“She’s not checking for me. Won’t give me the time of day.”

“Surely you won’t let that stop you?” I challenge. “Not Kenan ‘The Gladiator’ Ross.”

He rolls his eyes, but his stare drifts back in her direction. I hazard one more glance and lose all my air. The little girl with her who looked vaguely familiar is Sarai, August and Iris’s daughter I met at the basketball game. Now August and Iris have joined her, along with Jared.

And his date.

Well I assume the woman is his date. She is more Cindy than the original Cindy ever was. Blonder. Thinner. Prettier. Absolutely perfect. Jealousy claws through my veneer of civilization, and I want to tear her hair from its naturally blonde roots. Her Scandinavian beauty taunts me, reminds me she fits his mold and is his type in a way I’ll never be. I turn my head before he catches me staring at him and this dime store goddess he picked up and brought in. We haven’t talked much, but when we have, he was very clear about waiting. About still being there once Zo’s chemo was done and we could assess where he stands. Zo’s initial anger and bitterness have passed. I’m positive he’ll let me help him where needed, even if I’m dating someone else, but maybe Jared has moved on and didn’t know how to tell me.

“Ready?” Zo asks, then speaking to Kenan when he realizes I was in a conversation. “Kenan, good to see you.”

They exchange pleasantries and catch up on Zo’s health while I itch to run from this place screaming. If it weren’t for Zo’s speech, I would do just that. I don’t look Jared’s way, but even peripherally I can see them both gleaming and golden like the awards being handed out tonight, perfect under the bright lights. I’ve felt an awareness every time I’ve been in the same room with Jared, like we share some telepathic secret, even when I didn’t want it to be that way. I don’t feel that now, don’t feel his attention. Maybe it’s completely fixed on her.

“Can we go in now, Zo?” I ask, controlling my voice so it doesn’t shake. “Please?”

“Of course.” He takes my hand and I don’t even resist. I’ve been careful to draw the lines clearly when we are alone. The world can think what it wants about what we are to each other. Zo and I know that we are just friends now, even though he shows me he wants more every chance he gets. He and I know the truth.

And I thought Jared knew the truth. I thought he was my truth, but maybe it was all just a lie I told myself and he let me believe.

I sit through the first awards, numb and stiff, cognizant of Jared sitting with Cindy 2.0 a few rows ahead. He never once turns to look back at me. Or for me. Maybe he doesn’t even know I’m here.

When they come to Zo’s award, I afford him my complete focus, watching for signs of weakness or that he’s tired himself out. He walks onstage obviously frail but regal, the league statesman he has always been and more. The audience is on its feet for a standing ovation that seems to go on forever before he says one word. The whole room is charged with emotion and support for this man who has done so much for so many.

He waves them down to their seats with a smile. He takes his place at center stage and talks about his journey, how important it was to remain positive, thanking everyone for their support, and even how it’s not over and there is so much road ahead. I’m as proud as if it were me up on that stage.

And then it is.

“And I literally would not be here,” Zo says after a few minutes. “Were it not for Banner Morales.”

My name from stage startles me, and my face flames when I realize the camera and so many eyes have turned on me. I try to look natural, which never really works. Trying to look natural.

“Banner, come.” Zo beckons me with a hand, his eyes burning with emotion and gratitude.

I want to shake my head vigorously like a kid refusing her vegetables, but I cannot do that, not to Zo who stands bravely in front of all these people, literally a shell of himself, his body a husk for the boundless, soaring spirit still fighting inside. So I stand and I walk, gingerly picking my way down the row, conscious of the fact that I haven’t been able to work out as regularly or as intensely and have put on a few pounds. Wondering how square and wide my ass might look with the wrong camera angle. Regretting that I didn’t wear Spanx. Wishing I had worn something less revealing and wondering if the girls will stay safely tucked into the bodice of this form-fitting dress. And, of course, praying these high-ass heels don’t fail me now and dump me unceremoniously on the stairs as I make my way to the stage.

The lights are so bright, and I’m reminded why I never wanted to be on this side of fame, but have always been happy shoving others into the spotlight and onto center court.

“I would not be alive without this woman,” Zo says, blinking at tears, a rare show of public emotion. “This award is ours, Bannini.”

He never calls me that in public, and the word drips with intimacy because no one else in this building understands the significance of it. I study his face closely, and beneath the emotion, lies calculation. He holds the trophy in one hand, but the other circles my waist possessively.

