Chapter 24: Roxie

Dear Diary,

I am currently sitting in the passenger seat of Ricky’s van—the same van I once mocked for looking like a mobile witness protection unit—and for the first time in seventeen years, I don’t care who sees me. The parking lot of East Shore High is thinning out, the yellow buses are long gone, and the sunlight is hitting the dashboard in a way that makes the layers of dust look like gold.

I’m a mess. My mascara is probably halfway down my neck, my throat is raw from the kind of sobbing I usually save for my shower, and my "sweet angel" wings feel like they’ve finally been clipped for good. But as I sit here, listening to the hum of the engine and the faint sound of some underground rock station on the radio, I feel a strange, terrifying sense of lightness.

The house of cards didn't just fall; it disintegrated.

"You okay?" Ricky asked, his voice low and gentle. He didn't pull away from me, even after I finally stopped crying. He just stayed there, his hand resting on the back of my seat, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle on my shoulder.

"I'm not," I admitted, the truth tasting like copper in my mouth. "I’m the daughter of a divorce. I’m the girl from the broken home. I’m exactly what I’ve been judging people for since freshman year. I’m a walking East Shore tragedy."

"You're just Roxie," Ricky said, shifting in his seat to face me. He reached out, his fingers catching a stray tear before it could ruin what was left of my blush. "The divorce doesn't change that. It just means the people who were supposed to be the adults in the room finally stopped pretending. It’s not your failure, Roxie. It’s theirs."

I looked at him—really looked at him—and the angst I’d been carrying for weeks felt like it was finally starting to settle. He was the only person who could say that and have it mean something, because he’d lived it. He’d survived the "fresh start" that felt like an ending.

"My mom wants me to keep it a secret," I whispered, leaning my head back against the seat. "She wants me to walk into the senior committee meeting tomorrow and act like my dad isn't currently packing his life into cardboard boxes. She wants the 'George' name to stay perfect, even if the family is gone."

"And what do you want?" Ricky asked.

"I want to stop lying," I said, and the realization hit me with the force of a tidal wave. "I’m so tired, Ricky. I’m tired of the butterfly clips and the coded insults and the secret meetings at the car wash. I’m tired of being 'Ice Queen' Roxie when my life feels like a burning building."

Ricky was silent for a long time. He looked out the windshield, his dark eyes reflecting the fading light. "If we go public, Roxie... you know what happens. The whispers. The 'sympathy' looks from Fran. The questions about why the 'perfect' girl is with the 'loser' new guy. It won’t be easy. It’ll be a different kind of loud."

"It can't be louder than the shouting in my kitchen," I retorted, a spark of my old fire returning. "And at least it would be real. I’d rather be the girl with the 'loser' boyfriend and the broken home than the girl who’s a total lie."

Ricky’s crooked smirk returned—the one that usually makes me want to scream, but right now just made me want to kiss him. "Did you just call me your boyfriend? Because I’m pretty sure that’s a legal contract in at least three states."

I let out a shaky, watery laugh and swiped at my eyes. "Don't get a big head, Henderson. You’re still a dork with smudged eyeliner. But... yeah. I think that’s what’s happening."

"Good," he said, and the way he said it—so simple, so sure—made me feel like I could actually survive tomorrow. "Because I was getting real tired of taking the long way to Calc just to avoid your 'Ice Queen' glare."

We sat there for a while longer, just existing in the space between our two lives. I thought about Olivia, waiting for me at home, probably sensing the shift in the air even if she didn't know the words for it yet. I thought about my mother, who was currently rearranging the silver in the dining room to distract herself from the fact that her husband was leaving.

And then I thought about us.

"We should probably go," I said, though I didn't move. "Olivia will be home from her sleepover soon, and I need to be there. I need to be the one to tell her. Not some rehearsed 'Family Meeting' version. The truth."

"I'll drive you," Ricky offered.

"No," I said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I need to drive myself. I need to walk into that house on my own two feet. But... tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," he promised.

I stepped out of the van, the cool evening air hitting my face. I walked to my car, my steps feeling more deliberate, more grounded. I didn't check the mirrors to see who was watching. I didn't scan the art building for Fran. I just got in, started the engine, and drove away from East Shore High.

When I walked through my front door, the silence was still there, but it didn't feel like a threat anymore. It just felt like a space that was waiting to be filled with something new.

I went upstairs and found Olivia sitting on her bed, her stuffed animals arranged in a circle around her. She looked up, her eyes wide and searching.

"Is Dad moving out?" she asked, her voice small and trembling.

I didn't give her the "everything is fine" speech. I didn't tell her it was just a temporary disagreement. I sat down next to her, pulled her into my lap, and let her feel the feathers of my wings—the real ones, the ones that were a little messy and a lot bruised.

"Yes, honey," I said, my voice steady. "He is. And it’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be sad, and things are going to change. But I’m right here. We’re going to be okay. I promise."

We sat there together for a long time, the two of us against the world.

Later that night, as I lay in bed, I thought about the auditorium, the terrace, and the boy who refused to talk to his father. I thought about the secret we’d been keeping and how it was finally time to let the light in.

Tomorrow, I’m going to walk into school. I’m not going to wear the butterfly clip. I’m not going to look through Ricky Henderson like he’s made of glass. I’m going to find him at his locker, in front of the whole school, and I’m going to show them that Roxie George is done with the act.

The "Rising Moon" is finally up. And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid of the dark.