MISS BROWN I'M SORRY THAT-

MELISSA'S POV 

 

I stepped out of the cab and pulled my hoodie tighter. The cold bit at my cheeks as I walked up the stairs to my place. Third floor. Quiet street. A corner unit with big windows and soft yellow curtains.

Not huge. Not fancy. Just plain, normal for the kind of life I'm living.

 But it was mine and that's all that matters.

 I unlocked the door and stepped inside. Warm air greeted me. Wooden floors. A bookshelf filled with old hockey medals, pageant crowns, and folded workout towels. One side of the living room was all weights and resistance bands. Gotta stay fit.

 

The other? A full-length mirror and a lighted vanity table.

 It didn’t look like it should work. But somehow, it did.

 I kicked off my sneakers and tossed my duffel down. I placed my phone on the couch and took in a deep breath. It's been a long day.

 Finally. I sighed, my legs ached but there's this peace that comes when I stare at all my medals and remember all my achievements. It's worth every painful joint.

 Peace, that's all I crave and now? I've gotten it.

 I threw my hoodie onto the couch and stretched. My legs were becoming numb and so I began to knead gently. My shoulders still felt the pain of the game. But I didn’t complain. Pain was part of the win.

 I had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in a warm hoodie and shorts, when my phone rang.

 Liam.

 I answered and put the phone on speaker and kept folding my  clothes.

 “Brown!” he shouted over loud music. I could picture him dancing and grinding against any willing backside of a girl. 

“Why is it that loud?” I asked, shaking my head.

“Because we’re in the club, baby and you should too but you're too comfortable on your cozy apartment I bet.”  

I blinked. “Didn’t Coach literally say—”

“Yeah, yeah, no scandals, blah blah,” Jay’s voice cut in from the background. “But rules are meant to be broken!” “Coach is gonna be pissed if a scandal happens but like I said rules are meant to be broken.”

“I’m not part of that quote,” I said, grabbing a clean pair of socks. “And trust me you're not gonna convince me otherwise.” 

 “You have to come!” Liam said. “Everyone’s here. Even Lucien’s dancing.”

“He doesn’t dance and that's something we all know so quit __”

“He does now and you need to see it, it's hilarious.” The pounding music from his end was sickening and extremely annoying but what could I do? Nothing.

I sat on the bed. “I’m not in the mood.”

“You never are.”

“Exactly.”

“Come on, Melissa,” Jay said. “One drink. One dance. Then we’ll carry you home like a princess.”

“I’m not a princess and I'm definitely not in distress, dance all you want.”

“You were literally crowned one.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not!”

Someone shouted “MELISSA!” in the background. A bunch of them joined in, chanting my name like it was a sports match.

“Peer pressure,” I muttered. 

“It works,” Liam said confidently.

I laughed once under my breath. “I’m sorry. Not tonight.” 

“Nooo!”

“I’ll come to the next one,” I added.

“You always say that.”

“ I mean it this time, just text me the details for our next outing and I'll be buying everyone drinks.”

Jay said, “Okay, what if we just showed up at your place? What then?”

“You wouldn’t.” I whispered but I know he can be crazy but that's part of why he's my friend.

“We would.”

“I won’t open the door.”

“What if we knock really hard?”

“I’ll call security.” I replied,eager to get him off the phone but he wasn't having it.

They all groaned dramatically.

“You guys are children,” I said.

“You love us,” Liam teased.

“I tolerate you and that's something I'll stop doing in a while.”

“That’s good enough!”

I shook my head, still smiling a little. “Be safe.”

“Yes, Mom.” they chorused.

I hung up.

The silence came back fast. I dropped the phone onto my nightstand and went to the kitchen to microwave dinner. It was leftover rice pudding and I didn’t care what it tasted like. I leaned against the counter and stared at the fridge. On it, I’d pinned one photo — me in a pageant gown, crown slightly crooked, holding a hockey stick.

That night, someone online said I looked confused and maybe the person was right.

“Are you a princess or an athlete?”

Both, idiot.

I ate in silence, scrolling through my modeling agency group chat.

New castings in London. Photoshoot options. “Your face is in this week’s feature,” someone texted, attaching a fashion mag.

I zoomed in. Yep. That was me. Dark lipstick. Hair slicked. Eyes cold.

I didn't recognize myself — in a good way.

The lights dimmed as I walked to the bedroom,my body hummed at the sight of the bed. That's more like it. I said within me.

I pulled open my closet and ran my hand along the fabric. Dresses. Jerseys. Heels. Cleats. All lined up.

Two lives. One body.

My fingers paused over a red pageant dress I hadn’t worn yet. It was a lovely dress and I knew it'd fit my form perfectly well. 

I stepped into the mirror and stared at myself.

“Too much,” I whispered.

People said that a lot. I was too much for one box. Too cold to be a pageant queen. Too pretty to be taken seriously in sports.

I used to care. I was vulnerable and it made people realize they could use my fears against me.

Not anymore.

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown number. I stared at it, debating.

Let it ring. But it rang again.And again.

My thumb hovered over the screen. Then I swiped.

“Hello?”

 

Silence.

 

I frowned. “Hello?”

 

A man’s voice crackled through. Calm. Professional.

 

“Miss Brown?”

 

I straightened. “Speaking.”

 

“We received your portfolio… and I’m sorry that—”