I can't move.
My hand is still on the doorknob. My feet are planted on the scratched linoleum of Liam's dorm hallway. Everything in my body is screaming at me to run, to leave, to unsee what's right in front of me.
But I can't look away.
Liam sits up fast, the sheets falling to his waist. "Avery, wait."
"Wait?" The word comes out strangled. Not my voice. Someone else's voice using my throat.
Madison stretches like a cat. She's wearing his UCLA shirt, the one he wore in half the photos on his Instagram. The one I commented "so hot 🔥" on two weeks ago. Her legs are bare. Her hair is messy in that deliberately perfect way that takes effort to achieve.
She looks at me like I'm interrupting.
"This isn't..." Liam starts.
"Isn't what?" I step inside. I don't know why. My legs move on their own. "Isn't what it looks like?"
"Avery." He swings his legs off the bed, reaching for his jeans on the floor. "Let me explain."
Madison laughs. Actually laughs. "Oh, Liam. Don't."
"Shut up, Madison."
"Why?" She tilts her head, examining her nails. They're painted the same shade of red as the lipstick I saw smudged on his desk lamp. "She was going to find out eventually."
My vision tunnels. The room shrinks to just the three of us. Him. Her. Me.
"Find out what?" My voice is too calm. Detached. Like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
Liam won't look at me. He's staring at his jeans, fumbling with the button. "It's not... we didn't mean for it to happen."
"How long?"
Silence.
"How long, Liam?"
Madison sighs like I'm boring her. "Since spring break. April? God, I don't keep track."
April.
Three months.
Three months of good morning texts. Three months of I miss yous and can't wait to see yous and you're so beautifuls. Three months of me posting photos with captions about finding the one while my sister...
"You're my sister." I'm looking at Madison now. Really looking. Trying to find something familiar in her face. Something that looks like the person who taught me how to do winged eyeliner when I was thirteen. Who drove me to my first school dance.
"Half-sister," Madison corrects. Like it matters. "Different dads, remember?"
"That doesn't..." I can't finish the sentence. My throat is closing.
"Look." Liam finally meets my eyes. "You're a great girl, Avery. You really are. But come on. You're still in high school. You're still... I don't know. Young."
"I graduate in three days."
"Graduated," Madison says. "Past tense. We were at your party, remember?"
The party. Three days ago. When Liam showed up and kissed me in the rose garden and told me he had a surprise. When Madison showed up late and said tell Liam I said hi with that weird smile.
They knew. They both knew. And they looked me in the face and lied.
"So what was I?" I ask. My voice sounds hollow. "What was this?"
Liam shoves his hands in his pockets. "It was fun. We had fun, didn't we?"
Fun.
Six months of staying up until 2 AM on FaceTime. Six months of driving to LA every other weekend. Six months of planning our future, talking about living in the same city, going to the same school, building something real.
Fun.
"You told me you loved me," I say.
"Avery..."
"Two weeks ago. You said you loved me. You said I was different. You said..."
"He says that to everyone," Madison interrupts. She's examining her cuticles now, completely uninterested in the bomb she just dropped. "It's kind of his thing."
Liam glares at her. "Jesus Christ, Madison."
"What? You want me to lie to her too?" She looks at me finally, really looks at me, and there's something in her eyes I've never seen before. Something sharp and ugly and satisfied. "Someone should tell her the truth."
"And what's the truth?" I'm shaking now. I can feel it in my hands, my legs, my voice.
Madison stands. Walks toward me. She's taller than me in bare feet, but right now she feels ten feet tall.
"The truth," she says slowly, like she's explaining something to a child, "is that you were practice."
The word hits like a slap.
"Madison..." Liam's voice has an edge now.
But she ignores him. Keeps her eyes locked on mine. "He wanted someone easy. Someone who'd worship him. Someone who'd take cute pictures and boost his ego and not ask too many questions." She steps closer. "Someone young and stupid and desperate enough to believe that a college guy actually gave a shit about a high school girl."
I can't breathe.
"And once he got bored? Once he realized you were exactly as immature as everyone said you'd be?" She shrugs. "He upgraded."
"That's not..." Liam starts, but he doesn't finish. Can't finish. Because we both know she's right.
"You're horrible," I whisper.
"I'm honest." Madison crosses her arms. "There's a difference."
