Chapter seven - rooftop
1980 Words
The stairwell smelled of dust and fried onions. Elara’s legs ached as she climbed, her apron still folded under her arm, the last traces of coffee and yeast clinging to her hair. Mr. Costa’s words still lodged like burrs in her ribs, Liam Mercer’s parting smirk refusing to dissolve even after hours of scrubbing cups.
By the time she reached the top floor, the hallway lights buzzed faintly overhead. The metal door to the roof was stiff with rust, but she shoved it open anyway. Cool night air slapped her cheeks, thick with the scent of tar, city smoke, and a faint sweetness from someone’s laundry line below.
The roof had always been her place. A secret perch above the noise. A patch of cracked concrete ringed by a waist-high wall, scattered with broken chairs and a forgotten satellite dish. From here she could see the city stretch forever , neon signs blinking, headlights crawling along the main road, the river cutting black through the skyline.
She let out a long breath, her shoulders sagging. For the first time all day, there were no ovens, no trays, no Mercers, no Costa barking. Just her and the sky.
But then she froze.
A silhouette was already there. Leaning against the low wall, one leg kicked up, a cigarette ember glowing like a star in the dark.
“Elara James,” a voice drawled, smokey and amused. “Didn’t think you still came up here.”
The world shifted. She knew that voice.
“Laura?”
The figure stepped into the spill of light from a neighboring window, and there she was Laura Rojas. Once her best friend, the girl who used to braid her hair during recess, once helped her sneak cookies from Mr. Costa’s bakery when they were twelve.
Now she looked different. Sharper. Her hair was ironed glossy, her eyeliner winged to a razor’s edge. She wore a glittering crop top under an oversized blazer, jeans torn in all the right places, and heels that shouldn’t survive cracked concrete but somehow did. A designer bag, real or fake, Elara couldn’t tell.
Elara blinked. “What are you doing here?”
Laura grinned, flashing white teeth. “What, and let you keep this view all to yourself? Please. I remembered this spot. Needed air. And… maybe a little privacy.” She lifted her cigarette, then flicked it away, sparks scattering into the dark.
Elara’s heart squeezed with old memories. “It’s been… years.”
“Two,” Laura corrected. “Not like I was counting.” She tilted her head, studying Elara. “You look… tired.”
Heat flared in Elara’s cheeks. “Thanks.”
“Not an insult. Just… different.” Laura’s eyes softened, but only for a second. “Heard you’ve been working yourself into the ground. Costa’s. And…” her smirk curved higher, “the Mercers.”
Elara stiffened. “How do you…”
“Please. Everyone talks. That estate is like a soap opera. The maid with the pretty face who’s always running late to school? Come on.”
Elara bit her tongue. She didn’t want to ask, but the words clawed out anyway. “And what about you? Where’ve you been?”
Laura’s grin widened. She shrugged off her blazer, letting it hang from her elbows, showing the shimmer of her top. “Oh, you know." Around. Parties. Rooftops. Private pools. Anywhere is fun.”
“That top…” Elara hesitated. “It’s… new.”
“Everything’s new,” Laura twirled once, her heels clicking on the roof. “What, you like it? Zara doesn’t make this, honey. Neither does H&M.”
Elara frowned. “So you’ve been… working?”
“Working,” Laura echoed, laughter dripping from the word. She leaned against the wall again, crossing her arms. “Sure. Something like that.”
Her tone was light, but beneath it, something darker flickered.
Elara’s stomach tightened. “Laura…”
“What?”
“You’re not….” She stopped, unsure how to finish. “You’re not doing anything dangerous, are you?”
Laura’s eyes gleamed under the city lights. “Dangerous is relative, babe. What’s dangerous to you is survival to someone else. And anyway, people don’t ask where your money comes from if your heels are high enough and your lipstick red enough.”
The words hit like a punch.
Elara shook her head slowly. “So… you're still a con artist?.”
“Real enough,” Laura shot back, but her smile wavered. She dug into her bag and pulled out a half-empty bottle of cheap rosé. “Here. Don’t judge. It was five bucks, and I’m not wasting it alone.”
Elara hesitated, then sank into a cracked chair. Laura perched beside her, the bottle dangling between her knees. They passed it back and forth, the bitter-sweetness clinging to Elara’s tongue.
For a while they sat in silence, the hum of the city filling the space between them.
Then Laura spoke, softer now. “You remember when we used to sit up here with your sketchbook? You’d draw buildings. Streets. Whole little cities. Said one day you’d design a house with windows big enough for the moon to fit through.”
Elara’s throat tightened. She hadn’t thought about that in years. “That was stupid.”
“No.” Laura nudged her. “That was you. That was your dream. "Before…” She gestured vaguely. “Before you buried yourself in bread dough and rich people’s laundry.”
Elara flinched. “I didn’t bury anything. Life just…”
“Happened,” Laura finished for her. “Yeah. I know.” She took another swig. “Life happened to me too. Except I decided I wasn’t gonna let it choke me. If people want glitter, I’ll give them glitter."
The raw honesty cut through the night air.
Elara hugged her knees, watching headlights smear across the river. “And you’re happy with that?”
