Sparkle's POV
The world outside Michelle's apartment doesn't exist anymore. It's just me, curled up in her guest bed, the blankets a tangled cocoon around me. The room smells faintly of lavender from her diffuser, but it does nothing to soothe the ache in my chest. Mat's words miserable, useless, clingy play on a loop in my head, each one a fresh stab. Joana's smug smirk haunts me too, her glossy lips on his, the way she sauntered off like she'd won something. I've lost track of time, days bleeding into each other as I lie here, my phone dead on the nightstand, my eyes sore from crying. I haven't showered, haven't eaten more than the crackers Michelle forces me to nibble. I just want to disappear.
Michelle's been a saint, though she'd roll her eyes if I called her that. She pokes her head in every few hours, her voice gentle but firm. "Sparkles, you gotta eat something," she'll say, sliding a plate of toast or a bowl of soup onto the nightstand. Or, "Come on, babe, let's watch something stupid to get your mind off that loser." I try to smile, to show her I'm grateful, but it feels like my face has forgotten how. The tears come in waves, sometimes quiet, sometimes choking, and all I can do is pull the covers tighter and let them take me.
It's been… what, three days? Four? I don't know. But this morning, Michelle doesn't just nudge. She storms in, yanking the curtains open. Sunlight floods the room, harsh and unforgiving, and I wince, pulling the blanket over my head.
"Nope, no way," she says, her voice cutting through my fog. "Sparkles, you're not rotting in this bed forever. Your exams are in two days, and you're not letting that idiot Mat steal your degree too."
I groan, my voice muffled under the covers. "I can't, Michy. I can't focus. I can't even think straight."
She rips the blanket off me, and I blink up at her, her hands on her hips, her curls bouncing as she shakes her head.
"Oh, you can, and you will. You've been killing it all semester, busting your ass while Mat was out there being a walking red flag. You're not throwing that away because he's a cheating dirtbag." She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes softening but still fierce. "You're Sparkles, remember? You're a damn supernova. You're gonna walk into those exams, ace them, and show the world you're unstoppable. Mat doesn't get to take that from you."
Her words hit something deep, a tiny spark in the dark mess of my heart. I want to argue, to tell her I'm too broken, but the way she's looking at me like she believes in me more than I believe in myself, makes me pause.
"I don't know how to start," I whisper, my voice small.
Michelle grins, grabbing my hand and pulling me upright.
"You start by getting out of this bed. Shower, eat, and we're hitting the books. I'll quiz you, make flashcards, whatever you need. We've got this, babe."
The next two days are a blur of coffee, highlighters, and Michelle's relentless pep talks. She sits across from me at her tiny kitchen table, drilling me on sociology theories and statistical models, her voice a steady anchor. When I falter, when Mat's betrayal creeps back into my thoughts, she's there with a quick "Nope, focus. You're better than him." She makes me laugh with her ridiculous mnemonics, and somehow, between the tears and the late-night study sessions, I start to feel like myself again not whole, not yet, but close enough to keep going.
Exam day comes, and I'm a nervous wreck, my stomach churning as I walk into the lecture hall. My hands shake as I grip my pencil, but Michelle's words echo in my head: You're a supernova. I take a deep breath and dive in, question by question, letting my brain take over. The hours pass in a haze, and when I hand in my last exam, I feel a strange lightness, like I've shed a piece of the weight Mat left on me.
Weeks later, the grades come in. I'm at Michelle's, curled up on her couch with a mug of tea, when I open my laptop. My heart pounds as I log into the university portal, and there they are: A's across the board. A laugh bubbles out of me, half-disbelief, half-relief, and Michelle whoops, tackling me in a hug. "Told you!" she crows, her grin wide enough to light up the room. "You did that, Sparkles! You kicked ass!"
I'm smiling now, really smiling, for the first time in weeks. The pain of Mat hasn't vanished, it's still there, a dull ache but I feel stronger, like I've reclaimed something he tried to steal. Michelle pulls me to my feet, dancing around the living room, and for a moment, I let myself believe her maybe I am unstoppable.