“I humbly accept this award on behalf of me and the woman who has been my greatest blessing. Who has been my angel.” He looks down at me from his great height. The chemo, the pain, the hell he has suffered left its mark on a face that has always been strikingly handsome. Now the lines of character etched there, the hard-won wisdom make him even more attractive even with a ravaged body. You see his spirit in his eyes and his passion for life.

For me.

“Te amo,” he says, eyes fixed on me like I’m the light at the end of a very dark tunnel.

The room fills with “awwws” at his romantic declaration. A public declaration he shouldn’t be making, considering he and I both know the state of our relationship. This smile feels like drying plaster on my face, but I look up to meet his eyes, only to find him staring out at the audience, that same calculation sharpened to a point, loaded with dislike. I follow his stare to find out who has displeased him, who bears the brunt of that look.

It’s Jared.

His eyes are glacial blue, iced with an answering look so loaded with malevolence I instinctively want to shield Zo from it. But I don’t know who to protect, him or Zo. They stare at one another like this is a contest of war instead of an awards ceremony. And then in sync, they both turn their eyes to me like I’m the prize.

Confusion, anger, hurt war under my serene expression. In a daze, I incline my head and smile appropriately through yet another standing ovation. Finally, Zo leads me backstage, still clutching both of his prizes, the award and me. As soon as we leave the glare of the stage and the scrutiny of thousands of people, I jerk away.

“¿Qué fue eso?” I ask in a voice low enough that the nearby stagehands won’t hear.

“What was what?” he replies in kind, but I know him so well. He knows exactly what I’m asking.

“How long have you known?” I ask, tears burning my throat. Shame choking me. Anger forcing me to speak.

“That it was Jared?” he asks softly.

Hearing him confirm frees a sob from the cage of my throat. I cover my mouth to catch it, but it’s loud in the close quarters backstage. Several people turn to look at me, to look at us. Zo guides us into a shadowy corner.

“I’ve always known it was him,” Zo says in a voice of steel. “I knew it was him before it happened.”

“Before it happened? What does that mean? What are you saying? Did you say something to him?”

“Does it matter?” Zo snaps. “If you have not noticed, he is not alone here tonight. I knew the wait would kill his so-called feelings. He won’t be faithful to you, Bannini. You must see that he is not for you. You and I, we make sense. You, him . . . it’s not right. It never was.”

His words only reinforce what the small, knowing voice has told me ever since freshman orientation when I offered Jared a pencil, and he turned away without a second look. I blink up at him stupidly for a few seconds, processing too many things at once. What he did onstage. Him knowing about Jared. Jared showing up with my polar opposite. It’s all too much. I grab the hem of my floor-sweeping dress and walk briskly away from him.

“Banner!” he calls after me.

“Don’t.” I put up a hand to ward him off without looking back. “Just give me a minute.”

But I don’t get a minute, no reprieve. As soon as I round the corner, Jared stands there waiting in his fits-like-a-glove tuxedo, hair brushed down and tamed to dull gold.

“Ban, we need to talk.”

His voice, the very sight of him, fans hope in my chest for an instant—until I remember the Cindy he brought tonight and hear Zo’s words again, yet another reminder that we don’t belong together. Yet another time I’m not sure what to trust. Conscious of all the people around us, I press my lips tight to hold back the emotion threatening to spill over, and march past him without saying a word.

The sign for restrooms hangs overhead, glowing like the North Star, and I follow the light toward the ladies’ room. It’s empty, but I don’t stop until I’m in the last handicapped stall. I lean against the wall and surrender to my tears. I can’t even track their source. Is it the stunt Zo pulled, the public declaration of love from a saint, which will only make it harder for me to leave him, will only invite public scorn? Is it the Cindy on Jared’s arm tonight, looking like his perfect match? Is it the shame of Zo knowing I fucked Jared? Of him having a face, a name, a person to pair with my betrayal? Is it fear that, despite his strong showing tonight, I could still lose my best friend to an incurable death? It’s all those things, and under the crushing weight, I sink to the bathroom floor and weep. Silent, hot tears springing from every problem, every hurt, every close call, every stolen kiss, every single thing in my life that has gone wrong—all at once. The cork pops, and as I knew they would, the tears overflow and won’t stop.