Laura tilted her head back, laughter spilling out too loud. “Happy? No. But at least I’m seen. At least I walk into a room and people look twice. Don’t you ever want that, Elara? To be more than invisible? To be more than the girl scrubbing plates and crying in stairwells?,well anyways you'll never join me.”
Elara’s chest burned. She wanted to argue, but the words tangled. Because yes. Of course she wanted that.
Laura leaned close, her perfume heady and sharp. “Come with me this weekend. There’s a party on the East Side. Rooftop, real rooftop ,fairy lights, champagne, music you can feel in your teeth. People who matter. You don’t even need to talk. Just stand there and shine. I’ll lend you something. A dress, heels. You’ll look like you belong.”
Elara’s pulse jumped. “I can’t. My shifts….”
“Screw your shifts.” Laura’s voice was fierce. “They’ll still be there when you crawl back. This? This is a chance to breathe. To remember you’re alive.”
Elara stared at her, torn between fear and hunger.
The bottle tilted in Laura’s hand, glinting under the moonlight. Her smile was daring, reckless, the same one she wore years ago when she’d convinced Elara to climb the fence at the community pool at midnight.
Elara remembered the thrill of it. The water cold, the stars sharp, the laughter echoing.
Her chest tightened.
Laura leaned closer, whispering. “Don’t you ever get tired of being good?”
The words shivered through Elara like wind across broken glass.
She didn’t answer.
But when Laura pulled out her phone and showed her photos, glittering parties, golden drinks, boys with cars that looked like spaceships, girls draped in sequins. Elara didn’t look away.
Laura tipped her head toward Elara, eyes gleaming. “So? Saturday? Rooftop party, champagne, the whole nine yards. You in?”
Elara’s stomach clenched. The images on Laura’s phone,sequined dresses, glossy lips, cars worth more than her apartment felt like a world she wasn’t just locked out of but actively rejected.
She shook her head. “No. I’m not walking into another rich people circus. I deal with enough of their bullshit at the estate. I’m not going to go play with dolls in their little playground.”
Laura’s grin faltered, but only for a second. Then she shrugged. “Fine. No rich assholes. But what about me?” She nudged Elara’s knee with her own. “What about just us? There’s this club downtown. Loud music, sticky floors, people dancing like they don’t have bills tomorrow. We’ll blend in, laugh, maybe even remember we’re seventeen. Just two friends. No roles, no costumes.”
Elara hesitated, then,before her better judgment could jump in,she heard herself say, “Okay. Tomorrow.”
Laura’s smile softened in a way Elara hadn’t seen in years. Not sharp, not practiced. Just… real. Something in her chest tightened, nostalgia pressing against her ribs.
Instead, she kicked off her heels and flopped onto the cracked chair beside Elara. “Then it’s a date. But tonight?” She stretched like a cat. “I’m staying. Don’t argue. You look like you could use someone to talk to.”
Laura propped herself on an elbow, smirking. “So. Tell me about him.”
Elara blinked. “Who?”
“Don’t play dumb. Mercer. The younger one. Liam.”
Heat pricked Elara’s neck. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mm-hmm.” Laura wiggled her brows. “And yet your face says otherwise.”
Elara groaned, burying her head in her arms. “Okay, fine. He’s…” She bit the inside of her cheek, then blurted, “He’s freaking hot.”
The words hung in the air.
Her eyes flew wide. “Wait,did I just say that out loud?”
Laura’s laughter cracked across the rooftop, wild and triumphant. “Oh my God, you did. Finally, The ice queen melts!”
“Shut up.” Elara smacked her arm, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean that, I mean, he is, but that doesn’t mean…”
“Do you want him to ruin you six ways to Sunday?” Laura teased.
Elara groaned louder. “Nothing can ever happen between us. Period. End of story.”
Laura rolled onto her back, grinning at the stars. “Want to bet?”
“Bet?”
“Yeah.” She turned her head, eyes glittering. “I bet you ten bucks and a caramel latte,that something will happen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But it will.”
Elara scoffed. “Why would he ever fall for someone like me in the first place? I’m just….” Her voice caught. “I’m no one. And he’s a spoiled daddy’s boy with too much money and zero sense of reality. I don’t even like him. Not really.”
Laura smirked. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that, James, you're beautiful and if I was a guy I would have gotten inside you already.”
Elara looked at her with a slight disgust as she said laughing. “Eww,why would you even say that?.”
“Umm…because it's true you're so freaking hot Elara James,your body figure is to kill for,you f*****g look like a porcelain doll and your eyes?. Oh don't get me started…..”
They both start laughing hard.
Laura paused.” But it's true you know,just trash all these your clothes and then you'll be Gigi Hadid in a bit.”
Elara smiled.”I knew you always had a crush on me.”
“Get over yourself.”Laura said with a smirk.
Elara threw her hands up. “I mean it! He’s spoiled. Arrogant. Always smirking like he owns the air. And the hair…ugh, don’t get me started on the stupid perfect hair.”
They both dissolved into laughter then, sharp and giddy, the kind that left their stomachs sore and their cheeks damp.
- Writer
