msoperaghost

[msoperaghost]

dont mean to be rude but pls no kaylor in this story

But we still have 15 years to go, I can't promise anything right now. :(

[msoperaghost]

chapter V - moon river

I wake up with a bitter taste in my mouth and feel a slight tug in my hair. I slept in my clothes and makeup from the party, but it’s the ponytail that bothers me the most. It’s going to be a nightmare untangling the knots and getting all the hairspray out. I grab my phone and see it’s already 10AM—I overslept. There are notifications from Cory, Naya, and Lea, but I decide to ignore them and take this morning just for myself. I need to deal with everything I’m feeling on my own and figure out how to handle it. I know that Taylor Swift—the girl who sang beautifully at the party last night—is my secret best friend, wonderstruck, but I have no idea how to bring it up. I don’t know exactly how to tell her I saw her and that I know it’s her. And I also don’t know if she recognized me in the crowd, wearing a mask that covered half my face. Did I imagine that moment we locked eyes last night? What if this is all in my head? I mean, I know wonderstruck works with music, but she never told me she performed or that she was that good. It’s a lot of questions for someone who just woke up with the worst hangover in the world.

I jump out of bed and head to the bathroom. I’m startled when I catch my reflection in the mirror—my makeup is a smudged mess, and my hair looks like a forgotten doll’s from the 80s: frizzy and completely wild. I lean in and notice a small purplish spot in the corner of my left eye. I don’t remember bumping into anything, but when I touch it, there’s a slight sting, so I must’ve hurt myself somewhere and have no memory of it. I take a deep breath and step into the shower. I need a hot, long one—not just to wash off the makeup and hairspray, but to try and rinse away this feeling that something is very wrong with me. That heavy sensation in my stomach that something bad is coming and I don’t know how to stop it or how to react.

With the shower done, my hair clean and hairspray-free, I throw on my favorite oversized T-shirt and head to the kitchen to brew some coffee. Maybe a strong black coffee is all I need to save this gray, lonely October Sunday. I believe with all my heart in the power of that coffee.

Four mugs later, and I still feel terrible. I can’t find a way to deal with my emotions, I can’t decide if I should bring up the party with wonderstruck or wait for her to mention it herself. I don’t know if she’s mad at me, and the feeling that I might’ve hurt her is worse than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s Sunday—the day of the week we usually spend the most time talking. Against my will, my mind replays our last Sunday online, and I feel sad thinking I might’ve ruined that forever.

That day, we agreed to each drink a glass of wine at home, and we talked for hours. I finished a bottle and a half on my own, and she wasn’t far behind—she sent me a photo of her empty bottle, and I did the same. We talked so much that day Tumblr started using a verification method in our messages to make sure we weren’t spam or hackers running wild on the platform. She told me about her difficult relationship with her father, and I shared the struggles I face with my family. She told me about a fight she had with one of her best friends but didn’t tell me the person’s name, and I didn’t want to invade her privacy by asking. I start missing even the silly jokes and random questions she always throws at me, and that’s when I decide it’s time to open my laptop. I have to face my fears or I’ll lose her for good.

downtherabbithole: Hey! Can we talk?

I wait a few minutes and there’s no reply. I think maybe she’s asleep or busy with other things, but then I see a post from her 8 minutes ago—a black square image with the quote: “If you're a bird, I'm a bird.” From The Notebook. A strange new feeling takes over me—I don’t know if it’s a message meant for me, if the words mean something, or if she just really liked the movie and wanted to post it. I wait a few more minutes and decide to try again.

downtherabbithole: Are you mad at me?

Still nothing. No reply, and she’s turned off the feature that shows when she’s online, so I have no way of knowing anymore. What did I do?

The rest of the day drags on in a blur of anxiety and nerves. I can’t eat a thing, and I can’t bring myself to shut the laptop. Every ten minutes I check my Tumblr inbox, but there’s no sign of her. She hasn’t posted anything else, and she hasn’t replied. When the sky begins to darken and I realize it’s past 5PM, I start to feel desperate. The panic, the torment, the difficulty breathing all consume me completely, leaving me obsessive and compulsive. I refresh Tumblr endlessly—nothing. I wonder if I should send one more message, maybe plead for a response, but I know it wouldn’t be fair to push her like that if she doesn’t want to talk to me. I can’t put her in a position where replying feels like an obligation instead of a choice—that would destroy everything we’ve built over the past year.

After one last refresh—it’s past 7PM—I give up. I admit defeat, and I feel the tears fighting their way out of my eyes, like they have a will of their own, and I can’t hold them back. What started as a quiet, restrained cry turns into a sob so intense it almost hurts—a grief for something that never even existed, overwhelming me, consuming me. I cry for so long that I stop trying to hold it in or push it down. I know I need to let all this bad feeling out of me, and maybe that’s what’s happening through the tears. I don’t remember exactly what time I fell asleep, but I know that night I went to bed crying—and alone.

