Page 78 of Sour Notes

I was going for Kenickie—yes, I have a sister. Of course I’ve watched Grease, don’t judge—and somehow ended up the Fonz.

And we’re not talking the cool Fonz.

That’s how it always seems to go with her.

“Just wanted to say thanks for tonight. For being here, and doing all this… for me.”

Her finger tightens around mine, and I squeeze it back, the irony of the move not lost on me.

Mia has more power over me in her little finger than everyone else combined.

“You don’t have to thank me. What are friends for?” I force the words out, but they taste bitter. Not that I hate being her friend—far from it—but it’s just so much fucking harder now I’m spending my days pretending to be something more.

“You’re a good friend, Swayze. I know we’ve had our moments, but I just want you to know that. And this isn’t the cocktails talking.”

“It’s cool. I’ve got you.”

We fall silent, pinkies still linked.

Lying here in the dark, this is the first real moment we’ve shared in forever. I don’t want to lose it, but I have to know.

“Why him, Mia?”

Her sharp intake of breath and a squeeze of my finger is all the response I get.

Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, trying not to drown in disappointment.

Sleep would be really fucking helpful right about now. Instead, I’m lying here, obsessing over every breath she takes.

Just as I’m mentally humming “Every Breath You Take,” she shifts, pulling her finger away.

Before I can mourn the loss, she slides her whole hand over mine, intertwining our fingers.

“Because he asked, I guess…” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “I wish I had a better answer than that, but when I think about it, especially at the beginning, that’s what I come back to. I was self-conscious. I hid it well, but I never quite fit. Different surname, olive skin, unusual eye color... I just wanted to look like everyone else. Freckles. Pretty blonde hair that all the boys lost their minds over. Kim was blonde and perfect. Haven was stunning and colorful, and she had Axel. He’d have kicked any guy's ass for going near her. But I was just awkward, weird little me.”

No, you had me.

I bite the inside of my cheek, desperate to set her straight, but I don’t want to interrupt her. This isn’t about me. Or us. Besides, what good would it even do now?

“When Pete showed an interest in me—just me, despite meeting all three of us—I was flattered. Someone chose me. I didn’t realize he’d turn into such a piece of shit. He wasn’t at the beginning.”

Her voice wavers, and internally I kick my ass six ways to Sunday.

I wanted her so much back then.

Fuck, I wanted her way before Pete even came on the scene, but I was worried about Nick freaking out so I boxed my crush up and shoved it aside in a useless attempt to ignore it.

“Pete showered me with attention. Made me feel seen. Desired. But then, he started to change. He’d criticize you guys, my hair, my clothes, my body, what I ate, everything. He made me dependent on him, seeking approval that he rarely gave and I never fucking saw it. If anything, he’d do the opposite. He’d be more critical. Meaner. Colder. I got so used to putting on a mask—this fake, confident, sunshiny persona—around everyone else that I believed it myself.”

She stops and sucks in a ragged breath.

I stay silent, squeezing her hand in a show of support, doing my best to stay calm and not interrupt her opening up to me, but inside my blood is boiling.

He manipulated her. Shamed her. Controlled what she ate?

What the actual fuck?

We never really liked him, and that was before we found out he cheated, but I don’t think anyone suspected it was this bad.