5

That night, at Chloe's house, was hell.

Her room was pink,She had photos of her and Mia everywhere. On the bed, on the mirror, on the fridge.

She made me wear matching pajamas. Pink, silk, with "Bestie" on it. Hers said "Bestie" too.

She kept touching me. Fixing my hair. "Your straightener missed a spot." Wiping my lip gloss.

Putting her arm around me while we watched a movie Mia liked.

I sat stiff, scared to move.

"Mia, you are so tense," Chloe said, massaging my shoulders hard. "Relax. It's just me."

Just you. That's the problem.

At 11 p.m., she finally fell asleep, her arm thrown over my waist. I stared at the ceiling, in silk pajamas that were not mine, in a room that was not mine, pretending to be a girl who was not me, hugged by a girl who didn't actually like me, only liked Mia.

I texted Jaxon from under the blanket.

ME: Help. Chloe sleepover hell.

He replied instantly.

JAXON: Where?

ME: Her house. Elm Street. She won't let go.

JAXON: Can you sneak out? Back window?

ME: I can't. She will wake up.

JAXON: Then tomorrow 6am, gym. I'll teach you the split.

The next morning at 5:30a.m, I left while Chloe was still asleep. I went back home got ready and head to school.

Jaxon was there, in sweatpants, alone in the gym, stretching.

"You came," he said.

"I can't do it," I said, almost crying. "I can't their friendship and Chloe won't stop touching me and I have to be Mia forever."

He didn't say anything. He just sat on the mat and patted in front of him.

"Sit. Legs out."

I sat. He sat opposite me, our feet touching.

"Push," he said. "Slow."

He pushed my legs gently with his hands. It hurt.

We stretched until 7 a.m. I didn't get a full split. I got maybe 70%. But it was better than .

"You'll get there," Jaxon said, standing up. He offered me a hand. "And about Chloe..."

"She's scary," I said.

"She's obsessed," he said. "She's been obsessed with Mia s because Mia is popular. She doesn't see Mia. She sees a trophy. Don't let her touch you if you don't want to. Mia would say no. You can say no too."

Can I? Can Maya say no while being Mia?

At 8:15, the cheer team arrived. Chloe arrived, looking for me, her eyes puffy.

"Where were you? You left without waking me up!"

"I had to practice," I said. And for the first time, I used Mia's cold voice on her. "Don't be clingy, Chloe. It's annoying."

Chloe flinched. Like I had slapped her.

But then she smiled, wide. "Yes! That's my Mia! God, I missed you being a bitch!"

And she hugged me again.

Behind her, Jaxon watched, and mouthed: "See?"

Being Mia was hell. But having one person who knew I was Maya made it survivable.

For now

After I fell, I thought Coach would kick me off the team.

She didn't. She did worse. She put me on probation.

"Mia, honey, you're our captain, but after the accident you are not stable," she said in front of everyone. "So Chloe will fly until you are 100%. You will base."

Base means I have to hold Chloe up. I have to be the one with my hands under HER shoes, watching HER fly while everyone cheers for her. And Chloe loved it.

After practice, I was out of the locker room trying when Principal Davis walked up to me.

"Mia! There you are! Your Stanford alumni interview is in ten minutes!"

I froze

"What interview?"

"Mr. William flew in early from San Francisco just for you! Conference room! He read your new essay and said he had to meet you immediately!"

What new essay? I didn't write any essay.

Mia Essay before her Accident

Oh no.

Ten minutes later I was sitting in the conference room, still sweaty from cheer, hair half straightened, in my regular clothes because I couldn't find Mia's interview blazer, facing a man in a navy suit.

"Mia Lane! The comeback girl!" Mr. William smiled

"I have to say, your file is perfect. Captain, president, 200 volunteer hours. You're exactly what every college wants."

He scrolled. The wheel on his mouse clicked, clicked, clicked. Then he paused. Looked up at me over his glasses.

"But you know what's weird, Mia?"

My stomach dropped.

"What?"

He closed the laptop halfway, just enough that I could no longer see my own perfect life reflected back at me.

