I WAKE UP AT NOON. Raj has gone to school. I remember him kissing me good-bye. “Stay as long as you want,” he said. I see the imprint of his body against the sheets, and place myself in it. Then I remember. It’s Marisol’s birthday. She’s coming home tonight. I need to get back to her place and clean it. I draw a big heart on a piece of notebook paper and leave it on his pillow.

On my way down the hall I leave Marisol a voice mail.

“Happy birthday, Marisol! You’re probably with your family, or maybe you’re on the plane by now, but I wanted to be one of the first people to wish you a terrific birthday. Also, I have news. I have some bad news. But I also have some good news. I can’t wait to see you and tell you everything. Okay, so this is me, giving you a big fat birthday kiss.” I make a kissing noise and hang up the phone.

In front of Marisol’s door is a padded envelope. It’s too big to fit into our mailbox, so the mail carrier brought it inside. As soon as I pick it up, I recognize the handwriting: it’s from Alex. He’s written Photos inside, please do not bend. And I know instantly that this envelope contains the pictures of our trip. I open our apartment door and sit on the bed with the envelope in my hands. I debate throwing it out before even seeing what’s inside, but I can’t help myself. I rip open the envelope, and the pictures fall out. My heart races as I read the note, written on a scrap of notebook paper.

Becca, Here are the pictures you’ve been asking for. My roommate thought it would be cool to develop the film for his photography class and I didn’t think you’d mind. For what it’s worth, he says you’re a good photographer. Anyway, I hope you’re well and that you finally got that agent you’ve been wanting. As for these pictures, we had some good times, didn’t we? I realize that I’ve found the perfect word to describe my feelings for you right now. Fond. I’m fond of you and what we shared. That’s it! I’ve got to run to class.

—Alex

I taste what I think is bile in my throat. Fond? He’s fond of me? I look through the pictures: Alex and me with our arms around each other in Maine, ankle deep in the ocean in North Carolina, eating ice cream in Texas, kissing in Utah, posing outside a casino in Nevada, tangled in sheets in Palm Springs, the moment right before he broke up with me in Pasadena.

My heart is beating so fast, like I’ve had too much coffee. I’m short of breath. I can’t seem to get enough oxygen. I have to move my body. I have to do something to escape this feeling.

I pull up the shades, put my hair in a ponytail, and blast music. I sit on the fire escape and clean the windows. As I perch on the iron grate and go to town with the Windex, I wonder, What if Raj changes his mind, too? Alex and I were totally in love once, and now he’s using the word fond like I’m his great aunt or something. What if Raj decides he’s only fond of me—without any warning? Without any clues? I can’t go through that again. I just can’t.

I can’t control other people, I think. Then I climb inside the window, and get to work on the tub. But why am I so easy to reject and walk away from? What if I’m not special enough to make an impression on anyone? Reed was all about my great energy, and then he just changed his mind. Okay, no. That was different, I tell myself as I scrub the porcelain until it literally turns a different shade of white. Reed was just a stupid one-night stand. But he and Tamera are still together. He and Tamera have become a thing. Why didn’t he want to become a thing with me? What’s wrong with me? Stop it, stop it, Becca, I tell myself. You’re being totally crazy and irrational. I sacrifice my toothbrush to clean the grout.

As I start to clean up the main room, I put my collage in the closet. Of course, I can’t help but focus on my last goal, “become a star,” which I’d checked off like a total idiot. I scribble it out like a madwoman, then tear the page off the collage, and throw it on the ground.

“Oh fucky!” I say to myself. “Fucky, fucky, fucky!” And then I gasp. Did that weird phrase actually just come out of my mouth? I have to get out of here. NOW.

I fill my suitcase on wheels with dirty laundry from our hamper and roll it to the Laundromat next to the Mayfair. After I put in the second load of whites I pop over to a coffee shop for a decaf cappuccino. I’m so hyped up that I’m afraid the real thing will send me into cardiac arrest. A guy seated near the window with a laptop is looking at me. He’s familiar, but I can’t quite place him.

“Do I know you?” he asks.

“I’m in a Volkswagen commercial?”

“No, that’s not it.” Then he snaps his finger and points at me. “You were in Company One. You were great.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“You were at the party at Kingman’s place, right?”

“Yes,” I say.

“And I know your roommate, Anna.”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, from high school in Miami.”

“You mean Marisol.”

“I guess she goes by Marisol now. As her acting name? I guess it is more memorable than Anna.”

“Are you sure you have the right person?” I ask. It’s weird to me that Marisol hadn’t mentioned that she’d seen an old high school friend that night. Or that Marisol isn’t her real name. Aren’t we best friends?

“I’m positive. I was a senior when she was a freshman. Anna Mercado.”

“No, no. She’s Marisol Alvarez.”

“Right. Anna Marisol Alvarez Mercado. It’s not like you forget the name Mercado, you know, because of the rum.”

“Mercado rum? Like the biggest rum company in the world?”

“That’s the one,” he says, laughing.

“No, no. That’s not her. She’s totally broke. Like me.”

“Um…no. She’s from the Mercado family. I mean, I didn’t know her very well. But she’s kind of a legend. Everyone knew that she was going to inherit like two hundred million bucks on her twenty-first birthday. My mom was always trying to get me to ask her out.” He laughs at the thought.

“It can’t be,” I say. “That makes no sense at all. Like, at all at all. Her car was almost repo’ed. I just paid her electricity bill. We share a studio apartment in a building right down the street, which my cousin calls a hovel.”

“She was always a really good actress,” he says in this way that makes me hate him.

“There’s no way she lied to me,” I say. My voice is quavering, and I can feel my cheeks flush with anger even though I have the feeling that this guy, this total rando in cargo pants, is the one telling me the truth.

He inches his chair away from me, like he’s scared of what I might do next. “Hey, maybe you’re right. Enjoy your cappuccino.”

I run into the bathroom and splash water on my hot, teary face.

Later that evening, I wait for Marisol. I haven’t been able to reach Raj today, but I bet he’ll come over later. Around 9:30, the door flies open. Marisol enters in a red shirtdress and new ballet flats, not her usual vintage duds. Something about her is different. Her hair?

“I’m home,” she says. “Now, tell me the news before I burst.”

“Marisol, are you a millionaire? Are you some kind of heiress?”

She drops her bags and covers her face with her hands.