Between The Lies

Chapter 12: Reflections

STELLA

Tuesday afternoon, the entire junior and senior class is called to an assembly in the auditorium.

I sit with Derek and his friends, Mia on my other side. Everyone's buzzing with curiosity about what this is about.

"Probably another college prep thing," Derek mutters, scrolling through his phone.

But I remember the text from yesterday. Something about a dance opportunity.

Principal Richardson takes the stage, followed by a woman I've never seen before.

And my breath catches.

She's in her late twenties, with dark hair pulled back in an elegant bun, wearing a black pantsuit that screams expensive and professional. But it's her face that makes me stare.

High cheekbones. Full lips. And eyes—brown eyes that are almost the exact shade as mine.

"Good afternoon, students," Principal Richardson says into the microphone. "We have a special guest today. This is Isabella Moretti, a renowned choreographer and talent director from the Vivian Arts Academy in New York City."

The woman—Isabella—steps forward with a confident smile. "Thank you for having me. I'll keep this brief since I know you all have classes to get to. I'm here because your dance coach, Ms. Rodriguez, reached out to tell me about the exceptional talent at Riverside Academy."

My heart starts pounding.

"The Vivian Arts Academy is one of the premier performing arts schools in the country. We're always looking for promising young dancers to join our summer intensive program and, potentially, our full-time academy." Isabella's eyes scan the crowd. "Over the next few days, I'll be observing your dance classes and attending your upcoming recital. For those interested in auditioning, please see Ms. Rodriguez."

She says more—about the program, the opportunities, the prestige—but I'm barely listening.

Because her eyes have found mine in the crowd.

And she's staring.

For just a moment, something flickers across her face. Surprise? Recognition? But then it's gone, replaced by her professional smile.

The assembly ends, and everyone files out. Derek is talking about basketball practice, but I'm distracted, my eyes following Isabella as she speaks with Principal Richardson.

"Stella?" Derek waves a hand in front of my face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just thinking about the dance opportunity."

"You should totally go for it. You're amazing." He kisses my forehead. "I gotta run to practice. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow."

He leaves, and I'm about to head to my locker when I hear my name.

"Stella Harrison?"

I turn to find Isabella Moretti standing behind me, that same strange look in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but notice you during the assembly." She steps closer, studying my face in a way that makes me uncomfortable. "You're a dancer, correct? You're in Ms. Rodriguez's advanced class?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're quite beautiful." The words sound almost... sad? "You have very distinctive features. Your eyes especially."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just nod.

"Tell me, apart from dancing, do you model?"

The question catches me off guard. I do model—have been modeling since I was fourteen. But something about this woman, about the way she's looking at me, makes me hesitate.

"No," I hear myself say. "I don't model."

Why did I lie?

Isabella's eyebrows raise slightly. "Really? You have the perfect look for it. Striking. Memorable." She reaches into her bag and pulls out a business card. "Well, if you ever change your mind about modeling—or if you're interested in the dance program—please call me. I think you have real potential."

I take the card mechanically. "Thank you."

"May I ask—" She hesitates. "Where are you from? Originally?"

"Here. Los Angeles. Born and raised."

"I see." But something in her expression says she doesn't quite believe me. "Well, it was lovely meeting you, Stella. I look forward to seeing you perform."

She walks away, leaving me standing in the hallway with her card in my hand and a strange feeling in my chest.

I look down at the card: Isabella Moretti - Choreographer & Talent Director - Vivian Arts Academy.

Then I look up and catch my reflection in the glass case displaying school trophies.

Brown eyes. High cheekbones. The features Isabella had called "striking."

And I realize with a jolt that I do look like her. Not exactly, but enough that someone might notice. Enough that she noticed.

"Stella!"

I jump, turning to find Ms. Rodriguez hurrying toward me.

"I'm so glad I caught you! Did you speak with Ms. Moretti?"

"Uh, yeah. Briefly."

"Good! Because I want you to be part of the group performing at the recital." Ms. Rodriguez is practically bouncing with excitement. "Isabella will be attending, and I want to showcase our best dancers. You, plus five others. We'll have two weeks to prepare."

"Two weeks?"

"I know it's soon, but this is a huge opportunity!" She hands me a rehearsal schedule. "First practice is tomorrow after school. Can you make it?"

I look at the schedule, then at Isabella's card still in my hand.

