Page 16 of Under the Influence

She can’t help but laugh, “I’m done needing anyone.”

I watch as she walks away, leaving me standing here in shock. I don’t even know what to do with myself. I don’t know if I’m confused or embarrassed. I don’t think I’ve ever been embarrassed a day in my life.

I imagine it feels a lot like this.

Walking inside my house, my mom eyes me from the couch. She’s curled into a ball watching some chick flick. “Find Nash?”

I sigh, “No. Just ran into the newest addition next door.”

She smiles, “Lauren was telling me that Corinne was coming to live with them. It’s a little strange if you ask me.”

I shrug, “She isn’t the friendliest.”

Her eyes widen, “Was she mean to you?”

I burst out in laughter as she pretends to take her earrings out, “Mom, stop. It’s fine.”

She smiles, “No one is mean to my baby.”

“She wasn’t exactly mean, but she didn’t jump next to me and pull her phone out for a picture. It was weird.”

Her face softens with sympathy, “Honey, not everyone is like that. Maybe she doesn’t care.”

I step back defensively, crossing my arms, “Name one girl at Legacy that would want to hang out with me and not tell everyone on their socials.”

She bites her lip, thinking hard, “Well, Avery has her own following now with her beauty videos and sponsors. Hasn’t she calmed down any?”

I laugh, “Avery is the opposite of calm, and that new manager her dad hired for her is constantly trying to spin stories about us for the press.”

She pulls her blanket up, allowing me to sit next to her. “Son, the only person in control of your happiness is you. If you aren’t happy, make a change.”

I just nod, sitting here thinking about what she said.

Am I happy?

I pull my phone out, opening Instagram. Avery’s pictures are the first on my feed. Each one perfectly posed… the perfect outfit, the perfect makeup, the perfect lighting.

The perfect lie. A cover-up.

When I first met Avery, she was different, humble even. It wasn’t until her mom died freshman year that things changed. She covered her grief in makeup and never looked back. She uses her looks as a shield, blocking out anything that could potentially hurt her. The problem is, I remember that girl from eighth grade. The one that would come to all my games, hair pulled into a ponytail, smiling at me from the bleachers.

That’s the reason I put up with it. Do I love her? I don’t think so. Do I care about her? Of course, I do.

My mind goes back to Cori. Why is she here?

I keep scrolling through Instagram, eventually pulling up the search and typing Cori Clark into the blank space.

Several results display, but none are her.

Shit.

I type Corinne Clark. Nothing.

Huh. What kind of teenage girl doesn’t have social media?

Never mind, I don’t care why she is here. The reality is that she is, and she’s going to be impossible for me to stay away from.

She might not want to be noticed, but she will definitely be remembered. Something tells me that.