"Di, it’s already 2PM and I’m really worried." – With half-open eyes and a bit of difficulty, I see a silhouette sitting at the edge of my bed. It’s Naya, and I realize I didn’t respond or answer her yesterday. – "What happened? And don’t lie to me because I can see your face is swollen from crying. I know a depressed friend when I see one." – She says, pointing to my face.

I sit up against the headboard and hug my knees, burying my face in them as if that could make everything disappear. I want to tell her because I know I’d feel better, but I don’t know where to start. When I lift my eyes to meet hers, I notice that Naya has a different expression than usual—she’s relaxed, and I can tell she’s not judging me. She actually looks really concerned. I see understanding in her eyes, but I just shrug and take a deep breath before answering.

"When did you know you liked girls?" – I say, a little shyly.

"Don’t tell me all this crying is because of that short girl. Di, you used to do better." – There it was, the sarcasm that only suits her.

"It’s not about Lea." – It wasn’t about Lea, but I knew Naya had noticed the way I looked at her.

"It’s not about anyone, I was just joking. This is about you and only you. How about I tell you about my experience while we eat, and if you feel comfortable, you can tell me about yours? I brought food." – She was holding my foot over the blanket, as if trying to offer some kind of moral support through her touch, which actually made me feel safe. I agreed—maybe it was time to open up to someone about all of this, and no one was better for that than Naya.

We sat at the kitchen table and started opening the brown fast-food bags. I couldn’t help but laugh. Not knowing what I might want and certain I hadn’t eaten anything, Naya had brought a bit of everything. One of the bags had nuggets and fries, another had burritos, there was a pack of chocolate brownies, and a final one with cheeseburgers. I have to admit she went out of her way to feed me, and that has to be a sign that she’s a great friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her—I’d probably still be asleep in a deep depression trance in my bed. I decide to start with the nuggets.

"You really went all out with this feast!" – I giggle and take my first bite of a chicken nugget. It tastes great, and I realize I was hungrier than I’d admitted to myself. – "Naya, this is really... thank you. Honestly." – I smile at her.

"This leftover food? Come on!" – She laughs, pointing at the nuggets. I know they’re fresh, and her casual tone always makes me feel comfortable. I know I can count on her way more than I’ve actually been doing. "But let’s get to the point—you were curious to know how I started kissing girls, weren’t you?" – She chose to start with the burrito, which she unwrapped and dipped in ketchup. I never understood her taste in ketchup—she puts it on everything like it’s the best flavor in the world.

"Well, yeah! How did you find out that’s what you liked?" – I ask with the same casual tone she uses. For her, this is a totally normal topic, but for me it’s really complex, and I can’t even explain to myself what I’ve been feeling.

"That?" – She raises an eyebrow at me while chewing a bite of her burrito with ketchup.

"Yes, I mean, how did you find out you prefer girls?" – Suddenly, a single chicken nugget feels like it filled up my entire stomach.

"I don’t prefer girls. Let’s just say I don’t have preferences—I just go with what I’m feeling and kiss whoever I want to kiss. No discrimination." – I get a little embarrassed. She’s so confident when she talks about it that I feel like a little kid learning something new from every word she says.

"Let me rephrase the question... how did you find out you also liked kissing girls?" – I give a sheepish smile, take a sip of my Diet Coke, and wait.

"Di, my answer is way simpler than you’re expecting. One day in eighth grade, I realized I was staring at one of my classmates’ boobs at school. That day I realized I was staring because I thought they were pretty." – She shrugs.

"But did you kiss her?" – I grab a fry and take a bite. I’m not hungry, and the anxiety is making me a bit nauseous, but I don’t want to disrespect all the effort she put into this meal.

"No, she wasn’t gay and I didn’t try anything back then. It was just... self-awareness. I understood that I liked it and accepted that I wanted to kiss girls too." – Always too casual. But maybe the fact that she realized it so young is the reason she’s so comfortable with her sexuality. "I notice the way you look at the long-nose girl. She’s not my type, but hey, I support whatever it is my friend wants to kiss!"

"Stop, I don’t want to kiss Lea..." – I give an awkward laugh, and I’m not totally sure it’s true. Naya has caught me staring at Lea a few times, and it definitely wasn’t in a friendly way—I know I was admiring her, and when I drink, I’m not great at hiding it. – "Not every physical attraction has to end in making out, right?"

"Oh, so there’s someone else. Phew, I’m relieved—I don’t know if I could handle her voice if I had to spend more time around her because of you. Who is it?" – She’s already finished her first burrito and is now nibbling on fries.

