I can’t tell Julian. Not in person, at least. If I do, he’ll talk me into staying, and I wish that I could trust myself to say no. But he’ll do something crazy like offer me even more money, or kiss me and make me feel that unmistakable pleasure that I haven’t been able to get enough of, and with my head dizzy from his presence, I’ll tell him that I’ll stay.

So I’ll just find someone to tell him for me. I pull into the empty Club Deep parking lot and hope that someone is actually here. It’s still pretty early in the day, but maybe someone is inside. The door is unlocked, which probably means at least someone is here in one of the offices. But I’m not going to go poking around in those back hallways in case Julian himself is actually here.

The inside of the club is quiet, but there are a few people here and there. The janitorial staff is cleaning the playrooms and the stages, and across the room I see one of the bartenders taking stock of the alcohol at the main bar. “Hey, Trish,” I call out to her as I cross the room. She and I have developed the start of a friendship over the past month, the same way I feel about some of the other dancers. She’s one of the people I hope I can still talk to after I’m gone.

She looks up, surprised. “Hey, Libby. What are you doing here so early?”

I hesitate, running my fingers across the bar. As soon as I tell her there’s no going back, and even though I know that it’s the right thing to do, it still isn’t easy.

“I hate to ask you to do this, but could you pass a message to Jul—to Mr. Rivers for me?”

She gives me a look, but nods. “Sure.”

“Can you just tell him that I won’t be coming back? Tell him thank you for his generosity.”

“You’re quitting? Seriously?”

“It’s for the best,” I say.

“Well that sucks,” she says. “All of the patrons really love you. You’ve got fans.”

I frown at her. “Really?”

Trisha laughs. “Hell yeah. People like to watch you dance. People call you the hottest dancer in here. You don’t wonder why you get all the tips?”

“I don’t get all of them.”

She puts her clipboard on the bar and gives me a look that tells me I should know better. “All of them? No. Most of them? Yes. Haven’t you noticed the way the other dancers look at you?”

That same stinking dread I felt last night is back. “No.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t hurt to tell you since you’re quitting,” she says. “You might be the favorite with the crowd, and with the boss, and with them.”

“Did I do something—”

“Wrong?” She laughs. “Hell no, girl. If I were you I’d be doing the exact same thing. You’re good at what you do. But those thousand dollar tips used to be spread out among the dancers at random, just to get the club going. Now he only tips you. Like I said, I don’t blame you. But coming in and suddenly becoming the favorite isn’t always going to win you friends. Know what I mean?”

My face goes hot, and I look away, feeling sudden tears in my eyes. I had thought I was making friends. Now I’ll never know who was being nice to me because they liked me and who was nice to me because they thought I was the favorite and didn’t want to get on my bad side. I shake my head, sniffing to keep from showing her how much that upsets me. “Well, they don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Guess not,” she says. “You gonna stop by at all?”

“Sure.” I try to sound more upbeat than I feel. “Gotta come see my best friend dance sometime, right?”

“Right.” She turns to go back to her stock of the liquor. “See you around, Libby.”

“See you.”

I’m proud of myself. I get all the way out to my car before I start to cry. So much for my perfect dream job. Everything about it was an illusion. My best friend is barely speaking to me, and almost everyone I worked with hated me. The only thing that was real was Julian, if that was even real. He said he wanted to be with me outside the club but that never happened. Who knows if he ever really meant it. This is all so fucked up. No wonder Cosette is in this kind of spiral. If she was already jealous and suddenly all of the dancers are saying that I’m the favorite, if everybody was saying that, then her jealousy would have just gotten worse. And even though I never meant for any of this to happen I still feel like a shitty friend.

I scrub at my eyes, trying to get the tears to stop, but they won’t. Screw it. I start the car and head for home. At least at home I know what I can do to make this all go away. I can just do what I used to, curl up with a book or a movie and a tub of ice cream. Probably a movie, because if I pick up one of the books from the growing stack of romance novels on my dresser, all I’m going to do is imagine that it’s me and Julian, and I’m not entirely sure that I want to think about him right now.

There’s a chime from my phone when I pull into my driveway, and I pull it out of my bag as I turn off the car. It’s a text from Julian. My stomach churns.

Are you okay? After last night.

I text back quickly.

I’m fine.

Only a few seconds pass before the phone chimes again.

Are you free to come in early? I’d love to spend some time with you before your shift.

My shift. At the club. Never elsewhere. After everything, I’m finding it all a little too hard to believe. All a little too convenient. What if it was all just a ploy? Fuck the dancer and make her popular so the people in the club admire her. Make her your star so people will keep coming back to see her. Maybe it’s not true, maybe it’s not real, but right now I’m having a hard time figuring out what is and isn’t. I text him.

I won’t be coming in at all. You can speak with Trisha about it.

Then, as an afterthought,

Did you know the whole time that everyone hated me?

A chime even faster than the last one.

What are you talking about?

I don’t answer, pushing out of the car and heading towards the house. Chime.

Libby?

I turn off my phone and drop it in my purse. I don’t want to have to explain it He can talk to Trish about it. She seems to know all the dirty details anyway so it’s probably better if he gets his information from her. I clearly don’t know anything about anyone.

Music is playing when I go inside, coming from Cosette’s room. Up and about then, that’s good. I head down the hallway and pause in the doorway. Cosette is dancing in front of her mirror while she curls her hair. Her make up is partially done, and the way she’s dancing is goofy, but I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time. She’s wearing one of her new club costumes—I was there when she picked it out. A strapless black jumpsuit with giant flared pantalets that make her look long and lean and amplifies every move she makes with her legs by ten.

