had this picture in my head
Of all the promises you made
But you turned them into dust
—Stray Kids, “Levanter”
1
BRUTAL—OLIVIA RODRIGO
I’m late to my own graduation.
With a quiet grunt, I scuttle past the people sitting in the last row and sit in the first empty seat I see, trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the process. This is definitely not my designated seat or even my designated row, but it’ll have to do for the time being.
Somewhere near the front of the room, my best friend is most certainly staring me down for an explanation, but there’s no way to explain my late arrival across a crowded auditorium. Instead, as soon as I’m settled, I take my phone out and go to shoot her a text, only to realize there’s six already waiting for me.
Evie Khodabux: bro where are you
Evie Khodabux: you know graduation started *checks watch* uhhhh ten minutes ago right
Evie Khodabux: LIANAAAAAAA WHERE ARE YOUUUUU
Evie Khodabux: liana bibi sarkar,,,,,,
Evie Khodabux: I swear to god if you don’t text me back,,, the next time I see you will be at your funeral <3
Evie Khodabux: are you seriously going to ditch graduation??? YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME??? I WOULD HAVE DITCHED WITH YOU WTF
Me: omg STOP I DIDN’T SEE THESE I’M SORRY I’M NOT DITCHING SFKLJSFKLJ
Me: DON’T KILL ME IT WASN’T MY FAULT MY DAD DID IT
Me: tldr: as always his job comes first at all times, up to and including the day of his only child’s graduation l o l
I tuck my phone under my thigh and resist the urge to sigh. I don’t know what I even expected. My dad’s never on time these days, but I thought today might be the one day he would at least try.
My fingers snag in the purple material of my graduation gown, and the guy beside me casts a wary look in my direction before scooting over for good measure. He’s kind of familiar but also not. He might have been in my AP Psych class during junior year. Who knows.
It’s not like any of this matters. It’s been three years since my mother died—and three years since my father and I picked up everything and moved from New York to Los Angeles. So even though I’m friendly with a lot of the people in my high school, the only person I really latched on to enough to call my friend since moving—my very best friend—is Evie, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s the only one whose opinion of me will still matter once this ceremony ends.
If Evie were beside me, she’d remind me a good percentage of our classmates are going to UCLA in the fall like I am, so I’ll probably run into them at some point or another. I’d stick my tongue out at her in response.
But she’s not here. She’s all the way across the room, holding her diploma, and I’m in the back, all alone, wondering if they’ll even call my name to walk across the stage.
Ugh.
I somehow muster up the nerve to nudge the guy beside me. “Hey, do you know if they’ve already finished S last names?”
He shrugs. I try not to wrinkle my nose at the overbearing smell of weed coming off his graduation gown. “Probably.”
“Great,” I mutter, leaning back in my seat. I might as well have not shown up at all.
A part of me is itching to call my father and yell at him, but the rest of me knows it wouldn’t faze him. He doesn’t care what I have to say. He never has.
I glance up toward the balcony to see if I can spot him among the sea of parents. I can’t help but notice how many of them are in happy tears, recording the ceremony with their phones, holding flowers and balloons in celebration.
When I finally find Baba, he’s standing off to the side, his phone held to his ear, looking away from the stage. Probably talking to someone from
work. I scowl and look away before I give in to the urge to throw a temper tantrum right here in the middle of the auditorium.
I’m seventeen years old. I’m too old to start screaming and throwing things. I know this, but Jesus, am I tempted.
It’s in my old age that I’ve realized why children cry so much. It’s so hard to say look at me, look at me, just look at me. See me the way I want to be seen. Hear me the way I want to be heard. It’s a lot easier to start sobbing in a demand for attention.
I wouldn’t have to if Ma were still here. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her smile or felt the warmth of her love and support.
She should’ve been here. To see me walk across the stage and receive my diploma. To start a new chapter of my life. She should’ve been here.
My lower lip trembles without my permission and I suck it into my mouth, biting hard enough to nearly break through the skin.
I will not cry. Not today.
“When can we leave?” I ask the guy beside me. He seems like he’d rather be anywhere but here, listening to our principal drone on, so he probably knows when this is supposed to end. My voice is slightly gruff when I speak, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Not soon enough,” he mutters, checking his phone for the third time. Then he gives me a brief once-over. “Are you about to have a mental breakdown or what? Your hands are shaking. Do you want a hit?”
“I—no, no, I’m fine,” I say, tucking my hands under my thighs. Good God. I need to get it together. For the most part, I tend to have high-functioning anxiety, allowing me to appear like I’m holding it together even when I’m not, but today clearly isn’t my day.
He raises his eyebrows, but thankfully doesn’t push. Instead, he says, “Liana, right? AP Lit?”
“I think it was AP Psych,” I say, though I’m even less sure that’s right than I was two minutes ago.
He blinks slowly, his eyes growing distant for a moment, like he’s searching through his memories for me. But then he shrugs. “Cool, whatever. I’m David.”
“I would say nice to meet you, but I’m probably never going to see you again so...” I offer him a thin smile.
