Lena laughed despite herself. Then she cried. Then she laughed again. It was ugly and honest, and somehow, the stupid joke had cracked open a little light.
An hour later, her friends arrived with extra cheese pizza, a tub of ice cream, and a whiteboard marker. Priya grabbed the marker, uncapped it, and wrote across Lena’s mirror:
“🚑💨 On its way, but it’s out of cheese for the whine.” — Maya. “Sis, the whambulence is busy. Try the ‘thank u, next’ express.” — Chloe. “Real talk: we’re bringing pizza and petty energy. Hold tight.” — Priya.
They spent the night not just trashing Jake—though there was some of that—but reminding Lena of who she was before him. She’d stopped painting. Stopped calling her mom as much. Stopped laughing at her own dumb jokes because he’d called them “cringey.”