She catches my eye in the mirror and startles, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. A couple minutes.”

Turning towards me, she gives me a long, hard look. “You look like hell. Where have you been?”

I chuckle. I climbed a mountain and had a crying fit, so yeah, I probably don’t look great. “I climbed Lookout Mountain.”

“You haven’t done that in forever. Why now?”

I shrug. “It seemed like a good idea today.”

“You’re crazy,” she mutters. “It’s the middle of summer.”

She finishes her curls and applies the final touches of eyeliner that make her eyes look bigger than life. This is the Cosette I miss, and I have to fight the rising of tears again. “You look beautiful,” I say.

Cosette snorts, nearly messing up her eyeliners. “We both know that—present state aside—you’re the pretty one. Everyone knows that, Libby.”

She makes a face at me, and I know she’s joking, but right now it just hits too close to home. “Yeah, well, from now on they won’t. At least not at the club.”

“Why not?”

“Because I quit.”

Cosette’s jaw drops open. Literally drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Perfectly. I need a drink.” We have vodka in the freezer, and I make a beeline for it.

Cosette is following close on my heels and she slams the freezer shut before I can get to it. “Water. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’ve got something going on, and you didn’t pick up my ass off the ground last night for me to let you do the same damn thing. Now spill.”

I get two glasses from the cupboard and pour water for both of us. “There’s nothing to spill,” I say, handing her one of the glasses. “It just wasn’t a good fit for me.”

“The hell there isn’t. You loved working at the club. Talk to me, Libby.” Then, in a quieter voice, “We never talk anymore.” Her words bring everything rushing to the surface and I’m crying again and I can’t help it. Cosette is looking at me, horrified. And I know it’s because I just started crying without warning. “Oh my god, Libby. What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” I sit down at the kitchen table, trying to speak even though it feels like it’s impossible. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you or make you feel bad, and it’s all my fault.” I haven’t cried like this in a long time, and part of me wonders just how long this has been coming. “I’ve been a shitty friend, and I hope that you can forgive me. I wasn’t going to take the job, I swear. I was never going to take it, but Julian offered me so much money.” My voice breaks and I have to take a breath, “I couldn’t say no.”

“How much money?” Cosette asks.

I take a sip of my water, trying to get control of myself. “Two hundred thousand dollars.”

The glass she’s holding falls to the ground, forgotten, water spilling everywhere. “Holy fucking shit.”

“And I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to tell you about Julian or the money, because I thought you were nervous. Maybe a little unsure about us working together.”

“You can’t quit,” she shakes her head. “Not when you’re getting that kind of money.”

“I was getting the money but I was losing you. Nothing is worth that.” I hiccup, and take another sip of water.

Cosette’s eyes are glassy now too, and I’m afraid that if she starts crying that I’ll lose it again. Not to mention that she’ll ruin her make-up. “I can’t believe you’d do that for me.”

“I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

She tackles me in a hug, crying now too. “I’m sorry too. I haven’t exactly been a saint. I got jealous, and then you kept getting all the tips and everyone was saying you were the best dancer and I felt so worthless. And since I’m the one who auditioned in the first place, I just couldn’t shake the feeling. None of that is your fault. I’ve been a shitty friend too.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t never make you jealous like that on purpose.”

She nods. “I know. Just…sometimes it seems like things come so easily for you. And I’ve been struggling for so long that it’s hard sometimes. But I don’t want that to mess up us.”

“Yeah.”

We hold each other for a few minutes more, and then she asks, “So you really were fucking the boss?”

I laugh, even though it’s still weak from the crying. “Yes. And it was great.”

“Are you going to keep seeing him?”

“I don’t know.” It’s an honest answer. I tell her a little more about Julian and the time we’ve spent together. How he helped her last night, in case she doesn’t remember. How he laughs at my jokes. How he makes me feel pleasure I’ve never felt. But I also share my doubts. “We never saw each other outside of the club. And after finding out how the rest of the dancers actually felt about me, I can’t say for sure that it wasn’t all a ruse.” I take a shaky breath. “Just a stupid fling.” My heart hurts when I say those words. I don’t want it to be a stupid fling. I want it to be a current fling. I want it to be a future fling.

“It sounds kind of like you’re falling for him.”

“Would that be so bad?”

She smile., “If you never see him again, yeah, that might be bad.”

“Yeah.” I can’t bring myself to say more than that. It’s true, but now that I’m not going to be working there, I don’t know if he’ll want me. And I’m too much of a coward to find out. At least today.

Cosette sighs. “This kind of sucks. I really want to stay, have a girls’ night, but I need to go to work.”

“That’s okay. We’ll have a girls’ night your next night off.”

“Deal,” she says. “Pizza and Project Runway?”

“You know it.”

Cosette bounces off to her room to finish getting ready, and I finish my water, relishing the hydration after my long climb up the mountain. I don’t really want to be alone tonight, but I’m not going to stop Cosette from going to work. That would be more selfishness on top of what I’ve already done. Cosette comes back with her bag, and gives me a hug. “I’ll see you later, okay? Try not to mope too much.”

“I’ll try.”

She winks at me. “But there’s cookie dough in the fridge just in case you want to.”

I laugh, and as I do, our doorbell rings. I look at Cosette. “Was that the doorbell?”

“We have a doorbell?” She laughs. “Shows how much we entertain.”

A knock follows, insistent. “Guess they really want us to answer.”

“I’ll get it. I’m heading out anyway.”

I follow her to the entryway on the off chance it’s, you know, an axe murderer waiting on the other side. But it’s not an axe murderer. Cosette opens the door, and there, breathing like he’s run a marathon, is Julian.