"I can’t explain it. It’s... complicated. What I do know is that I feel awful, and I don’t know how to fix the mess I made." – I try to hold back the tears. I don’t want to cry in front of Naya—she’s got her protective friend skin on, and I don’t want her to worry more than she already is.

"So, you’re in love? Now that’s news—man or woman, Dianna Agron in love is something I didn’t expect to see with my own eyes anytime soon." – She leans back on the bench, Coke in hand, and I know she’s waiting for the full story.

I understand the curiosity and surprise in her voice—I'm not someone who falls in love easily. Ever since I moved to New York and started hanging out with Naya, I’ve had several flings, none of which ever meant anything to me. She’s seen me end things with all of them just because I got bored of doing the same things, and she even gave me a nickname among the theater crowd: the ice princess.

We’ve had a few conversations about my lack of interest in long-term relationships, and our conclusion was always that I’ve grown too used to living alone and just couldn’t fit anyone into my routine. That’s not entirely wrong, but I think the problem runs deeper than that. Living alone is great, but I didn’t even have the patience to see my boyfriends more than twice a week—and that should’ve been a red flag.

The truth is, I didn’t even enjoy being with them. I had sex because it was expected of me, because it felt like a role I had to play in society. After all, people expect you to build a family someday, and for that, you need to go through the experience of choosing the lucky guy who’ll be your husband and father to your kids. The idea never made me happy. I don’t think I’m the kind of girl meant to fulfill that social role.

“I don’t know, I...” – Before I can finish my fragile train of thought, the tears start to threaten again. I feel my eyes burning, and I just don’t have the strength to keep up my facade anymore, so I cry. This time, the sobs come harder, and I feel Naya’s arms wrapping tightly around me, her fingers stroking my hair.

“Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ve got you. Please, Di, explain what’s going on.” – She doesn’t let go of the hug for even a second.

I cry for a few more minutes, until my tear glands simply give up, and only then does Naya pull away, gently wipes my cheeks with her hands, and looks me in the eyes. I feel so safe with her in that moment that I decide it’s time to tell her everything. And so... I do.

I tell her everything from the beginning. I talk about the sleepless nights spent secretly talking to wonderstruck, about how I found out she was a girl, and about our little game of sharing one fact or secret a day. I tell her how she became my emotional support and the attachment I never wanted to lose. I tell her everything about the masquerade party—even though I’m not entirely sure about anything that happened—I need to get it off my chest, so I share it anyway.

I had so much to say that when I finally stop talking, I realize the sun has gone down outside.

“I’m not a fan of online relationships, I think they’re risky, but if you like this girl that much, it’s time to make her respond. Show me her Tumblr.” – Naya speaks with a tone much more protective than I’d like.

I bring my laptop to the kitchen table and open it. It’s a bit humiliating to show this secret, shadowy part of my life to her, but after everything I’ve told her, a secret Tumblr account feels like nothing—it’s just a detail. I log into my account and go straight to the inbox to check the messages. She’s gone. Wonderstruck’s account has vanished from my inbox.

I try searching on Tumblr—maybe I deleted the conversation in a moment of desperation—but I can’t find anything. Naya stares at me with concern, and I think the panic on my face is pretty obvious, because she gently rests a hand on my shoulder, looks at me kindly, and says before I can start sobbing again:

“Di, I don’t agree with what you’re doing, but I’m going to help you. At the party, she said she plays every Thursday and Saturday at Stardust Bar here in New York. We’re going there together on Thursday for a happy hour.”

“You think she’ll recognize me? You think she’ll hate seeing me there?” – I ask, genuinely unsure. She deleted the Tumblr account, the only place we ever spoke. That doesn’t sound like someone eager to see me again.

“If she doesn’t want to, at least you’ll know. And we’ll close this chapter with certainty that it’s really over.” – Her words cut like a blade. I don’t want to close any chapter, but she’s absolutely right. – “And until Thursday, I’m going to do some research on her through every social media platform. We’re going to find that bitch. Don’t worry—I’m a great personal stalker.” – And she really is.

Naya leaves because she has a date with Heather and needs to be rested for tomorrow’s performance at the theater, but she makes me promise to take care of myself until Thursday and to always answer her texts and calls. I agree—she’s all I have right now—and I understand I need to move on. After all, this isn’t the end of the world, is it?

When she leaves, I delete my Tumblr account too. There’s no point in keeping it if I no longer have a way to talk to wonderstruck. It’s time to prepare myself mentally for this meeting.

The week flies by in the blink of an eye. I feel like I’ve put my whole life on pause just waiting for this moment—the moment I finally come face to face with Taylor, confront her, and put an end to this nagging uncertainty.

