Devi Vishwakumar stood in front of her locker at Sherman Oaks High, trying to pretend that she couldn't feel the judgmental stares burning into her back. It was the first time in her high school career that she hadn't been at the center of some social whirlwind. No texts buzzing on her phone. No Eleanor or Fabiola walking beside her, chattering about drama club or robotics. Just silence. And it was excruciating.

Devi wasn't one to suffer in silence, though. She turned to the closest gawker, some sophomore boy with braces and a bad haircut, and snapped, "Take a picture. It'll last longer."

The boy scurried away, mumbling an apology, and Devi sighed. She leaned her forehead against her locker, wondering how she had managed to turn her life into a flaming pile of garbage in just three months.

It had started, of course, with Ben Gross and Paxton Hall-Yoshida—her two great loves and, apparently, her great undoing. For a while, she thought she could have it all: the brainy intensity of Ben, who challenged her in ways no one else could, and the easy charm of Paxton, who had a jawline that could make angels weep. But, as it turned out, juggling two boys wasn't like juggling extracurriculars. People noticed. And worse, people cared.

"You're like Sherman Oaks' version of the Scarlet Letter," Eleanor had said during one of their last real conversations. "Except instead of one guy, you've got, like, two letters. A B and a P!"

"That doesn't even make sense," Devi had shot back.

"Well, neither does dating two guys at once when you're already on thin ice with half the school!" Eleanor had snapped.

Fabiola had tried to play peacemaker at first, offering her usual awkward but well-meaning advice. "Maybe if you just, like, apologize to everyone involved and lay low for a while, things will blow over?"

But Devi couldn't "lay low." It wasn't in her DNA. Apologizing meant admitting she was wrong, and she didn't want to admit that. Not to Ben, who had been furious when he found out she was still seeing Paxton. Not to Paxton, who had gone from being hurt to being totally done with her in the blink of an eye. And definitely not to Eleanor and Fabiola, who didn't understand what it was like to live with the constant pressure of being Devi Vishwakumar.

And now here she was: utterly alone, a social pariah. Even her therapist, Dr. Ryan, had seemed tired of her drama during their last session.

"Devi," Dr. Ryan had said, leaning back in her chair with that patented calm expression. "Do you think maybe some of this could have been avoided if you'd been honest with yourself about what you wanted?"

Devi had crossed her arms. "What I wanted was to not have to choose between two guys who both made me feel special for totally different reasons."

"And how did that work out for you?" Dr. Ryan had asked, her eyebrows raised.

Back at school, Devi decided she couldn't handle another lunch spent eating alone in the library while pretending to study. She needed to fix things. She needed a plan.

Her first stop was Eleanor, who was sitting with a group of drama kids in the courtyard. Devi approached cautiously, clutching her lunch tray like a shield.

"Hey, El," she said, trying for a casual tone.

Eleanor looked up, her expression unreadable. "What do you want, Devi?"

Devi bit her lip. "I just… I wanted to say I'm sorry. For being such a terrible friend lately. I know I messed up, and I should've been honest with you about everything."

Eleanor stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "Yeah, you should have."

Devi winced. "Does this mean you forgive me?"

Eleanor sighed. "I don't know, Devi. I'm tired of being dragged into your messes all the time. It's exhausting."

Before Devi could respond, one of Eleanor's new friends—a girl with dyed blue hair and a nose ring—chimed in. "Is this the girl who dated two guys at once and then lost both of them? Bold move, honestly."

Devi glared at her. "Thanks for the input, Smurfette."

Eleanor groaned. "See? This is what I'm talking about, Devi. You don't know when to stop."

Feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment and frustration, Devi muttered, "Whatever," and walked away.

Her next stop was Fabiola, who was tinkering with a robot in the engineering lab.

"Hey, Fab," Devi said, hovering awkwardly by the door.

Fabiola glanced up, then went back to her work. "What do you want, Devi?"

"I wanted to apologize," Devi said. "For everything. For being selfish and not listening to you when you tried to help."

Fabiola set down her tools and sighed. "Devi, I get that you're sorry, but this isn't just about you messing up once. It's about how you keep messing up and expecting everyone else to just deal with it."

"I'm trying to fix things!" Devi protested.

"Yeah, but it's always on your terms," Fabiola said. "Do you even realize how hard it was for Eleanor and me to watch you blow up your life again and again? We're your friends, but we're not your safety net."

Devi's stomach churned. "So what? You're done with me too?"

"I didn't say that," Fabiola said quietly. "But maybe we need some space."

By the end of the day, Devi felt like she'd been punched in the gut multiple times. She wandered aimlessly through the halls, unsure of where to go or what to do. She considered skipping orchestra rehearsal—she wasn't exactly in the mood to see Ben, who sat two rows ahead of her in the cello section. But she knew she couldn't avoid him forever.

When she walked into the music room, Ben glanced at her, his expression unreadable. He didn't say anything, but the tension between them was palpable.

After rehearsal, as everyone packed up their instruments, Devi worked up the nerve to approach him.

"Hey, Ben," she said, her voice soft.

He looked at her, his eyes wary. "What do you want, Devi?"

She hesitated. "I just… I wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For lying to you, for hurting you—"

Ben held up a hand, cutting her off. "Devi, I don't need another apology. I need you to figure out what kind of person you want to be. Because right now? You're not someone I want in my life."

His words hit her like a slap, and she blinked back tears. "Okay," she said quietly. "I get it."

That night, Devi sat on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed with a text from her mom, reminding her to come downstairs for dinner. She ignored it.

For the first time in her life, Devi felt completely, utterly alone. And maybe that was exactly what she needed to figure out who she really was—and who she wanted to be.

She grabbed her journal and started writing, not about Ben or Paxton or even Eleanor and Fabiola, but about herself. About all the things she'd done wrong and all the things she wanted to do right.

Because if there was one thing Devi Vishwakumar was good at, it was finding a way to rise from the ashes. Even if it meant doing it alone.