Chapter 2: Fireworks, Betrayal, and the End of Us

My friend and I worked hard for three years. One of us turned the once-toxic mean girl into a superstar everyone admired. The other helped the withdrawn, autistic physics prodigy become a rising star in Silicon Valley.

It wasn’t all sunshine and college parties. There were late nights tutoring, chasing off creeps, phone calls at 3 AM, and more cups of gas station coffee than I care to admit. We left pieces of ourselves in that world, traded them for the hope that maybe, just maybe, we could build something real.

On the night before our progress bar was about to hit 100%—which would let us stay in this world—the main character showed up. Overnight, everything we’d built was destroyed. Three years of effort, gone in a flash.

Sometimes, you don’t need villains when fate itself is a wrecking ball. We went to sleep with plans for tomorrow; by morning, we were strangers in our own story. The worst part was not knowing who pulled the trigger—some faceless hand behind the scenes, rewriting everything for the main character.

After dark, brilliant blue fireworks exploded over downtown Silver Hollow, scattering like stars.

The whole town was at the summer festival, laughter and music bouncing off the river. Kids chased each other with glow sticks, the air thick with the scent of funnel cakes and barbecue drifting from food trucks. The blue fireworks reflected on the water, painting the world with hope and heartbreak. I leaned on the bridge’s metal railing, the paint flaking under my hands.

"I bet those are from Natalie," Derek said, sitting on the bridge railing, sipping cheap beer and gesturing at the world with me.

His legs swung over the edge, beer bottle sweating in his hand. We looked like extras in a Springsteen song—two small-town guys, dreams going up in smoke.

"I told her blue fireworks mean you’re confessing to someone, and she actually set them off for someone else."

He sounded wounded, but he played it off with a crooked grin, the kind that tried to hide the bruise. Derek always wore his heart on his sleeve, even if it meant letting everyone see it get stomped on.

He glanced at me. "Why didn’t your Aubrey set any off?"

I shoved my hands in my hoodie pockets. "I blocked her. How would I know?"

I kicked at a loose stone, pretending not to care. Truth was, blocking Aubrey felt like trying to bandage a bullet wound with a napkin. The ache lingered anyway.

The system’s alarm had been blaring in our heads all night, warning that our mission was about to fail. In another hour, it would forcibly send us home.

The digital countdown ticked in the back of my mind, a relentless metronome. It was like waiting for the SAT proctor to say, “Pencils down,” only the stakes were our whole existence.

After three years in this weird world, the thought of going back to those brutal early-morning college classes left Derek and me feeling pretty low.

I pictured my dusty dorm room, the ancient coffee pot, the endless grind of lectures and bills. Suddenly, this world—even with all its heartbreak—felt worth clinging to.

Suddenly, a ringtone shattered the night’s silence. Natalie was calling Derek.

Derek’s phone vibrated on the concrete, the old-school pop ringtone sounding out of place against the night’s hush. He swiped to answer, maybe hoping for closure, maybe just wanting to hear her voice one more time.

He answered without thinking, "Natalie, at least you still have a conscience—"

He forced a laugh, trying to sound casual, but his knuckles were white on the bottle.

But the voice wasn’t Natalie. It was a guy’s, cocky and casual. "You Derek? I’m Caleb. Nat’s taking a shower. There’s something I want to say to you alone. Just now, I accidentally knocked over your photo together—well, actually, it was on purpose. Now that I’m back, there’s no reason for your photo to be hanging here."

The guy’s tone was pure smug, like he’d just scored a touchdown and wanted everyone to know it. I could almost picture him, towel around his waist, flexing in the mirror.

A flirty giggle sounded on the other end. "Caleb, stop, I can’t take it anymore..."

You could hear the sheets rustling, the air thick with something ugly. It made my skin crawl; Derek’s jaw clenched so hard I thought he’d crack a tooth.

Derek blurted out, "Dude, are you two for real right now—"

He choked on the words, voice wobbling between anger and disbelief.

Suddenly, Natalie came on the line. The sweet girl who used to call him ‘bro’ now spoke in a cold, icy tone for the first time. "Don’t yell at Caleb."

Her voice was sharp enough to draw blood. It was like a slap—one he never saw coming.

Over the years, I’d seen firsthand how much Derek had done for Natalie. When she was broke and struggling, he worked eight odd jobs a day. When she became a superstar and started her national tour, Derek finally relaxed a bit. And now, Natalie dared to talk to Derek like this.

The memory of Derek burning the midnight oil, hustling between gigs, flashed before me. He skipped meals to buy her flowers, worked extra shifts to cover her recording fees. The world only saw her on magazine covers—Derek saw every ugly, beautiful second behind the scenes.

Derek sneered, "Natalie, I told you you’re my target. If I fail, I’ll disappear from this world."

There was a desperate edge to his words, a plea buried under bravado.

"Fine, then disappear," Natalie replied, her tone spoiled and dismissive. "I didn’t force you to chase me."

She said it like tossing out last season’s shoes, no remorse, no backward glance.

As the phone screen went dark, Natalie hung up.

The line cut out, leaving nothing but static and the distant thump of music from the festival. Derek’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him.

The wind rustled the cattails around us. Derek silently climbed down from the bridge. "I’m done. Wanna go home?"

He didn’t look at me as he spoke. There was something final in his voice—the way a slammed door echoes down an empty hallway.

I said, "If you go back, I’ll go back."

I gave him a soft punch on the arm, tried to make it light. “We’re in this together, right?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between us, heavy as the humid night.