"I've read two hundred files this month. Two hundred perfect kids saying perfect things so perfect colleges will love them." His voice was kind, but it didn't feel kind. It felt like being caught. "And yours is the same."

He tapped the cover of his laptop.

"Everything in here is leadership. You're leading people, helping people, performing for people. But there's not a single thing in here just for you. No hobby. No mess. Nothing selfish."

He leaned forward.

"So tell me what do you do when no one is watching you be perfect?"

Silence.

My ears were ringing so loud I could hear my own heartbeat. I was supposed to have an answer for this. A smart answer. A mature answer. A resilient-girl-who-learned-from-her-accident answer. The one Chloe wrote for me.

But my mouth just... started moving on its own.

"I... I draw," I said.

The words fell out before I could grab them.

I clapped a hand over my mouth. I didn't mean to say that. I didn't even know I was thinking it. Drawing was private. Drawing was the sketchbook I hid under my bed. Drawing wasn't for files.

Mr. William didn't flinch. He just smiled — a small, real smile this time.

"Tell me about it," he said.

My mouth was dry. I wanted to say "Its Mine not Mia"

Instead, what came out was:

"I used to draw. I mean, I still draw. But I hid it because my mom said art doesn't pay rent. But when I draw, I feel true. Van Gogh said 'If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint.' I've been listening to the voice that says I cannot."

He looked up, shocked. "Wow?"

My backpack was on the floor. My black sketchbook was inside, hidden under Mia's perfect notebooks. I always carry it.

"Do you have anything with you? Off the record?"

I shouldn't.

But for the first time since I became Mia, someone asked about MY art. Not Mia's grades. Not Mia's cheer. Mine.

I pulled it out. My hands were shaking. I opened to my beautiful arts.

He stared at it for a long time.

"Mia, this is exceptional. The ... why isn't this in your portfolio?"

Because Mia Lane doesn't draw. Maya Lane does, and no one cares.

"It's just doodles," I whispered.

"Stanford has a small joint program," he said quietly. "Art Practice and Leadership. We look for students who are more than one thing. You are definitely more than one thing."

The interview was supposed to be 30 minutes. It went for an hour. We barely talked about cheer. We talked about my drawing and why I think Mona Lisa looks tired.

When I came out, Principal Davis, Coach, and Chloe were waiting, beaming.

"How did it go?" Chloe grabbed my hands.

Mr. William came out after me.

"Principal Davis, Mia Lane is the most interesting applicant I've interviewed in three years. Most kids give me perfect. She gave me human. Expect a very strong note from me."

Chloe squealed and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. "My Stanford girl! I knew you'd kill it!"

I smiled. But my stomach was sick.

Because I did kill it. But not as Mia. As Maya.

That night, Mia FaceTimed from the hospital. Mom put her on speaker in the Living room.

"Maya, had an interview?" Mom cooed at me, but looking at the screen.

On the screen, Mia was in her big white cast that looked too clean, hair curled perfectly even in a hospital bed.

"What interview?" Mia said, frowning.

Mom's smile vanished. She looked at me.

"Maya did your Stanford interview. And Mr. William loved it."

On the screen, Mia's perfect face twisted.

"What did you say?" she hissed at me, not even pretending to be nice anymore. "You weren't supposed to talk about YOU. You were supposed to be ME. If you ruin my Stanford spot with your creepy talks, I swear to god...."

"Mia, you don't need to worry about it's,shes definitely not going to ruin anything for you okay!" Mom said, but she was glaring at ME.

I went to my room and opened my sketchbook looking at my arts.

For one hour, someone wanted Maya.

But I still have to be Mia for two more months.

And now the real Mia knows I'm being liked more than her.

###

One week after the Stanford interview. Regionals.

We have to compete. And Chloe is still flying, not me.

I am base. My job is to hold Chloe up while she does a perfect split and smiles for the judges.

We practiced every day. Jaxon came every day too. He said it was for basketball shooting practice, but he never shot. He just stood by the door and counted for me.

"One, two, push!"

