Maeson
When we arrive at the airport, Vanessa looks like she's about to burst into tears—or into hysterical laughter. I noticed from the moment I met her that anxiety is part of who she is, and that it shapes most of her decisions.
Konnor and I follow her as she rushes through the airport corridors. We just walk, exchanging glances and smiles, noticing that small difference between her and us.
We each support her in our own way: words, laughter… and fries. Waiting for the arrival. And when Melissa shows up, it's as if the storm from the night before never touched her. There's something magnetic about her—this way she has of being part of everything without losing control, as if she knows exactly who she is and what she's worth.
Vanessa looks at her, and her eyes shine with a mix of relief and genuine emotion—the kind you can't fake or hide. I watch them hug like they're holding each other up in the places where the world gets too heavy. There's a silent complicity between them, a trust built on shared secrets and promises only they understand. Vanessa, so nervous and full of doubts, transforms in Melissa's presence—she finds calm in the middle of the hurricane.
Watching them together, I wondered what it would be like to have that kind of trust with someone—that freedom to show yourself without fear.
Remember when I said I'd do anything for Vanessa? Well, here I am now, on an uncomfortable trip, with seven suitcases and a best friend who doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone. Oh, and my best friend Zane seems to have entered the same trance since Melissa arrived.
Konnor is the only one capable of breaking awkward silences, making them even more awkward… and somehow escaping successfully. At least Melissa seems to get him—she's the only one he's had a conversation with that lasted more than five minutes. He's the one I share the most moments of complicity with—and also the one I most want to strangle half the time. And right now, honestly, I don't know what I'm feeling about his closeness with Vanessa. Seeing them talking in the parking lot stirred a mix of confusion and jealousy that seems to be my default every time I watch them interact.
I'll admit it: I had a childish moment. I told Vanessa an embarrassing story about Konnor. I told myself it was to distract her… but honestly, I'd rather not analyze it.
In the end, that little conversation broke the tension and gave us all a moment to laugh. Even Zane's usual warmth resurfaced for a few seconds.
I'll admit I hesitated about letting Vanessa's friend stay with us. She seems like the perfect kind of person to start a chaos I'm not sure I can contain. And Zane is part of that chaos. I can see it in the looks they exchange. And in my friend's tension. But how do I say no to Vanessa, when I know she needs this, and when she tells me with firmness and tenderness that she trusts me?
After meeting Olivia—who reminds me of a younger version of Julie Andrews, with her magnetic and maternal energy—and dropping the girls off at her house, we take Melissa's colossal-level luggage and head back home.
"Seven suitcases. Seven," Konnor repeats, pretending to count on his fingers like he's solving an impossible equation. "Can someone tell Melissa that moving should be symbolic?"
Zane lets out a dry laugh, but his gaze stays fixed on the window, like he's mentally calculating the exact volume of the luggage.
I settle into my seat and say, "I just want to know if any of those suitcases actually have clothes." Or maybe Melissa's carrying a rock collection—because not even a football team travels with that much.
Konnor turns to me with a crooked smile.
"What if they're musical instruments? You know, in case she needs to play the soundtrack for every dramatic moment that comes up."
Zane laughs now—brief but genuine.
"Leave her alone. Maybe one of those suitcases has a tent," Zane says, raising his eyebrows. "Or better yet, maybe she packed supplies to survive a week in our living room. Maybe she's prepping for the apocalypse?" His gaze meets mine for a second. There's a spark of complicity there—one that doesn't slip away.
Without losing the thread, I glance at Zane and Konnor, like we're just kids on a field trip, our friendship hanging in the air.
"But more than suitcases, what she really brought is Vanessa's happiness," I say, lowering my voice into a confessional tone. "When Melissa's around, it's like Vanessa's gravity lightens—like she can jump higher."
Konnor nods, a bit more serious.
"They're like magnets, right? They pull each other in, and the world rearranges."
Zane sighs, somewhere between amused and resigned.
"I'm just saying that kind of friendship is great—until you're the one carrying seven suitcases and no one helps."
We all fall silent for a moment, and I know that even though we joke, we understand that the bond between Vanessa and Melissa is something rare. Konnor breaks the solemnity with his classic humor:
"At least she didn't bring boxes of memories—because then we'd never leave the parking lot."
Laughter fills the car, and for a moment, all the chaos makes sense.
When the girls return, I'm about to run to open the door, but my emotional control—built over years of practice—keeps me still in my room. With just one hand on the doorknob, listening closely to the conversation, waiting for the right moment to come out. I feel a little pathetic—how is it possible I'm acting like this over a girl I barely know?
After a few minutes, when I hear Konnor's door open, I decide it's the perfect moment. I head downstairs and join Konnor on the way to the kitchen, where Vanessa and Shawn are having a conversation. I allow myself to watch her in silence, feeling that this is enough closeness for me right now. The kitchen light casts soft shadows on her face, and for a second, everything feels simpler.
If there's one thing that manages to distract me from my own internal conflict, it's Zane's internal conflict—which right now feels more palpable than ever. His reactions to seeing Melissa at the airport, his silence, the dry and unusual tone of his voice, his distant attitude, and the fact that he chose to retreat to his room instead of joining us for dinner—all make it clear, at least to me, that something about this girl stirs feelings in him he doesn't know how to handle.
When I go up to his room, I notice through the small gap in the half-open door that he's holding his phone. I decide to give him a few moments, then knock softly. He knows it's me.
For a moment, I sit next to Zane, watching how he breathes—restless. I can always tell when something's spinning inside him, even if he doesn't say it. The house is quiet, except for the distant murmur of the TV in the living room. Dinner is cooling in the oven, and still, right now, what matters is happening here—between him and me. He speaks, and he doesn't need to say names. His voice is heavy, like every word weighs more than usual. I listen without interrupting—that's what he needs. I want to choose my words carefully, because I know what I say can be a rope… or a stone.
"Sometimes emotions don't ask permission. They just show up. And they don't always make sense. They don't always have intention. Sometimes it's just that—a human reaction to something that hits you differently."
I say that more to remind myself than him. I stare at the floor, searching for my own answers. He talks about Emma. I get it—what he's feeling isn't easy, especially when you love someone and still your heart shakes because of someone else. There's no judgment in my voice—only the intention to be there for him.
I suggest we go downstairs to watch a movie, and I see him nod. For the first time since I arrived, he looks calmer. I feel at peace too. Being there for someone you love is sometimes just listening and staying.
But nothing prepared me for how that night ended. Zane let go of the rope—and the balance broke.