Page 123 of What Goes Around

She shook her head slowly and walked away.

Across the room, Nick sat rigid at his table, jaw tight, staring straight ahead.

Apple sat beside him, frozen, hands clenched in her lap.

I watched them for a moment, then turned my gaze back to the stage as the lights dimmed again.

The party wasn’t over yet.

Not even close.

Chapter 38: Exposed

A low murmur rippled through the ballroom as the projector hummed to life, the screen lowering smoothly beside the stage. Marissa stood near the control table, hands clasped, posture immaculate again, hostess mode fully restored.

“Let’s take a little walk down memory lane,” she said warmly. “Tonight is about celebrating our girls. Their childhood, their achievements, and the young women they have become.”

The first photo appeared.

Apple as a toddler, chubby-cheeked and smiling brightly, held up in Marissa’s arms. Laughter rippled through the room.

The image shifted.

Me, sitting in a high chair, pale wisps of hair curling around my face, hands smeared with something that looked like mashed banana. I was laughing, open-mouthed, unguarded.

The slideshow settled into a rhythm.

Apple at three, toddling across a lawn in a frilly dress.

Me at three, barefoot, holding a dandelion like it was a treasure.

Apple at five, a violin tucked under her chin for the first time, too big for her shoulder, bow crooked.

Me at five, perched on a piano bench, feet not touching the floor, hands hovering over the keys.

A short video played. Apple at seven, standing stiffly on a small stage, sawing through Twinkle, Twinkle. Then another clip followed, me at seven in a school auditorium, playing a simple melody on the piano, concentration etched into my face.

The photos continued. Recitals. School events. Birthday cakes with uneven candles. Halloween costumes. Summer trips. Two girls growing up side by side, smiling into cameras.

With each passing year, I noticed myself slipping farther into the background. My smiles grew tighter, more careful, less real. Apple, meanwhile, seemed to glow brighter with every season.

Then came the photo from her fourteenth birthday.

Apple stood at the center, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling as she blew out her candles. Everyone leaned toward her. Hands clapped mid-motion. The room seemed to orbit her joy.

I was there too. Off to the side. Awkward. Uncomfortable in my own skin.

My face was inflamed, raw with that sudden, vicious acne rash that had appeared out of nowhere. Angry red patches across my cheeks and jaw, painful and humiliating. The doctors had never known what caused it. Allergy tests came back clean. Hormones, they guessed. Stress. Antibiotics cleared it eventually, and it never came back.

At the time, it had felt random. Unlucky.

Now, I did not believe in coincidences anymore.

The slideshow moved on.

There were photos of me laughing with Payton, arms slung around each other. A short clip of me winning a small academic award. A photo of Apple in a formal dress, violin case at her feet.

Then it glitched.