MAY 29

DAKOTA

I hated surprises.

Maybe it had something to do with a traumatic surprise birthday when I was six, or maybe it was when I discovered that Regina had not only been submitted to the Tribeca Film Festival but also won an award.

Either way, surprises were a real pain in the ass and I was relieved that the article published by The Seattle Chronicle on Monday wasn't one. It primarily focused on the events of May 16th and the ongoing production of Apex on Friday Island. It cited a statement made by the FIPD, one concluding that the orca's death wasn't due to natural causes and that the investigation was ongoing.

When I'd read through the article, the only part that interested me was Maud's brief interview.

Maud Hamilton, the granddaughter of Kazuo Nakamura, who owns Pacific King Whale Watching Company, is responsible for dialing 911 when the orca was discovered at Cape Blue on May 16th.

"I'm concerned by the impact that the show's production is having on our community," Hamilton, 18, said. "Until we have answers, we will keep reliving this trauma as the threat to the southern resident orca population remains a haunting reminder that we aren't doing enough to protect endangered species."

Nothing regarding the photos of the Black Swan was mentioned, but the article still received an incredible amount of attention. In the four days since its publication, the number of reporters and paparazzi on the island doubled. It was a consequence that absolutely no one was thrilled about.

I didn't belong in this world. The spotlight wasn't my friend, but everyone in Hollywood seemed set on tricking me into thinking that it was by showering me with praise and recognition.

While the financial benefits of fame were life-changing - I could easily afford to pay my entire college tuition and contribute to my parents' retirement plan - it was never about the money.

As cliché as it sounded, I was just a kid who liked writing and making movies. But I knew it was not that simple.

During the last week, I'd reported to set at six in the morning and stayed late to sit in on the PR meetings. It was exhausting but also necessary. While the increase of press wasn't bad for business, the team had to work extra hard to curb misinformation and extinguish rumors.

The dark circles beneath my eyes hadn't gone unnoticed by my parents. It was Friday evening when they ambushed me in my bedroom, interrupting my Rick and Morty marathon.

My dad stood in the doorway, wearing a button-down shirt and khakis. His hair, equally dark and tousled as mine, was tamed by some hair gel. "I know you've got thick skin, bud, but you need a distraction. How about we go for a hike tomorrow morning?"

"Sure." I sat up to lean against my headboard. "Not too early, though."

"Or come with us to my clients' rehearsal dinner tonight," my mom suggested, sidestepping her husband and clasping her manicured hands together in excitement. It was an activity that we did as a family when I was in high school. "It's the gorgeous barn venue at the Silvermine Lavender Farm."

"I don't want to risk ruining it with my controversial presence," I grumbled, and my mom's smile faltered. "But next time."

I watched my parents share a look, one that likely translated to well, at least we tried and hoped that I wasn't letting them down. They were overwhelmingly supportive and laid back about my whole rise to fame. Sometimes, I wondered if they somehow expected this to happen. It was one thing to support your kid's dreams, but it was another to actually believe that they can achieve them.

"Okay, we shouldn't be out too late," mom said with a gentle smile. "There's leftover pizza in the fridge."

"Thanks," I muttered and sank into my pillows. "Enjoy suffocating on the lavender."

My parents both managed to laugh at my lame attempt at comic relief, and I appreciated it. Comedy was never my strong suit.

Once they left, I returned to the welcoming void of Rick and Morty and didn't move until my phone chimed on the duvet. It was a text from Brenna.

BRENNA QUINN (9:15 PM): You should read this.

The link Brenna attached was to a website called BACHELORS OF HOLLYWOOD INSIDER.

I despised reading gossip sites and hated everything that they stood for, but I tapped on the link if only to appease her.

The headline read DAKOTA BLACK'S EX: THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLF.

Rage gathered inside my chest like dark storm clouds. The article targeted Maud.

My gaze slid down the screen as I read what was basically all rumors and a scandalous conclusion that accused Maud of being his hell-bent crazy ex-girlfriend who was seeking vengeance.

It was trash.

But unfortunately, trash sold when pitched to the right audience.

Against my better judgment, I scrolled to the very bottom of the article to read through the thread of comments.

Northsouth-dakota:

that girl broke his heart and is trying to ruin his life. what a bitch.

uclagirl2022:

now there's no fucking way that Dakota isn't over her. #dakenna is finally going to be canon!

gay4brennaquinn:

@uclagirl2022 don't forget about that skinny chick from the ferry. BIG grey's anatomy vibes.

Uclagirl2022:

@gay4brennaquinn fml don't remind me. can't believe no one has figured out who she is.

anonymousfangirl:

apex is about protecting killer whales! maud needs to do her research.

northsouth-dakota:

^ RT she also needs to take a chill pill and join greenpeace.

There were hundreds of other comments, but I stopped scrolling. I'd seen enough to get the gist.

It was wrong of me to believe that Maud brought this upon herself, but that was the first thought that tore through my head. The internet could be a toxic cesspool and Maud should've known better. She could've easily stayed out of the crossfire, but, like always, she walked right through it.

One day, Maud would discover that she wasn't Athena.

