MELODY
....

I’m sprawled on the couch like a grumpy starfish, my bad leg propped up on a pillow. The TV’s on, but I’m not watching it.

There is some cooking show where the contestants are trying to flambé something without burning their eyebrows off.

Jess is sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the hem of her oversized hoodie, and the tension in the room is thicker than the caramel sauce on the screen.

“Okay, I can’t take it anymore,” Jess finally says, dropping her hands into her lap. “Mel, you have to pack. Your mom texted me, like, three times to make sure you don’t forget stuff.”

Packing is probably the worst thing in the world. Worse than long lines at Starbucks. Worse than pop quizzes on a Friday. Worse than breaking your leg and having your life ruined—which is saying something because that’s my current life situation.

“I’m not packing,” I snap, jabbing the volume button on the remote like it insulted me. “They can drag me to the city, but I’m not lifting a finger to help.”

Jess sighs and pushes herself up, brushing invisible dust off her jeans. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Thank you,” I say, flashing her a sarcastic grin.

She heads toward my room anyway, and I hear her rummaging through drawers like she lives here. Well, she kind of does.

Jess has been my best friend since kindergarten, back when she thought eating glue was a personality trait.

“Do you want the black hoodie or the gray one?” she shouts.

“Neither!”

She appears in the doorway, holding up the black hoodie like it’s Exhibit A. “This one says ‘Ball is Life.’ You really want to leave it behind?”

I groan and sink deeper into the couch. “Fine. The black one.”

Jess smirks like she’s won a battle and disappears again. She’s in full Mom Mode, folding my clothes and shoving them into my duffel bag like this is a fun little sleepover instead of the worst day of my life.

“I still think this is for your own good,” she says, her voice muffled from the bottom of my closet.

“Oh, please.” I grab the throw pillow next to me and hug it like a lifeline. “It’s for their good. They don’t want to deal with me, so they’re shipping me off to Jeremiah’s perfect little condo with his perfect little plans.”

“Jeremiah’s not perfect,” Jess says, emerging with an armful of T-shirts. “He still calls me ‘Jessica’ even though I’ve told him a million times it’s just Jess.”

“That’s because he’s a robot.”

Jess snorts. “A robot with a good job and health insurance. You could do worse.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t argue with her logic. Jeremiah works in finance or tech or something equally boring, and he’s been paying for my basketball camps since forever. It’s not like I hate him; I just hate that he always thinks he knows what’s best for me. I hate that he wants to be there for us financially but not emotionally.

He was the best elder brother Marco and I had growing up, but things changed and he became this hard hearted guy who never takes no for an answer.

Jess sits down next to me, the duffel bag half-packed at her feet.

“Look, I get why you’re mad. But they’re not sending you away to punish you. They just want you to get better.”

I pick at the corner of the pillow to avoid her gaze. “I could get better here.”

“Sure, with Hilton’s top-tier medical facilities,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Come on, the city has, like, world-class doctors. And you’ll be back before you know it.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one being uprooted.”

Jess nudges my shoulder with hers. “Hey, at least Jeremiah’s not a total stranger. And Marco will probably visit you every weekend.”

I stiffen at the mention of Marco, and Jess must notice because she quickly changes the subject.

Despite the two years age difference, Marco and I are like twins. I'd go a day without seeing or talking to Mom but I can't with Marco. He is like my lifeline and maybe that's why I never felt that gap after Jeremiah went away.

But leaving him now feels like a part of me is chipped away.

“Anyway,” she says, standing up, “you’re leaving half your wardrobe behind. Want me to grab anything else?”

“Burn it all,” I mutter, but Jess just laughs and heads back to my room.

Marco shows up a little while later, his car keys jingling in his hand. He’s wearing that stupid grin he always gets when he sees Jess, like she’s the sun and he’s some plant desperate for light.

“Hey, Balls,” he says, ruffling my hair as he walks past the couch.

I swat his hand away. “Don’t call me that.”

Marco thought it was clever to nickname me Balls because I like Ball. I just feel like a testicle every time he says it.

Jess comes out of my room, carrying the duffel bag like it weighs nothing. Marco’s eyes light up when he sees her, and I swear the temperature in the room goes up ten degrees.

“You’re really leaving tomorrow, huh?” Marco says, his voice is softer now.

I shrug, not trusting myself to speak.

Jess sets the bag down and crosses her arms. “You two are acting like she’s moving to another continent. The city’s, what, four hours away?”

“Three if I drive,” Marco says with a wink.

Jess rolls her eyes, but I can see the hint of a smile on her lips.

Once I’m out of the picture, nothing’s stopping them from getting together.

“You guys should just date already,” I blurt out spiteful because I won't be here to witness their ground breaking love story.

Jess and Marco freeze, their eyes snapping to me like I just announced I’m dropping out of school to become a mime.

“What?” Jess says, her voice an octave higher.

“You heard me.” I grab the remote and turn the volume up, pretending to focus on the TV. “I’ve known you both liked each other for years. You’re not that subtle.”

Marco clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Mel, that’s not—”

“Save it,” I say, cutting him off. “You’re both scared I’ll flip out or something, but guess what? I don’t care. Date. Don’t date. Whatever. I’ll be in the city, remember?”

The room goes quiet, the only sound coming from the TV.

Eventually, Jess mutters something about checking her phone and disappears into the kitchen. Marco looks like he wants to say something, but I shoot him a glare, daring him to try.

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful, which is just how I like it. Marco leaves after promising to help load the car in the morning, and Jess stays until dinner, trying to cheer me up with memes and stories I already know.

By the time Jeremiah gets home, I’m already in a foul mood. He strides into the house like he owns the place, his usual suits and ties have been replaced by a green loose shirt and sweatpants.

Mom greets him with a hug, but I just glare at my plate of lasagna.

“We need to leave early tomorrow,” Jeremiah announces as he sits down. “Traffic’s worse on weekdays, and the doctor has a tight schedule.”

“Great,” I mutter, stabbing a piece of lasagna with my fork.

Mom reaches over and pats my hand. “Mel, I’ll come visit as soon as I can.”

“Sure,” I say, not looking up.

Jeremiah launches into a monologue about his job, something about quarterly projections and team restructuring. I tune him out, noticing how Marco and Jess steal glances at each other.

My appetite gone. How can Jeremiah act so normal when my entire life is falling apart?

By the time dinner’s over, I’m ready to explode. But instead of storming out, I shove my plate away and cross my arms.

“I guess my opinion doesn’t matter, huh?”

Mom sighs, her expression tired. “Mel, we’re doing this for you.”

I've heard that one before.

“Yeah, because shipping me off to the city is so helpful,” I snap.

Jeremiah stands, his face calm but firm.

“Melody, this isn’t up for debate. We’re doing what’s best for you, the least you can do is be grateful!”

I want to scream back at him but I just grab my crutches and hobble back to the living room.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.