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“Just think about one last thing. If we do this, you finally have full control of the story. You get to choose what they know and don’t know. You. All you.”

Damn it. There she goes again, biting her lip.

She nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Yeah?” I say with more excitement than I’ve shown in months.

“Yes.”

“Fuck yeah, let’s take back control! Now come over here so we can get a photo together.”

Grace moves to sit next to me and smiles.

“You’ll have to get a little closer than that, Sunny.”

“This is plenty close.”

“No, it’s not.”

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her in flush to my side. She lets out a small squeal as I hug her tight.

“Now, smile,” I say, and she does, but it looks fake as fuck.

“Let’s take another one but make it look like you like me.”

“That’s hard to do.”

“Then lean your head on my shoulder, look at the camera, and pretend I’m someone else.”

The smile she displays after those instructions pisses me off.

It’s perfect.

“Okay,” I say, accepting the photo. I upload it to my profile, then I tag Grace, adding the exact caption I told her I would.

“Do you want to hit post, or shall I?”

“Wait,” she says and covers her face. “This is a bad idea.”

“Is it?” I ask, but I’m also second-guessing it.

“What? You’re supposed to be the sure one!”

“Well, I need you to support me,” I argue.

“Preston!”

“Sunny!”

“I—screw it. I want the control. Hit share,” she says and leans over me to watch me do it.

I do it before I can back out, but I get an error message.

“Oh, damn, the internet is out,” I say. Grace breaks into laughter.

“Well, if that isn’t a sign from the universe that we were about to do something extremely stupid, I don’t know what is.”

She’s probably right, but for a moment there, I sort of thought all my problems were going away, and I was excited about it.