Dear Sunshine,

I bet that big mouth of yours fell wide open when you saw this letter. Better close it before you catch flies.

I left Texas six months ago. Mama told me you mailed the letter that told the Fergusons how to get us out. Thank you so much. She told me you came to the house that day. I don’t know what you saw, but I want you to know I’m much better. Thank you for the books and the letters. The book of poetry by Rumi is my favorite.

One of them says, “My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that … and I intend to end up there.”

That’s how I felt my whole life … Sure that I’ll find my place

As much as I love the books, the letter to you dad is the best thing I’ve ever read. I keep it in a safe place and read it every night.

I wanted to write sooner, but we had a lot to figure out and get sorted. When we first got here, we lived with the Fergusons. But that was only for a few weeks.

Where we live now is okay. It’s only got one bedroom and bathroom though. I sleep on the pullout in the living room for now, but we’re working on getting a bigger place.

I started school. It’s a really fancy private school in Beverly Hills. Mama works in the cafeteria there, so they gave me a scholarship. They have the biggest library I’ve seen since we’ve been here, and I check out as many books as I want. I’m in ninth grade now. I love school. I’m learning everything I can. I think I want to be a teacher. My teachers all seem to love what they’re doing, and I think it would be cool to teach kids. Maybe not high school, but younger. Science is my favorite subject. I’ll show you some of the cool experiments I’ve done when we see each other.

I made friends with these guys, Reece, Omar, and David. We’re all on the track team together. None of them like to read, except Dave, but he only reads science fiction. But they’re all really nice. They all live in Beverly Hills. You should see their houses. Reece has a movie theatre inside of his. Wait till you see it.

I’m happy that we met that summer, Apollo. You’re still my best friend. I used the money I earned cutting grass in our neighborhood to buy you a copy of my newest favorite book. I hope you don’t mind that I read it once before I sent it to you. It’s called To Kill A Mockingbird, and I think it’s the best book I’ve ever read. I know you don’t like fiction, but I think you’ll like this.

In a year, I can get a real job, too. I think I want to work in a gym or something. I don’t know. I want to help my mom more. She’s always so tired, and if I get a job, maybe she can quit one of hers. Anyway, I hope you like the book.

I love you,

GSD (Those are my new initials. S is for Star, but you better never tell anyone. D is for Davis. It’s my mama’s last name.)

I fold the letter I’ve been re-reading every day for the last month. I tried to remind myself who the man I really loved was. I cling to it like a lifeline.

“They’re lining up,” Helena whispers in my ear.

I look up, and my eyes find Graham right away. He’s impossible to miss.

He’s like the Redwood of the human species. Taller and bigger, rarer, and more beautiful than everyone else.

I look down the row I’m seated at and see that everyone else’s eyes are trained on the stage. Helena is beaming at the stage, and even the ravages of cancer can’t erase the glow in her cheeks as she watches her son with pride. Her gray eyes sparkle as she watches the stage, waiting to catch a glimpse of her son. Even though she’s in the middle of aggressive cancer treatment, she insisted on being here. Despite the unusually hot June day, she’s wearing a blue UCLA sweater and a gold, wide-brimmed fedora.

Her frail, thin-skinned hand pats my knee every few minutes. I can’t tell if she’s checking to make sure I’m still there or comforting because somehow, she knows my heart is breaking.

She’s an incredible woman. We shared a long and teary embrace the first time I saw her again. Neither of us mentioned our first encounter, but our hug said things that no words ever could. Her embrace was full of gratitude and love. Mine conveyed the same. It’s because of her I have Graham in my life. I wish I’d been able to get to know her better. Her illness has made that hard. But every time we see each other, we share that same hug, and I know that I’m as special to her as she is to me.

His best friends, the rest of the “Horsemen” as the four of them are called after a picture of them at the Polo Club went viral, are there. They’ve been inseparable since high school. When I met them, I understood immediately why they were so drawn to each other. They were all born with exceptional, once-in-a-lifetime talent. Reece was born to swim. Omar has a golden foot, and Dave’s hands, ears, eyes, and brain all worked in perfect harmony to make the most beautiful sound anybody had heard in a long time. As for Graham, it’s his beauty and his natural charm. The rest of them are already celebrities, there’s omniscience about them that makes them all seem larger than life.

“He’s too beautiful to be locked in a classroom all day. Too charming to not use it.”

That was what his “agent” said when she overheard me asking Helena about Graham’s plans after graduation this morning.

Maybe she’s right. But, I don’t care. I hate her.

Like an errant rain cloud in an otherwise faultless blue sky, she’s the stain on what should be the making of beautiful memories. I look down to where she’s sitting. She’s watching me—her ice blue eyes are thoughtful. I want to give her the finger. Instead, I scowl at her.

Her eyes widen slightly before she turns up her stupidly perfect nose and looks back toward the stage.

When I walked into the restaurant where his graduation dinner was being held, Graham’s jaw hit the floor. His surprise morphed into happiness and he stood up and swept me up into a bear hug. For a second it gave me hope that the last year had really been about him working hard to take care of his family. Then, she stood up behind him, put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Graham, darling, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

His whole demeanor changed then. He flinched at her touch, and his eyes turned to stone when he said, “Apollo, this is Nanette, my agent,” and then he sat down. All night, she had one of her French manicured fingers resting on his arm or his leg or tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He never shook her off. He let her touch him like she had a right to. He didn’t look in my direction again the rest of the night.

The jealousy that had embedded itself into my heart last night had been cold and creeping when I left the restaurant. Now, it flows like a river in my veins.

When the invitation to his graduation arrived a month ago, I’d been on the fence about going. I hadn’t seen him since we got back from London. Sometimes, I think I imagined the whole trip.