“Well, we’ll see each other tonight, at least,” David says, a touch too confidently, considering I don’t even know what my plans are for tonight yet. “You’re going to Sophia’s grad party, aren’t you?”
Oh shit. I completely forgot about that.
Sophia is the most popular girl at Wexford High School, and probably the friendliest, too. We were in the same Spanish class sophomore year, and to this day, she always says hi to me whenever we pass each other in the hallways. Earlier this month, she sent out a mass invite to the entire senior class inviting them to a grad blowout at her house tonight.
If I were on my own, I probably wouldn’t go, but Evie mentioned wanting to
attend and I can never say no to her—especially not tonight, since it’s her last day in California, before she flies out to New York City for some pre-college summer program at Columbia.
I’ve been trying not to think too much about how lonely I’ll be without her for the entire summer, stuck with only my father to keep me company (or not keep me company, as it is), but it hasn’t been going well. At least I’ll have my part-time job at my uncle’s record shop and my internship at Ripple Records to distract me.
“Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say to David wearily. He gives me a thumbs-up and turns his attention back to the stage.
I try to do the same, but I’m too jittery to focus.
Something underneath my skin is boiling with anxious irritation at the fact I’m letting my dad ruin this day for me. I wish I didn’t care so much, that I could pretend he doesn’t exist, that none of this is happening, but he’s all I have left.
This isn’t what Ma would have wanted for us, but it’s not like that matters much these days.
The room suddenly bursts into noise and graduation caps fly into the air, startling me half to death. I’m not even sure how long I zoned out for.
“Congratulations!” the principal yells. “To the class of 2024!”
I toss my cap half-heartedly and watch as it flops pathetically at my feet.
Happy graduation to me, I guess.
2
MATILDA—HARRY STYLES
Los Angeles traffic is the bane of my existence. Second only to my father refusing to listen to me.
“Did you really have to go back to get these CDs?” I grumble, staring out the window instead of at him.
If Evie’s car hadn’t been packed to the brim with her family, I would’ve caught a ride with them instead. Then I wouldn’t be late again.
At least it’s more fashionable to be late to a party than your own graduation.
But still, each moment I sit here in traffic is another moment I could have spent with Evie.
Usually long drives help with my anxiety, letting the world around me slow down for once, but today it’s only heightening it, making me more tense.
If only my dad didn’t make a pit stop at his office to pick up a cardboard box full of CDs from his assistant. Then maybe I’d be at this party already, dramatically holding Evie in my arms and reminiscing on all our high school memories.
My dad isn’t a huge fan of the new digital age of music, so he always manually burns demos onto CDs instead of downloading them onto his phone like any normal person would. Usually, I wouldn’t care, since I also like the physical feel of holding a CD in my hands, but right now, it’s a huge inconvenience.
“I had to, Bibi,” my dad says, replacing the current CD with a new one. “It’s for work.”
Work. It’s always work. He’s an A&R coordinator at Ripple Records, a prestigious record label whose headquarters are located in downtown LA. His job is recruiting new talent for the company, and once upon a time, I thought it was the coolest thing ever.
Even if I won’t say it aloud, a part of me still finds it insanely cool. Despite how I feel about my dad, he gave me my love for music, and that’s something I wouldn’t trade for the world. Things were easier when Ma was still alive—when music was something we all shared. Singing at the top of our lungs in the car. Dancing in the kitchen. But after she passed away, music became an almost selfish thing. Baba’s music is his music. My music is my music. They no longer overlap.
And it’s not like I haven’t been trying. I’m going to UCLA to study music management. I work part-time at a record shop. I’m interning at his company this summer. I go to local shows, concerts, festivals, all in an attempt to connect with him somehow. To remember this thing that we once shared together.
“You could have gotten them after you dropped me off,” I say under my breath.
“Then I’d have less time to listen,” Baba says, replacing yet another CD. He barely even played the one he’s taking out. I can’t help but feel bad for—I glance at the CD case in his hand—Phantasma.
“You know Evie is leaving first thing in the morning,” I say, trying not to let the frustration bleed into my voice. “I won’t see her for months. This is our last night together.”
“You two are on the phone all the time, anyway,” he says, like that’s remotely the same thing. “You’ll be fine.”
Why do I even bother?
“She’s going to Columbia, Baba. In New York.” Our old home, I don’t say. I don’t like to think too much about New York if I can help it. It’s like poking at an old bruise that refuses to heal over. “She might not even come back to California before starting her fall semester.”
He gives me a sideways glance before looking back at the traffic. “No one was stopping you from going to college in New York with her if that’s what you wanted. I told you I’d move back to the NYC office if you needed me to.”
“That’s not—I don’t want to move back to New York,” I say through gritted teeth.
Ma and Baba always promised they’d follow me wherever I went for college, and I used to be so happy, so grateful for that. But now I know that no matter where we go, Baba will still be like this—distant, neglectful, unseeing. And being in New York, where Ma’s ghost haunts the city, would only make it worse.
“What do you want then, Bibi?” my father asks, as if I’m the one being unreasonable
I throw my hands up. “I just want to be able to see my best friend. Surely that isn’t too much to ask.”
