Chapter 1
MIRANDA
If I closed my eyes and listened to the clatter of falling bowling pins, the dated soundtrack of easy nineties hits, and the hum of arcade machines, I could imagine I’d slipped back seven years. Almost. If I’d really stepped into the past, I’d feel the slight pressure of a pair of boring granny panties digging into my cheeks. I would also be wearing the infamous cardigan-and-camisole combination I’d thought was the height of fashion.
Nowadays, I was far more sophisticated. I’d traded the granny panties for ass floss and the cardigans for silky blouses and power jackets. I’d learned to stop apologizing for being intelligent and hardworking. My philosophy was that I needed to feel like I could step into any office in America, bust down the door, and start kicking corporate booty. Figuratively, at least. I’d tried self-defense classes once, and the only technique I was halfway proficient at was blowing the rape whistle.
I looked down at the soggy paper tray of nachos in my left hand and the hamburger and fries in my right. I even had a water bottle awkwardly wedged between my elbow and my side. Tonight, I wasn’t a door kicker. I was the third wheel—or, more technically, the fifth wheel—on a double date.
The more I thought about it, the more the sounds around me stopped feeling nostalgic. All they did was remind me of how different I was now—how much things had changed, and maybe not all for the better.
I could hear the deep laughter of Cade King and the rumble of his twin brother’s voice, even over all the chaos. That was enough to snap me into full awareness as surely as an ice-cold toilet seat at three in the morning.
Just down the short stairway leading to the bowling alley, my two best friends, Kira and Iris, were smiling and laughing at something Cade had said. It was getting harder and harder to be a good person—the kind of friend who would see their happiness and smile right along with them. Instead, watching them have fun felt almost accusatory. They had figured it out. They had found that special someone. So what did that say about me if my life seemed to be cracking apart at the foundations?
Be glad for them, Miranda. I repeated the thought a few dozen times in the hope that it’d overpower my gloominess. After all, why shouldn’t they be happy? Iris still worked as a cop, even though she’d recently paired off with Cade. Kira still loved her job as a teacher, and she was in a seemingly perfect relationship with Richard King. They’d found their happily ever afters—their kisses on the beach with one foot kicked up behind them. So what if I was currently buried up to the neck on that same beach while little crabs made nests in my hair and seagulls stole my food? At least I could be glad my friends weren’t screwed too.
A young kid who looked around middle school age bumped into me. I spun, did a teetering balancing act, and watched helplessly as Cade and Iris’s nachos fell to the carpet.
“Sorry, dude,” the kid said in a tone that was so far from apologetic it was actually insulting. He looked up at me with a strange mixture of confidence and blind panic, then dabbed. I expected him to run off, but he just stood there, looking at me.
I glanced down at the nachos and felt a swirl of unexpectedly strong emotions swelling up. The kid was watching me curiously, almost like he knew something was about to happen.
Normally, I would’ve composed myself, pushed down any emotions I felt, and handled this like a proper woman.
Normally.
I lunged forward and started stomping the nachos. For a few seconds, all I saw was pure-white rage. I stomped so hard it sent shock waves up my leg and made my knees hurt. When I was done, there was just a cheesy, crumby paste on the ground.
I stared down at the mess in numb fascination. “Taco salad,” I whispered.
The kid was still staring at me, but his jaw had dropped. “You’re a psycho.”
“Listen, you little turd. I just got out of a long-term relationship a week ago. And yesterday? I lost my job. Do you have any idea what it feels like when everybody thinks you’re so perfect? Can you imagine what it’s like when you realize one day that you’re trapped in someone else’s illusion? That your whole identity is dictated by the expectations of a stupid small town and your friends, but you’re in too deep to do anything about it?”
The boy thought about that, then his eyebrows scrunched up. “I play this online game, and I told a girl I met that I was in high school and the captain of the football team. She wants to meet in person now.”
I sighed. “Those were rhetorical questions. The point was you bumped into me and made me drop my nachos. You saw what I did to those nachos when they pissed me off, didn’t you? What do you think I’ll do to you?”
For a second, I thought he was about to cry, but then I saw him start to lift his arms.
“And don’t you dare dab at me again,” I warned.
The kid turned and ran. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying, but I felt like I’d lost my mind either way.
“Wow,” Cade said.
Apparently, he had been watching everything from the stairs at my side. He clapped his hands slowly. “Amazing. That was really just amazing. Oh, and is it okay if I grab one of these, or should I worry about what you’ll do to me?”
“If you repeat any of that to anyone, I’ll—”
“Stomp me?” he asked. He bent down, fished out a miraculously intact nacho, and popped it into his mouth. “Don’t worry. I enjoy dramatic irony. If I told everybody Little Miss Perfect was actually falling apart on the inside, watching you struggle to keep up appearances wouldn’t be nearly as fun. Secret’s safe with me. But, really, you could’ve at least given him some advice about his online girlfriend. That was just rude.”
Cade casually headed back down to our bowling lane to take his turn, as if he hadn’t just witnessed me having a mental breakdown. Clearly, something inside me had become unhinged, and I was only barely holding it all together. I had never been the type of person to let my stress show—or be a jerk to little kids, for that matter. If there were an Olympic event for internalizing problems and putting on a calm face for the world, I would’ve been the most decorated gold medalist in history by now. I let out a slow, controlled breath. I could absolutely do this. I’d even gone as far as writing it down this morning as a daily goal: Survive bowling night with the happy couples. Show no weakness. Do not get grilled on the breakup, and do not talk about getting laid off.
Easy. Everything in the world was easy if you pretended it was. Cade was a slight hitch in the plan, but I believed him. He’d keep quiet, and nobody had to know I didn’t have everything under control. I repeated that to myself as I resumed my slow walk back to our lane.
Calm face, Miranda. Calm face. It was just like losing both of my thumbs and one eye but then having to watch all my friends give thumbs-up and carefree, happy little winks to everyone they saw. Sure, I’d be happy for them, but I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how it was not winking if you had only one eye. All I’d ever have was blinking, and wasn’t there something tragic about that?
Iris noticed me coming and pretended to jog toward me in slow motion. She also started saying something unintelligible in slow motion, complete with exaggerated tongue movements like she was a dog with her head out the window of a moving car.