I don't reply to Brenna's text, knowing that I'll see her on set Monday morning. I also prefered to talk to her in-person. Ever since she told me that she went sailing with Allix after the brunch, she'd acted uncharacteristically polite. It felt like she was tip-toeing around my feelings, and it was pissing me off.

Brenna was one of two people in my life who I trusted to not sugarcoat the truth, and now wasn't the time for her to revamp her entire personality. The other person was Allix, but there were more factors for me to consider there - my own objectivity being one of them.

The sound of a car door slamming shut yanked me out of my inner monologue. My first thought was that it was Brenna because she was exactly the kind of person who would drive to my house after not receiving a response to her text. But all it took was one one glance out my bedroom window to know that it wasn't Brenna, and it certainly wasn't my parents arriving home early.

I was halfway down the staircase when I saw Maud drop her backpack on the kitchen table just as she'd done hundreds of times before. It was as if nothing had changed.

Déjà vu was a real asshole.

"You still keep a spare key under that fake rock out front," Maud said in lieu of a proper greeting. She was dressed casually in faded jeans and a UBC crewneck that I saw Nicki wear on the night of the bonfire.

I pinned Maud with an unamused stare. "Why are you here, Mimi?"

"I don't want you to feel sorry about any of those articles," she replied. Her voice was soft with sincerity and I felt my guard start to lower. "I knew what I was getting myself into, I promise."

"You always do," I retorted and sighed.

A long pause ensued as Maud seemed to grapple with her next words and she lifted her chin indignantly. "I also don't want you to think that I'm doing this to get back at you or sabotage Apex."

"I know that."

Maud didn't appear to buy my answer. She stepped closer to me with narrowed eyes and I instinctively leaned back against the island. My hands gripped the smooth marble edges as I braced myself for whatever she was about to say.

"You know me," she stated. "You know I wouldn't do that."

I swallowed hard. "You're wasting your time worrying about what I think."

Maud's hand ensnared one of mine. I had eyes and a brain that should've worked together to read between the lines to prevent her from doing what I knew she was planning to do, but I don't.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling the approach of a distant storm.

"And you still know me," she whispered, a spark in her eyes as she released my hand. "I'll prove it."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she rocked up onto her toes and her lips collided with mine. She was brazen yet soft, a combination that was compelling enough of a reason for me to kiss her back.

It was foreign and familiar all at once.

I breathed her in - the vanilla shampoo, salt from the sea, and the self-assured energy that radiated from her skin. She looped an arm around my neck for leverage and pressed her hand flat against my chest. My heartbeat hammered against my ribcage, and she must've felt it too because she smiled against my lips.

My hands finally remember to get with the program; I spun us around and lift Maud up to sit on the edge of the island. She smirked, wrapping her legs around my waist and succeeding in reeling me in closer.

All of my coherent thoughts drown in nostalgia and are replaced by a montage of movement: heated kisses, Maud's fingertips slipping beneath the hem of my henley, and us finally breaking apart to breathe. I lifted my hands to cup her face, remaining steady and quiet. I wondered if I could trick myself into forgetting all of the reasons why I didn't actually want to do this.

But that wasn't who I was. I wouldn't fall back down a mountain that took me months to scale.

I took a few steps backward, but Maud wasn't the slightest bit flustered. She tilted her head to one side with a soft smile playing on her lips. "Don't feel guilty, babe."

"I don't," I revealed and meant it. Something can still be a mistake without there being any guilt involved. "I'm not."

"Good." Maud hopped off the island and nodded in the direction of the staircase with a little smile. "Let's go upstairs, then."

I didn't move. The air between us turned cold and still.

There was a time and place for everything and I knew that there was something that I needed to tell Maud right in this very moment.

"Nothing has changed," I said, and watched her smile vanish. I missed the idea of her, not the fleshed-out story of our relationship. "We'd have the same fight and make the same mistakes. We'd make each other miserable. I can't do that to us again."

For an impossibly long moment, all Maud did was stare at me. Irritation brewed in her dark eyes. She wasn't the kind of girl who was familiar with rejection. Everything she achieved was the result of her own merit, but she was fantastic at getting what she wanted. Her success spoiled her.

"Is that why we need to let go?" Maud eventually questioned and dropped her gaze to the floor.

My answer arrived easily. "In many ways, I think we already have."

It would only dawn on me later that I wasn't making a generalized assertion and hadn't outwitted my superego into thinking of somebody else.

When Maud glanced back up at me with a tiny smile, her eyes glistened with tears. "I was pretty lucky, I guess. Some people get the short end of the stick when it comes to high school relationships."

"I'd tell you that you've set the bar pretty high, but I don't think you need the ego boost," I replied and gave a short laugh.

We didn't hug.

That was too painfully cliché.

I followed Maud out into my driveway, where she dramatically returned the spare key to its home beneath the fake rock. The storm clouds still loomed overhead, dark and menacing, though the rain had yet to fall. Its smell hung heavy and cold in the air.

After starting her car, she rolled down her window. "So I'll see you tomorrow or sometime soon, right?"

I distinguished a note of cautious humor in her voice. It was a step in the right direction.

"Or sometime soon," I said, knowing it was true. As long as we both lived on Friday Island, our lives would be tangled together.

I don't wait for Maud to reverse out of the driveway before heading back inside. That felt a whole lot like closure or something pretty damn close to it.