“And you’ll see her. It’s not like I’m stopping you from going to this party,” Baba says loftily.
I open my mouth to snap back but fall short when I see him switch out yet another CD—but this time I recognize the cover art. It’s a highly minimalistic depiction of an eye with huge block letters spelling out THIRD EYE underneath it.
I know this band. Or at least I know of this band.
One of the members goes to Wexford High School. I think he’s in the year underneath me. I remember seeing him play the drums in our school talent show.
What was his name? Uhhhh—Ethan. The image of a bright-faced blond boy comes to mind and the memory clicks into place.
I grab the CD case out of my dad’s hand, flipping it over to the back to skim the credits. Baba gives me a surprised look but doesn’t complain.
Members: Skyler Moon, Thomas Smith, Mohammed Anwar, Ethan Mitchell, Vincent Alvarez.
Track list: Flying, Soda Pop, Triple Down, Genesis, Spitfire.
“They’re not bad,” Baba says, drawing my attention. He’s humming along to the first song, his fingers tapping against his steering wheel. “The lead singer is a little raw, though. Definitely needs more vocal training.”
He can expertly analyze a song within seconds of hearing it, and yet still has trouble understanding me when I say the most straightforward things. I stare at his fingers for a moment too
long, watching them match the song beat for beat before making a face, tossing the CD case back into the box. “Were you even listening to anything I was saying before? About Evie?”
“This again?” Baba asks with a sigh. “We’re almost there, okay, Bibi? Stop the whining, please.”
I scoff in disbelief, but it’s mostly to cover up the fact there’s a lump growing in the back of my throat. He wouldn’t be this casually cruel if Ma were still around. “You can’t be serious, Baba. This is important to me. You’re not even looking at me when I’m talking to you—”
“I’m driving,” he reminds, gesturing at the windshield. “Come on, Bibi. Act your age for once.”
“Driving doesn’t stop you from working, but it stops you from paying attention to me, is that right?” I ask, shaking my head. My eyes threaten to leak in the corners and I rub at them before they can expose me. I can’t be in here anymore. I can’t do this. “You know what? Just drop me off here. I’ll walk.”
“Bibi—”
“I said I’ll walk,” I repeat thickly, refusing to meet his gaze.
Baba pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand but doesn’t bother saying anything else, pulling over on the side of the street and unlocking the doors. I can’t help but grow even more resentful at his lack of protest. He’s not even going to try to convince me to stay in the car? To let him drop me off?
God. Whatever.
I quickly wipe my eyes again before I gather my stuff and throw open the passenger door. I don’t even bother to say goodbye.
“Be home before ten,” Baba says before I can leave, and I suck in a harsh breath. It’s not like he’ll be home by ten o’clock to even know if I’m there or not.
“Whatever you want,” I say with a thin smile, and slam the door in his face.
3
BLUE FLAME—LE SSERAFIM
“Liana! Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”
I turn around from where I’m watching a rather pathetic attempt at beer pong and smile helplessly when I see Evie holding out a White Claw. “I’m good, Evie. Thanks, though.”
She shrugs. “Hold the extra for me, though, will you? I’ll have it when I finish this one.” She opens her can with a satisfying pop. “There we go.”
“You have a flight at eight in the morning,” I remind her, gently patting her hand, but after a moment, I give in, holding the extra White Claw for her. “Go easy, will you?”
She harrumphs but lowers her can. “It’s fine. God knows I’ll be too busy learning astrophysics to drink all summer. Let me have this while I can.”
“No one told you to study rocket science,” I say and laugh under my breath when she pouts, nudging her elbow into my side.
“It would be easier if someone had,” Evie admits, her words a little softer. The decision to go to college in NYC has been rough on her. She’s never really left California, much less been to the East Coast. Part of it is being the eldest daughter—something I’ve never been able to relate to as an only child—and part of it is the fact Evie’s father is out of the picture. She basically helped her mother raise her younger siblings. Leaving them behind, even if it’s for something she’s genuinely excited about, is hard.
“Hey, it’ll be good for you,” I say, soothing her as best as I can, running my hand up and down her arm. “NYC is a whirlwind. Are you sure you don’t want me to put you in touch with my cousins? I’m sure Karina or Mina would be happy to show you around.”
“It’s okay,” Evie says and finishes the rest of her White Claw in a matter of seconds. I wince but don’t say anything. She pulls a hair tie off her wrist and ties her red dreadlocks into a large bun at the back of her head before grabbing the extra can from me. “I’ll figure it out on my own.”
“But the point is you don’t have to,” I say, pressing my chin into her shoulder once she’s settled again. “I know you’re used to taking care of everyone, but it’s okay to let other people take care of you sometimes.”
“I guess,” she mutters, but she leans her head against mine.
Despite the actual weight of her head, my body feels lighter when I’m around Evie. It’s comfortable and easy to breathe in her presence. I have no idea what I’m going to do without her for the entire summer. I already know there’s going to be endless FaceTime calls between us.
“Don’t make that face, ...
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