"You're my sister."
"Half," she corrects again. "And being related doesn't mean I have to protect your feelings. Especially when you're throwing yourself at guys who are way out of your league."
Something inside me snaps.
"Out of my league?" My voice rises. "He's a freshman. He's barely older than me. He's..."
"He's mine now." Madison's smile is poison. "And you're standing in his dorm room crying about it like a child. Kind of proving my point, baby sis."
"Get out," Liam says suddenly. He's looking at me. Not her. Me. "Avery, you need to leave."
"Excuse me?"
"This is my room. My space. And you're... you're making this harder than it needs to be."
I stare at him. This boy I've spent six months falling for. This boy who drove to Sacramento for my graduation. This boy who whispered promises in my ear while we took photos in my backyard.
He's looking at me like I'm the problem.
"You're telling me to leave?" I can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"What did you expect?" He sounds frustrated now. Annoyed. Like I'm the one being unreasonable. "You can't just show up unannounced and..."
"You invited me!" My voice cracks. "You told me to come this weekend! You said you had a surprise!"
Madison snorts. "Well. Surprise."
Liam runs a hand through his hair. "Look. You're a high school girl, Avery. A high school influencer. That's cute and all, but you don't belong in my world. You never did."
The words are worse than catching them together. Worse than Madison's smirk. Worse than any of it.
Because he means it.
I can see it in his face. He actually believes what he's saying.
"I'm going to UCLA in the fall," I say weakly. "We were going to..."
"Yeah." He cuts me off. "Maybe don't do that. This campus isn't big enough for... this." He gestures vaguely at all of us.
Madison laughs again. "Oh my god, Liam. Brutal."
"Shut up, Madison."
"Make me."
They're looking at each other now. And there's something there. Something familiar. Something that's been building for way longer than three months.
I'm the outsider here.
I'm the mistake.
I'm the practice.
"Okay." The word comes out flat. Empty. "Okay."
I turn toward the door.
"Avery..." Liam's voice softens slightly, but I don't look back.
"Don't." I yank the door open. "Don't say my name. Don't text me. Don't... just don't."
I step into the hallway.
"Guess you were just practice!" Madison calls after me, singsongy and bright.
The door slams behind me before I can respond.
I stand there in the hallway. Students pass by, laughing, talking, living their lives. Nobody looks at me. Nobody notices the girl who just had her heart ripped out.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Zoey: how's the surprise??
I stare at the screen.
The surprise.
My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop my phone. I open Instagram. Pull up the photos from my graduation party. Me and Liam. Smiling. Perfect. Hundreds of comments about how cute we are. How lucky I am. How perfect we look together.
I delete them.
Every single one.
Six months of photos. Gone.
My finger hovers over the post button.
I could blast them both. Post receipts. Screenshots of his texts. Photos of Madison's smug face. I could ruin them.
But my hands are shaking too hard to type.
And honestly? I can't see through the tears anymore.
So I do the only thing I can.
I walk to my car.
I drive home.
And I cry the entire three hours back to Sacramento.
By the time I pull into my driveway, my face is swollen. My throat is raw. My chest feels like someone's sitting on it.
My phone has forty-seven notifications. Texts from Liam. Please let me explain. It's not what you think. I'm sorry. Call me back.
I block his number.
Then I open Instagram.
Madison's already posted. A selfie. Her in his UCLA shirt. Caption: "Upgrade 😘"
The comments are full of people asking who she's dating. Where she got the shirt. If she's seeing someone new.
Nobody knows it's Liam.
Nobody knows it's my Liam.
Nobody knows what just happened.
I stare at my own profile. Two million followers. Brand deals. Sponsorships. The perfect influencer life.
All built on a lie.
I close the app.
Walk into my house.
Lock myself in my bedroom.
And for the first time since I was twelve years old, I don't film a video. Don't post a story. Don't perform for anyone.
I just sit on my floor in the dark and let myself break.
But somewhere between the tears and the shaking and the replaying of Madison's voice in my head, guess you were just practice, something else starts to grow.
Something cold.
Something sharp.
Something that whispers: They don't get to win.
I wipe my face.
Stand up.
Walk to my mirror.
My eyes are swollen. My makeup is destroyed. I look like hell.
But underneath all that?
I look like someone who's done being practice.
I look like someone ready for the main event.