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Perfect! Oh, and Stella—" Ms. Rodriguez lowers her voice. "Between you and me, Isabella seemed particularly interested in you. This could be your big break."

She walks away, and I'm left standing there, trying to process everything.

A mysterious woman who looks like me. A lie I don't understand. A strange feeling that something important just happened, but I don't know what.

LUCA

I finally come home Tuesday night.

Three days of avoiding the house, avoiding Stella, avoiding everything. But Jake's mom started asking questions, and I couldn't hide there forever.

The house is dark when I pull into the driveway. Stella's bedroom light is on.

I sit in my car for a full five minutes, trying to find the courage to go inside.

Finally, I force myself out and unlock the front door.

The house smells like her. Like home. Like everything I've been running from.

I'm halfway to the stairs when her door opens.

"Luca?"

I freeze. Turn slowly.

Stella's standing in her doorway in pajamas, her hair damp from a shower, and she looks so beautiful it hurts.

"Hey," I manage.

"You're home." Her voice cracks. "You've been gone for three days."

"I know. I'm sorry. Studio stuff ran late and—"

"Don't." She comes down the stairs, and I can see tears in her eyes. "Don't lie to me. You've been avoiding me. Avoiding home. Avoiding everything."

"Stella—"

"I know why." She's crying now. "I know it hurts. I know seeing me with Derek is killing you because it's killing me too. But running away isn't—" Her voice breaks. "I miss you. I miss my brother. I miss my best friend. I miss us."

Every word is a knife.

"I can't—" I stop, my throat tight. "I can't be around you right now. It's too hard."

"So what, you're just going to hide from me forever?"

"I don't know! I don't have answers, Stella. I don't know how to do this. How to live in the same house as you and pretend I don't feel what I feel."

"Then don't pretend." She moves closer. "Just... just be here. Be my brother. We don't have to talk about the other stuff. We don't have to acknowledge it. Just... don't disappear on me."

I want to. God, I want to.

But I don't know if I'm strong enough.

"Your showcase is in two weeks," she says quietly. "Are you going to miss that too? Are you going to avoid your own performance?"

"No. I'll be there."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She nods, wiping her tears. "My dance recital is the week after. Will you come? Please?"

The thought of sitting in an auditorium watching her dance, watching her be beautiful and graceful and everything I love about her—it's torture.

But I can't say no to her.

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Thank you." She takes a step back toward the stairs. "Oh, and there's this woman. Isabella Moretti. She came to school today. She's a choreographer from some fancy New York academy."

"That's great, Stel. You should—"

"She looks like me." The words come out quiet. Strange. "I mean, not exactly. But something about her. Her eyes. Her face. I felt like I was looking at..." She trails off.

"Looking at what?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just tired." She shakes her head. "Goodnight, Luca."

"Goodnight."

She goes back upstairs, and I stand in the entryway, trying to make sense of what she just said.

A woman who looks like her.

A choreographer from New York.

It's probably nothing. Just a coincidence.

But something about it makes me uneasy.

I head upstairs to my room and finally check my phone. Messages from Jake, from some of the guys from the band, from Vanessa asking about coffee.

And one from Derek.

Derek: Hey man, haven't seen you in days. You good? Also, heads up—I'm thinking of asking Stella to prom. That cool with you?

I stare at the message until my vision blurs.

Prom. Derek wants to take my sister to prom.

My Stella. In a dress. Dancing with him. Being his date for one of the biggest nights of senior year.

Me: Yeah. Sure. Whatever makes her happy.

I send it before I can change my mind.

Because that's what I'm supposed to do, right? Be the supportive brother. Let her live her life. Let her be happy with someone who can actually give her a future.

Even if it destroys me.

I look at the showcase schedule on my desk. Two weeks until I have to perform in front of the whole school. Two weeks until I have to sing the songs I wrote about her while she sits in the audience with Derek.

Two weeks until I have to pretend my heart isn't breaking.

My phone buzzes again.

Vanessa: Still on for coffee tomorrow? I think you could use a friend right now.

Maybe she's right. Maybe I need to try to move forward. Try to be normal.

Me: Yeah. Tomorrow sounds good.

I set my phone down and stare at my ceiling, thinking about Isabella Moretti and the strange way Stella described her.

Thinking about how Stella said the woman looked like her.

And wondering why that detail feels important somehow.

Like a piece of a puzzle I didn't even know existed.