Chapter Text
I used to love the stars. Mom and I would sit outside for hours, wrapped up in blankets, pointing out constellations she swore she could name but always got wrong. I didn’t care. She could’ve told me the moon was made of cheese, and I’d have believed her.
Now, they’re just dots. Cold. Distant. Mocking.
I lean back on the hood of my car—a rust bucket held together by duct tape and spite—and let the cigarette dangle loosely between my fingers. I don’t even like smoking, not really. But the bitter taste fills the silence when my head gets too loud, and the smoke gives my hands something to do when I can’t stop shaking.
I take a drag, the ember burning brighter in the dark, and let my eyes wander over the sky. I try to picture it how she used to describe it—full of stories and magic—but all I see are pinpricks in a void, like someone poked holes in the fabric of the universe and forgot to patch them up.
I wonder if she’d be proud of me. Probably not. Eighteen—almost nineteen—and stuck in senior year while everyone else is out there living their lives. I bet she’d say something optimistic, though, like, “It’s never too late to shine, sweetie.” But it is too late. It’s always too late.
The wind picks up, carrying the smell of rain and freshly cut grass. For a moment, it feels like she’s here. Like if I close my eyes, I’ll hear her laugh, or feel her hand brushing the hair out of my face. I take another drag instead, the smoke clawing at my throat as I exhale.
“Stupid stars,” I mutter, flicking ash onto the ground.
But I can’t stop looking at them. I hate them, and I miss them, and I don’t know how to make any of it stop.
The sound of gravel crunching underfoot pulls me out of my thoughts. My fingers tighten around the cigarette, ready to flick it and pretend I’m just here to “stargaze” if it’s Khan or someone else who’d lecture me about life choices. But when I tilt my head up, I don’t see my dad.
I see her.
Lizzy.
For a second, I think I’m hallucinating, or maybe the stars are finally getting back at me for calling them stupid. She stands at the edge of the hood, her arms crossed like she owns the place. Except… she doesn’t look like she owns anything anymore.
Her once-perfect hair is a frizzy mess, like she hasn’t seen a brush in days and missed her blonde dye job, and her outfit—a baggy sweater and ripped jeans—screams thrift store chic. No designer logos, no perfectly coordinated accessories, no obnoxious perfume cloud trailing behind her. If it weren’t for her face, I wouldn’t have recognized her at all.
“What do you want?” I ask, propping myself up on my elbows. My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but can you blame me? Last time I saw her, she was laughing at me for tripping in the cafeteria, and now she’s just… here?
Lizzy hesitates, like she’s not sure what to do with her hands. She settles for shoving them in her pockets and leans against the edge of the hood, careful not to sit too close.
“Relax, I’m not here to start anything,” she says, her tone softer than I remember. She glances at me, then at the cigarette, and I half-expect her to start judging me like the old Lizzy would. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she looks… tired.
“Then why are you here?” I press, letting the cigarette dangle between my fingers again. “Didn’t get your daily dose of making me miserable?”
Lizzy winces, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her flinch. “I deserve that.”
I blink. Did I hear her right?
“I—I just wanted to talk,” she continues, her voice faltering. “Look, I know I was… awful to you in high school. And you probably think I’m still that girl who made fun of your hair and your clothes and—God, everything else.” She lets out a shaky breath. “But I’m not. Not anymore.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to read her face. Lizzy always had this way of smiling like she had a secret that would ruin you. But now, there’s no smirk, no smug tilt to her head. Just… regret.
“What happened to you?” I ask, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. “The real world happened. Turns out, being ‘Queen Bee’ in high school doesn’t mean squat when you graduate. My parents cut me off when I flunked out of college. I had to get a job at some diner just to keep a roof over my head.” She gestures vaguely at her outfit. “And, well… Goodwill is a lot cheaper than Gucci.”
I don’t say anything. Partly because I’m trying to process the image of Lizzy flipping burgers, and partly because I don’t know how to respond.
“I’m sorry, Uzi,” she says, her voice steady this time. “For everything. You didn’t deserve what I put you through, and… I know saying sorry doesn’t fix it, but I had to try.”
I take a slow drag, letting the smoke burn its way down before exhaling. “Why now?”
Lizzy shrugs. “Because I saw you here and thought, ‘If I don’t say it now, I never will.’ And I couldn’t live with that.”
For the first time tonight, I look at her—not the Lizzy I remember, but the Lizzy sitting in front of me. The one with messy hair and tired eyes and a voice that’s lost its bite.
Maybe she’s changed. Maybe she hasn’t. But for now, I just nod.
“Okay,” I say quietly, flicking ash into the gravel.
She doesn’t smile, doesn’t push for more. She just leans back, staring up at the stars like they might have answers we don’t.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel so alone.
For a while, we just sit there, the night settling in around us like a thick, quiet blanket. Lizzy doesn’t say anything, and for once, I don’t feel like I have to, either. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s just… there. Existing.
“So,” Lizzy says after a long pause, her voice breaking through the quiet. “This is weird, huh? Us… talking.”
I let out a small snort, flicking the last of my cigarette into the gravel. “Weirder than that time you made everyone believe I wore Velcro shoes in sophomore year?”
Lizzy groans, running a hand through her messy hair. “God, don’t remind me. I was such a little brat.”
“A spoiled little brat,” I correct, leaning back on the hood. “With a matching designer backpack to prove it.”
She laughs—a real laugh, not the fake, high-pitched one she used to do in high school. “You’re not wrong. I thought having all that stuff made me… untouchable. Like nothing could go wrong as long as I had the latest whatever.” She shrugs. “Turns out, Gucci doesn’t pay rent when you’re broke.”
