Sacramento's summer doesn't mess around.
The heat radiates up from the sidewalks, and my room is a furnace even with the AC cranked. But honestly, I barely feel it.
I'm too busy tearing my old life down and building something new.
First move: I archive every post from the last six months. Not delete, never that. Archiving feels like wiping the board clean, but without letting go of proof I was there.
Then I reinvent.
A whole new aesthetic takes over—no more pastels or cheerful quotes. It's all sharp neutrals now, moody black-and-whites, and captions that don't try to please anyone.
growth isn't always soft
starting over, for real
norcal → socal
People notice. The comments roll in.
this new vibe >>>serious main character energysomeone's out here thriving
Let them guess.
One sticky afternoon, Zoey finds me in a blazer, filming content in the middle of a heatwave.
"It's boiling out. Are you interviewing for CEO of something?"
"Reinventing the brand."
"What, as a ruthless businesswoman?"
"As someone who doesn't cry over exes."
She sits, watching me adjust the lighting. "So you're really doing this. UCLA. Everything."
She doesn't know the details. Just that I'm done letting anyone walk over me.
"I am."
"And if you bump into Liam?"
I shrug, checking my shot. "Then he'll see I'm perfectly fine."
"Are you?"
I hold her gaze. "Getting there."
She lets it drop.
Later, I get a DM from Madison.
so you're still going to UCLA. bold.
Her first message since the dorm blowup. No apology. Just this.
I type out three replies, erase them, and finally go with:
see you this fall
Short. Ice-cold.
She sees it right away. Types, stops, types again.
Eventually: liam says hi
Of course.
Me: tell him I already forgot his name
It's petty, but I send it anyway.
Then, before I can regret it:
enjoy him while you can. i'm over it.
Send. Read. She starts to reply, but nothing comes through.
Let her wonder.
Two weeks before move-in, UCLA emails about a freshman orientation preview.
I RSVP in a heartbeat. Mom's busy—fine by me. I want to go solo.
Wednesday morning, I drive down. The campus is almost empty—just a few summer stragglers. Inside the student center, fifty or so freshmen hover with name tags and coffee.
I spot a few semi-familiar faces, but keep to myself. I'm on the lookout for faculty when I spot Ethan Parker by the coffee, chatting with a dean.
He's ditched the jacket for rolled sleeves. He looks less formal—almost approachable.
I'm still deciding whether to say hi when a guy bumps into me.
"Sorry." He's tall, blond, and smells like a cologne ad.
"No problem."
"You a freshman?" he asks. "Brandon. Business."
"Avery. Communications."
He lights up. "Hey, you're that influencer. The rebrand is legit."
"Thanks."
"We should collab. I'm building a fitness brand."
Of course.
"Maybe."
"Let me grab your info—"
Then I hear, "Miss Lane."
I turn.
Ethan stands there, coffee in hand, unreadable.
"Professor Parker," I reply, all business.
Brandon glances between us. "You two know each other?"
"We met at the reception," Ethan says, gaze fixed on me. "I'll be teaching her major."
"Nice. Catch you later, Avery."
Ethan waits until Brandon's gone, then says, "Already making connections?"
"He wants to collab. Influencer stuff."
He almost cracks a smile, but there's something else in his eyes. "How's your summer?"
"Productive. Prepping for fall."
"Good. It's a big leap."
"I'll handle it."
He almost smiles. "You said something like that before."
"And I meant it."
We're quiet a moment, the room's noise fading out.
"You revamped your profile," he says.
My pulse jumps. "You follow me?"
"Your account's public. The department monitors incoming students." But I catch something in his tone, like he looked for himself.
"So you've been watching."
"Observing. For the job."
"Of course."
His jaw tightens. "Less personal content. More curated."
"That's the idea."
"Is it working? The new you?"
It hits harder than I expect.
"It's not a role," I say. "I'm just figuring it out."
He softens. "That's honest."
Someone waves him over. He looks back at me. "You're in my intro course this fall—Media Psych 101."
News to me. I hadn't checked yet.
"Looking forward to it."
"It's not an easy A. Most students are surprised."
"I'll manage."
There's that not-quite smile again. "We'll see. Enjoy the event, Miss Lane."
He walks away.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.
He's following me. He saw the rebrand. He knows I'll be in his class.
That's something.
The rest of the orientation is a blur. I network, pick up flyers, but my mind keeps circling back to Ethan.
He's watching.
He said it was "professional," but I saw the way he looked at me.
After it ends, I wander campus. The quad is mostly empty, the heat making everything feel slow.
I sit on a bench, scroll through Instagram.
Ethan Parker's follow request is still there.
I accept.
Two minutes later, he views my story: me in front of the UCLA sign, caption: soon
No like. No comment. But he saw it.
Walking back to my car, my phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
I almost ignore it, but curiosity wins.
This is Professor Parker. Got your info from the department. Sending you the syllabus for fall. Let me know if you have questions.
PDF attached.
He texted me.
I save his number, open the syllabus. Dense, detailed—just what I was hoping for.
I text back: thank you. looks great.
Three dots. Then nothing. Then: See you in September.
All business.
But he's the one who reached out first.
I smile at my phone. Then remind myself this isn't about him. It's about the plan. About proving I can't be erased.
Still, when he looked at me today, it didn't feel like a scheme.
It felt like something I want, even if I shouldn't.
I don't tell Zoey about his text. Or the way my heart picked up. Or how I've read his syllabus twice, searching for hidden messages.
Instead, I post a new photo: me in the car, campus in the background, sun setting. Caption: ready for anything
Madison views it within minutes. No like.
But Liam does.
He DMs: so you're really doing this
I ignore it.
Next: we should talk before you move in
Delete.
Last shot: Avery please
Block.
I'm done with him.
With Madison.
With being the girl who got left behind.
This fall, they won't recognize me.
No more heartbreak. No more apologies.
Just the girl who came back stronger.
I whisper it to myself as I drive away, UCLA shrinking in my mirror.
Let's play.