What's Wrong With Us?

After spending the day in the cafeteria with Archer and Mackenzie, Ria found herself unable to sink into the comfort of their banter. Laughter felt hollow, conversation distant—her mind kept circling back to the invitation. Celestia’s party. Tonight.
Was it real? A prank?
Why her?

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Celest wasn’t exactly known for throwing olive branches, especially to people like Ria—people whose names swirled through the rumor mill on a weekly basis. The whole thing felt like a setup.

By the time she got back to her mansion, anxiety had settled into her chest like fog. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the clock, drowning in questions she couldn’t answer.
What if I go? What if I don’t? What if it’s a trap?

A sudden knock pulled her out of her spiral. She flinched. Then groaned. Then stood, fists unconsciously clenched at her sides.

She opened the door and found Macky there, holding two Starbucks drinks. Her messy wolf-cut framed her face in a way that made her eyes look soft and sharp all at once. She wore her usual grunge fit—oversized, effortlessly cool—and her smile was small, but real. Concern lingered behind it.

Ria blinked, surprised. Then remembered: she’d texted Macky earlier, asking her to come by. She’d been so wrapped up in her spiraling thoughts, it’d completely slipped her mind.

“Hi, Ria,” Macky said gently, handing her one of the drinks.

Ria lit up with a grin as she took it. “Hey… I’m really sorry to bug you, but I desperately need a plus-one for Celest’s party…”

She stepped aside, letting Macky in. As her friend flopped onto the queen-sized bed, Ria’s eyes swept across her room—Y2K neon signs glowing pink and blue, dark academia bookshelves stacked with classics and witchy poetry, sketchpads and canvases cluttered around the drafting table.

“Nah, it’s cool. Archie’s busy anyway—dude’s drowning in our PBL project. It’s not even due till next week,” Macky said, bouncing lightly on the bed as she sipped her iced coffee.

Ria, now curled in her Bratz-pink swing chair, traced lines on her thigh. “Is he always like that?”

“Not really,” Macky sighed. “It’s just—his parents ride him hard. Always comparing him to his older brother. Med school golden boy. Can’t compete with that, right?”

“So… he’s trying to outdo him?”

Macky shook her head slowly. “Not outdo. Just… be seen as enough. But they don’t hear him, not really.” Her voice dropped, and she chewed her lip, fingers twitching like she wanted to text him but didn’t want to bother him either.

Ria felt the thread tighten between them. She got it. More than she liked to admit. “Same,” she said quickly. “My dad practically formed a new clique just to orbit my older sister’s obsession with music—mostly drums stuff.”

She stood abruptly, her drink nearly sloshing over as she moved closer to Macky, her voice rising. She had this way of trying to connect by throwing her own wounds on the table, like an offering.

“Wait… you mean the Band Geek clique?”

“Yes!” Ria burst out, gesturing wildly. A splash of her drink hit the floor. “Shit! Sorry!” She laughed, embarrassed, setting the cup aside.