I glance at her, the corner of my mouth twitching into something close to a smile. “So what’s next? You gonna write a memoir? Lizzy’s Fall From Grace: A Tragic Tale of Discount Sweaters and Minimum Wage. ”
She cracks up, and for a moment, it feels normal. Like we’re just two people joking around instead of two people who spent years on opposite sides of a war only one of us knew we were fighting.
But then her laughter fades, and she looks down at her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Uzi.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” she says, her voice quieter now. “In high school, everything was so… easy. I didn’t have to think about anything—my parents took care of everything. But now?” She shakes her head. “I’m on my own, working a dead-end job, barely scraping by. And I just… I don’t know.”
Her words hang in the air, raw and heavy.
“I thought about going back to school,” she continues, “but I don’t even know what I’d study. And even if I did, how would I pay for it? I’ve got nothing to fall back on, no plan, no clue what I’m supposed to be doing with my life.”
She looks at me, her eyes pleading. “What do I do, Uzi?”
I freeze, unsure of what to say. Me? The girl who can’t even graduate high school on time? The girl whose entire life is held together by caffeine, sarcasm, and sheer stubbornness? She’s asking me for advice?
“I…” I start, but the words feel heavy in my throat. I sit up, brushing ash off my jeans. “I don’t think I’m the right person to ask. I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly a shining example of ‘figuring it out.’”
Lizzy shakes her head. “But you keep going,” she says, her voice earnest. “You’re still here. That’s more than I’ve been able to do lately.”
I stare at her, the weight of her words sinking in. I’ve never thought about it like that before. To me, “still here” feels like the bare minimum. But maybe, to someone like Lizzy, it’s something more.
I take a deep breath, my fingers drumming against the hood of the car. “I don’t have all the answers,” I admit, my voice softer than usual. “But… maybe start small. Find one thing—just one thing—you care about, and go from there. It doesn’t have to be perfect, or even make sense right now. Just… start.”
Lizzy looks at me, her expression a mix of hope and hesitation. “You think that’ll work?”
I shrug. “No idea. But it’s better than sitting around waiting for something to magically fix itself, right?”
She nods slowly, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”
For the first time tonight, I feel like maybe, just maybe, we’re not as different as I thought.
Lizzy shifts, pushing herself off the hood of my car with a groan. “Well, thanks for not telling me to screw off. I guess I deserved that too.”
I tilt my head, watching her. “You’re welcome, I guess?” It comes out more like a question because, seriously, who knew this conversation would happen tonight?
She lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Anyway, I should probably get going. Thad’s couch isn’t exactly comfortable, but it’s better than sleeping in my car.”
“Wait, you’re crashing at Thad’s place?” I blink, trying to imagine Lizzy, queen of high school social hierarchies, bunking down on her twin brother’s couch. “You mean the guy who thought duct taping the principal’s car was peak comedy?”
Lizzy laughs softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, that Thad. Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice, but our parents pretty much told me to figure it out on my own. They said I ‘needed to learn some responsibility’ or whatever.” Her voice hardens on the last part, and for the first time, I catch a glimpse of the bitterness she’s been holding back.
“Harsh,” I mutter, leaning back on the hood.
Lizzy shrugs, though the motion looks forced. “Yeah, well, guess I had it coming. Can’t live off their money forever, right?”
There’s a moment of silence, and I almost don’t say anything. But something about the way she looks—worn down, not just by life but by herself—makes me speak up.
“At least Thad’s not the worst,” I offer, trying to sound casual. “Could’ve been worse. He could’ve made you sleep on the floor with all his empty pizza boxes.”
She snorts, a real laugh breaking through her tired demeanor. “Trust me, he tried. I had to bribe him with free coffee from the diner just to get the couch.”
“Classic Thad,” I say, shaking my head.
Lizzy looks at me for a moment, her expression softening. “Thanks, Uzi. For… letting me talk, I guess. And for not, y’know, throwing me under a bus or something.”
I smirk, the old sarcastic edge creeping back into my voice. “Hey, the night’s not over yet.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. “Well, if I survive Thad’s snoring, maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe,” I say, watching as she turns to leave.
As Lizzy walks away, her footsteps crunching over the gravel, I feel a strange mix of emotions—confusion, curiosity, and maybe even a tiny bit of respect. The Lizzy I knew in high school would never have admitted to struggling, let alone apologized.
I glance back up at the stars, the cigarette ash still faintly smoldering in the gravel beside me.
People change, I guess.
I sit there for a few more minutes, staring at the stars as Lizzy’s footsteps fade into the distance. The cool night air nips at my skin, and for a moment, I feel… lighter. It’s weird, but talking to her wasn’t as awful as I thought it’d be. Maybe people really do change. Or maybe I’m just too tired to care.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. I pull it out and squint at the screen. It’s a text from Dad.
“Where are you? It’s late.”
I glance at the time. Midnight. Crap.
“Ugh,” I groan, sliding off the hood of my car and landing with a thud. “He’s gonna flip.”
It’s not like I’m out doing anything bad , but Dad has this thing about ‘reasonable hours.’ To him, anything past ten is the witching hour, and if I’m not home, he assumes I’ve been kidnapped by a cult or something.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and climb into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. The old car groans in protest as I turn the key, the engine sputtering to life. “C’mon, you rust bucket. Don’t fail me now.”
The lot is quiet as I pull out, the headlights cutting through the darkness. As I drive, I can’t help but think about Lizzy. About how the real world knocked her off her pedestal and how she’s just… trying to figure it out. I guess we’re not so different after all.
The streets are mostly empty, the occasional streetlight flickering as I pass. My mind starts to wander, thinking about what I’ll say to Dad when I get home.
“Sorry, Dad. I got caught up contemplating the universe. Oh, and Lizzy apologized for being a jerk in high school. No big deal.”
Yeah, that’ll go over well.