“Wait, let me get this straight. Austin was like a spy?”
“WBianca sits across from me in a small café a block away from our apartment. Her hands are tightly wrapped around her tea mug, her fingernails a deep navy blue. She leans forward like an angsty preteen, hungry to eat up some hot gossip.
“That’s really not the important part,” I say with a sigh.
I had my reservations about telling her any of this . . . but who else is there? It’s not like I can tell Michael. He would blame himself for any pain he’s caused me. He’d also freak out if he knew about my finances, but he needs to focus on school. Plus, he would think it’s somehow his fault that my life is such a colossal s**t show.
No. There’s no way I can share any of this with him. It would break him.
No. There’s no way I can share