On the day of Regionals, Everyone was in uniform. I was in Mia's uniform, but my arms were bruised purple from catching Chloe.

Chloe sat next to me, clingy as always. Head on my shoulder. Hand on my thigh.

"I'm so scared," she whispered, loud enough for the whole row to hear. "What if I fall?"

"You won't," the whole team said. "You're Chloe!"

She smiled, but her nails dug into my thigh.

"You _will_ catch me, right, Mia?" she whispered, just for me this time. "You won't let me fall like you fell?"

That was a threat. Wrapped in sugar.

At Regionals Hundreds of people. Stanford scouts in the back row with clipboards.

We went third. The music started. I was base, hands up, Chloe's shoes cold in my sweaty hands. She was shaking. I was shaking.

"One, two, THREE!"

We pushed. She went high, split perfect, smile perfect. The crowd screamed.

But my arms my stupid, weak Maya arms gave out. Just for half a second.

Chloe wobbled. She didn't fall. But she tilted. Her smile cracked for one second. The judges saw it.

We got second place. Not first. Second means we still go to State, but not as favorites.

In the locker room, no one spoke. Mrs. R was crying quietly.

"We have never gotten second with Mia flying. Never."

And they all looked at me. The base who couldn't hold.

Chloe walked up to me. Tears already perfectly in her eyes. Loud enough for everyone to hear.

"It's okay, bestie," she said, and hugged me. "Your arms are still weak from the accident. It's not your fault we lost."

Her hug was tight. Her whisper in my ear wasn't loud.

I didn't answer. I just release myself from her hug grabbed my bag and left.

Jaxon found me behind the bleachers crying hard and ugly that shook my whole body

He didn't say anything at first. He just sat down next to me on the curb, close enough that our shoulders touched, and took my bruised hands in his big, warm ones. He started massaging my wrists gently.

"We came second," I choked out. "It's my fault."

"Hey. Shhh." He pulled me into a hug. His jacket smelled like him — sweat and cheap deodorant. "Don't say that. You were amazing out there. So amazing."

I cried into his chest. "I tried so hard, Jaxon. I tried so hard to be her."

Hey," he said. "Look at me."

I did. His eyes were so serious.

"I know you did. I saw you," he whispered into my hair. "I saw everything you did. I saw you holding her for two minutes and thirty seconds. That's longer than any base has ever held Chloe. Do you hear me? You're strong, Maya."

Something in my chest broke a little more. I looked down.

"Don't cry like that," he whispered. He reached out and tucked the sweaty hair behind my ear. His hand lingered. His fingers stayed on my cheek.

I didn't move.

He moved closer. Just an inch. Then another. So slow I could feel him deciding. His knee brushed mine.

His forehead came down and rested lightly against mine. We were sharing breath now. I could smell his jacket, his deodorant. I could see every freckle on his nose.

My heart was pounding so loud.

He stared at my lips, then back at my eyes. His thumb brushed my cheek, so soft.

"Maya," he whispered. It was barely a sound. "Can I kiss you?"

I didn't move. I couldn't. I just looked at him, my lips parted, my hands shaking in his.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" he said, his voice low and rough. "Just say stop and I will."

I swallowed.

His eyes darkened.

He didn't rush. He leaned in inch by inch, giving me time to pull away. I didn't. I leaned in too.

Then his lips touched mine. Slow. Soft at first, then deeper, more intense, like he couldn't help it. His other hand slid to my waist and pulled me closer, and I grabbed his shirt without thinking.

When we broke I gasped against his mouth.

"Jaxon we can't. You're Mia's," I whispered, but I didn't pull away.

He cupped my face, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

"I know," he said, his voice rough. "God, I know."

"I'm not her. I'm pretending to be her. You're her boyfriend," I said, shaking now. Guilt and safe at the same time. Guilty because Mia is my sister. Safe because his hands were holding me like I was actually me.

"I know you're not her," he whispered, looking right into me. That's the problem."

I stared at him. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know," he said. And then he kissed me again, slower this time, sadder. Like it hurt. "I don't know what we're doing. But Maya... I think I'm falling for you. Not her. You."