“Are you helping Tamara this morning?”
My breakfast bears a resemblance to abstract art as I prod at it with my spoon. Humming under my breath, I scoop outward to construct a beard on my oatmeal Santa.
“Earth to Lola!” Snap. Snap.
Zoe’s clicking reminds me I have company, and that I have totally spaced.
Shaking my head, I gingerly meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zoe. I’m just a little…distracted.”
“I can see that. Want to talk about it?”
“No!” I nearly yell.
My spoon catapults from my grip and skids along the table. Zoe looks down at it, then up at me. She hands it back as I cringe in my seat. The trials haven’t even started, and I’m already buckling under the pressure. I have no idea how I’ll keep this a secret.
Last night was intense, the most intense night of my life.
After Roman