Everything we’d talked about—all of his promises—had fallen apart, one by one. I understood the need for him to delay initially. When he called to tell me about his mother, I’d wanted to go to him. But my mother was having an episode, and Tante Isabel couldn’t come up from Arizona to help for another two weeks.

But then, I got a text from him saying I shouldn’t come because things were hectic, and he was working a lot and didn’t have any weekends off.

Then, every time I tried to visit afterward, he had a reason why it wasn’t a good time.

I’d fretted, but I kept reminding myself that he was going through a hard time.

Two months ago, I broke down and opened an Instagram account. Graham had used his regularly, but I hated social media and swore I’d never open an account. But, I decided to see if he’d been posting.

When I got it set up, I searched for him and what I saw turned my stomach. It wasn’t what he posted … those were mostly workout videos and a few personal pictures of him and his friends.

It was the ones he was tagged in. They were mostly events. Restaurant openings, even a few movie premiers. But in them, he was with this woman. Nanette. And they looked like a couple. And then, there were all of these pictures of him with his friends, with the hashtag #4Horsemen. Apparently, Graham was Hollywood’s new it personal trainer and up-and-coming Instagram personality.

I called him. I asked him directly to tell me what was going on. He explained it all away. She was his agent, and they went to events together to help raise his profile and bring him more high-dollar clients. He told me a story about how he and his friends had been photographed at a polo match, and someone posted it and gave them that hashtag. That too, apparently, was all about gaining new clients. The money he made paid for his mother’s care and paid his tuition.

My grandfather’s will was ironclad—nothing from my trust fund until I was twenty-five. That was seven years away. I couldn’t even offer to help him. So, I kept my mouth shut. My jealousy wasn’t more important than his mother.

He promised me as soon as life calmed down, things would get back to normal. He missed me. Loved me. We’d see each other soon.

I believed him.

At eighteen, I have enough college credits to be a junior and I know if I work hard enough, I can graduate this year. I’ve been working with my mother’s team of therapists and doctors to get her to a place where she can move to an assisted living facility. It’s meant hours of sessions each week. It’s meant painful conversations and lots of sleepless nights. But, I don’t mind.

I’ve always been a destination-oriented person. I’ll suffer the journey if I know at the end of it, I’ll be where I want to be. And where I want to be is free to share my life with Graham. And these past few months, I told myself I could and would wait for him. Because he promised he was mine.

He had lied. Made a mockery of me. I had sat in the restaurant and watched him with another woman and it had destroyed me.

Using my pounding head as an excuse, I left an hour after I got there.

I went back to my hotel room and stared at myself in the mirror. I had never resented my less-than-conventional features more than I did at that moment.

I carry my ancestors proudly on my face and body. My Iroquois grandfathers live in the deep-set slant of my eyes. My Iranian grandmother stakes claim to my broad mouth and the generous curve of my hips. I come from proud, ancient people with a rich history and beautiful culture. I’ve got an exceptionally quick mind, and I’m brave, and my heart is true. I know that I have the capacity to make a positive difference in the world. Those are the things my father taught me were important when I was a girl. So, that I wasn’t beautiful in the way women who are extolled for that virtue are never bothered me.

I thought who I was would be enough for Graham.

All of that came crashing down on me last night.

I look down the row at his friends and family. Their faces mirror what I’m feeling. He’s everyone’s best friend. Everyone’s touchstone. We all love him. I’m glad he has that. He deserves to be loved.

I don’t know Nanette beyond what I saw yesterday and what I’ve seen today. But, I can tell that her beauty is only skin deep. There is nothing loving about her pestilent presence.

Clearly, for Graham, that’s enough … or maybe, with his new-found fame, it’s everything.

I shake myself and force my attention back to the ceremony. I try to remember why I’m here. I’m proud of him. I want him to be happy. I just wish there could be more for me.

When Graham’s name booms over the loud speaker, I stand up and clap. I cheer at the top of my lungs. My heart swells with pride and elation. He’s my best friend. Even if I’m not his anymore.

Most of the crowd joins me. And, in what feels like part of the recently recurring theme of our relationship, my voice is drowned out. Just as he turns to smile for the official photographer, he lifts his face and scans the crowd until his gaze lands on me and his face lights up in a smile that makes my foolish heart beat wildly with love for him.

When our eyes lock, the stadium falls away. For just a few seconds, Graham and I are in our hammock, reading and talking.

But the sweet aftertaste of my heart’s flutters has turned bitter. Those smiles are false flags. They aren’t enough anymore.

I watch his grin turn into a beautiful, soul deep, happy smile as he sees his mother and friends sitting next to me.

I know the minute his gaze lands on Nanette because his smile falls—not just a little, but it completely disappears. He waves feebly before he hurries offstage.

What the hell is going on?

Graham struts back to his seat. He’s the walking picture of confidence. He looks so happy. His hair is pulled away from his face in a rare ponytail. I only get to see him like this when he’s sleeping. Or when we’re working out together. Otherwise, it’s always down. One lock hangs over his left eye, giving his otherwise “American as apple pie” look an edge.

“He has fans here, Apollo,” his mother says, and I turn to look at her.

“Fans?” I ask, confused.

“Yes. Apparently, he and his friends, wherever they go, a little caravan of people follow them. Isn’t that wild?” she says excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s wild,” I repeat, a hollow pain spreading in my chest as everything starts to fall into place.

The rest of the world is starting to get glimpses of him, and just like me, they’re struck dumb and in love. He’s got fans. Famous, wealthy and glamorous friends. I am the only one who missed the memo that Graham’s ambitions had done a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. I’m also, clearly, the only one who thinks there’s anything wrong with that.

Even if there’s something about Nanette that he doesn’t like, he’s obviously made his choice. From what I can see, Graham likes being surrounded by all of this exceptional beauty and talent.

Even if it’s rotten at the core.