Page 66 of What Goes Around

He was in a foul mood, jealous out of his mind.

He just didn’t understand why yet.

I had been jealous too, listening to Payton talk about the girls Nick spent time with in college. Pretending it didn’t bother me. Pretending I didn’t care.

I’d loved him for so long, quietly, hopelessly.

I never thought he could feel the same.

We didn’t become a couple until a few months into my first semester of college.

But the feelings had been there long before either of us had the courage to name them.

After the shopping trip, I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I headed to a salon across the street.

My current haircut, thick bangs and shoulder-length hair, did nothing for my face. It felt childish, heavy. I wanted the length back, the softness, the effortless flow I remembered having, the kind the woman in the photo had.

The stylist nodded thoughtfully as I explained. She softened the heavy fringe, added layers so my hair moved instead of sitting like a helmet, and thinned the bangs so they would grow out nicely. Then she added cool blonde balayage highlights, sunlit streaks that made my natural color look brighter, almost luminous, like it had caught actual summer.

By the time she finished, I barely recognized myself.

Apparently, the difference was noticeable.

The moment I stepped out of the salon, a man approached me.

Polished and professional, he introduced himself as a scout from a modeling agency and immediately launched into compliments about my height, my bone structure, the way my features were “in trend right now,” whatever that meant. He handed me his card, hopeful I would reach out for test photos.

I slid it into my pocket without reacting. I had zero interest in becoming a model.

But this scene was almost identical to the one from my past. When I was thirteen, walking through the mall with Apple and Marissa. An agent had approached me then too, saying the same things, offering the same opportunities.

I’d barely had time to smile before Marissa snatched the card from my hand and crushed it in her fist, muttering that it was a scam. That he wanted to sell me into sex slavery. That people like him hunted naïve girls.

I’d been terrified. And grateful.

Of course my mother knew best. Of course she was protecting me.

That same evening, Apple “accidentally” left her curling iron on top of my favorite sweater, burning a perfect round hole through the fabric.

Apple had always wanted that kind of attention. To be seen. Chosen.

But she wasn’t the kind of girl agencies stopped in malls for. She was short and curvy, not tall and thin like me.

In my last life, she found another way. Social media. An Instagram model. A fitness and lifestyle influencer. The girl who played violin covers and smiled for millions.

Chapter 20: She Looks Exactly Like Her

By the time I stepped through the front door, the sun had already dipped low, casting long shadows across the porch.

Dad walked out of the kitchen with a glass in his hand, then froze mid-stride. His face drained of color, like a ghost had just stepped into the house.

“Hi, Dad,” I said.

He blinked, pulling his expression into something neutral.

“Hi, honey. If you’ll excuse me…” He was already turning away. “I need to finish some work.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t look back.