~
Finals are done, my grades are in, and I should be soaring. I aced everything, against all odds, but as graduation evening settles over campus, I'm right back where I started: curled up in the guest bed at Michelle's cozy dorm apartment, the blankets a fortress against the world. Her place is a warm little haven, all soft textures and personal touches. Fairy lights drape across the exposed brick wall, casting a golden glow over the mismatched furniture, a thrift-store couch piled with colorful throw pillows, a wobbly coffee table covered in coffee mug stains and half-read books. Potted plants crowd the windowsill, their leaves spilling over like they're reaching for the moonlight. The air smells like vanilla candles and the faint tang of her lavender diffuser, but even that can't lift the weight pressing down on me. Mat's betrayal still lingers, a bruise that throbs every time I think about moving on.
I hear Michelle's footsteps before I see her, the creak of the hardwood floor giving her away. She bursts into the room, her energy like a gust of wind, and yanks the blankets off me. I groan, shielding my eyes from the light. "Michy, no. I'm not going anywhere. I just wanna sleep."
"Sleep? On graduation night?" Michelle's voice is incredulous, her hands planted on her hips. She's already half-dressed for the night, in a fitted black crop top that shows off her curves and high-waisted jeans that hug her legs. Her curls are loose, bouncing around her shoulders, and her gold hoop earrings catch the light.
"Sparkles, we just graduated! You crushed your exams, you're a freaking rockstar, and you're not spending tonight moping over that waste-of-space Mat. We're going to the club, we're gonna dance, drink, and celebrate. Maybe you'll even meet someone new who's not a total loser."
I pull the pillow over my face, mumbling, "I'm not ready, Mish. I can't just… forget him."
She snatches the pillow away, tossing it across the room with a dramatic flourish.
"Oh, you're not forgetting him, you're upgrading. Mat doesn't deserve a single second of your headspace. Come on, babe, you deserve to feel alive tonight. Let's show the world you're still Sparkles." Her eyes are bright, pleading, and that fierce belief in me the same belief that got me through exams chips away at my resistance.
I sigh, sitting up slowly, my red hair a tangled mess around my shoulders. "Fine. But I'm not promising I'll have fun."
Michelle claps her hands, grinning like she's won the lottery. "That's my girl! Now, let's get you looking hot."
She drags me to her tiny closet, a chaotic explosion of colors and fabrics, and starts pulling out options. After some back-and-forth me vetoing anything too revealing, her insisting I need to "show Mat what he's missing" we settle on an outfit. I slip into a sleeveless emerald-green dress that clings just enough to hint at my curves without feeling like I'm trying too hard. It's shorter than I'd like, hitting mid-thigh, but the way it catches the light makes me feel a flicker of confidence. Michelle loans me her favorite silver strappy heels, which add a few inches and make my legs look longer. She insists on doing my makeup, sweeping shimmery eyeshadow across my lids and coaxing my lips into a bold red that matches my hair. When I catch my reflection in her cracked wall mirror, I almost don't recognize myself there's a spark there, faint but real.
Michelle, meanwhile, swaps her jeans for a sleek red minidress that hugs her figure like a second skin, the color popping against her warm brown skin. She pairs it with black ankle boots and a chunky gold necklace, her curls now tamed into a high ponytail that sways when she moves.
"We're serving looks tonight," she declares, striking a pose in the middle of the living room. I can't help but laugh, the sound surprising me.
She grabs her purse, loops her arm through mine, and pulls me out the door before I can change my mind. The night air is warm, buzzing with the energy of graduates flooding the streets, and as we head toward The Club, Michelle's chatter fills the space between us promises of dancing until our feet hurt, shots that'll burn away the pain, and maybe, just maybe, a chance to start over. I'm not sure I believe her yet, but with her arm in mine and the music already thumping in the distance, I let myself hope that tonight might be the night I start to feel like Sparkles again.