I rehearsed several different speeches about how I would approach her, what I’d say, how I’d act—but in the end, I accepted that nothing could really prepare me for this moment, because even I don’t know how I feel about her.

Naya thinks I’m in love. I think I’m emotionally dependent, not necessarily romantically. I just needed to see her, and then things would unfold however they were meant to—no scripts or rehearsals, because life isn’t a stage play. I convinced myself of that.

Lea (4:27PM): Hey! Want to go out tonight? You've been MIA!!! Dianna (5:02PM): You’re right, I’ve been a terrible friend, but I promise to do better. Can we plan something for Friday?

Lea! The week was so intense and full of emotions that I ended up pushing her aside. She invited me to lunch a few times and I turned her down every time—I just didn’t feel up to being in public, let alone eating.

I haven’t had a proper meal any day this week, and the nausea in my stomach hasn’t gone away, so I decided to leave Lea out of this chaotic moment of my life. Today everything will be resolved and I’ll be able to go back to functioning normally in society. I can’t wait for all these dark feelings to finally leave my body so I can feel normal again.

I toss my phone on the bed and start getting ready. I’m anxious, not sure what to wear—I want to impress her, but not come off as too much. What if she only sees me as a friend? Worse—what if she doesn’t want anything to do with me at all?

This tension is about to be resolved... or get much, much worse. Today is the decisive day.

I go with a chic but simple look: a black knee-length dress and a red blazer. I leave my hair down and finish with black knee-high boots. It’s already really cold in New York, and I hope the bar has heating—otherwise, I’ll end this night frozen solid.

Naya (6:13PM): I'm on my way, be ready!!!

For the first time, I actually am ready. I’m not 100% satisfied with how I look—my makeup could’ve been better, maybe I should’ve picked a shorter or more eye-catching outfit—but honestly, I’m not in the mood for that. I don’t want to project a happiness I haven’t been feeling, or a level of excitement I don’t have to offer. I’m going to meet her with the most honest version of myself. No more hiding behind masks—I want to be sincere and tell her my whole truth. If she wants to stay in my life, it’ll be because she truly wants to, knowing exactly who I am and how I am.

"Are you going to be executed or going to win a girl over?" Naya said, leaning on the front door. "I think a bit of both," I replied, walking over to her, and we headed to the bar.

“Remember Chris?” she asked as we walked toward the subway. The wind was freezing, and I felt like I might pass out from the cold, so I linked my arm through hers and we walked tightly together. “I do! Chris the producer?” I asked. I remembered a Chris, but not his face.

“He’s now a manager at Café Carlyle. He asked me to recommend someone who could sing three nights a week, and I sent him your audition tapes. He loved them!” We started going down the stairs to the subway station, and the air started to feel a little warmer, which was comforting.

“Naya, you’re taking care of me like I’m a child,” I said, but I was smiling, genuinely grateful that someone cared for me as much as she did. “Do you have his number?”

“I’ll text it to you, but he wants you to audition by performing tomorrow. I sent him your classic playlist and he was obsessed!” She really doesn’t waste any time. “The job is temporary, but the pay is decent and you’ll still have time to look for something in theater.”

“I don’t even know how to thank you,” I replied, emotional. But she pulled me into the subway car and didn’t let me get too sentimental.

“Don’t thank me, just be there tomorrow at 5PM, okay? Your performance starts at 7PM, but I think he wants to talk to you first and, you know, show you the place and all that.” She shrugged casually.

During the subway ride, we chatted a bit about Café Carlyle and how its classic style is elegant and classy. She gave me a few details about the playlist she sent him, and it’s full of all my favorite classic songs to sing—a selection that’s so me and fits my voice perfectly. For the first time in a long while, I was genuinely excited about working. I decided I’d give my all to this temporary job, even if it only lasted three months. I’d commit for myself and for Naya—I wanted her to feel proud for recommending me, and I wanted Chris to be pleased with the result I could deliver.

We got off at the station closest to Stardust and had to walk a few blocks through the cold to reach the entrance. Each step toward the bar made my stomach twist, and I felt like I could throw up at any moment—even though I hadn’t eaten anything to throw up. Naya quickened her pace, and before I knew it, we were inside.

The bar had a country vibe, with cowboy hats hanging on the walls and old guitars displayed everywhere. The wooden tables gave the place a rustic feel, and I couldn’t help but wonder what a girl who sings songs like Enchanted was doing performing here every Thursday and Saturday. I swallowed hard and sat at the table Naya had secured for us.

“We’ll have whiskey. Two! On the rocks, please,” I heard her tell the waiter. She looked at me, concerned—I think she could tell I was starting to get uncomfortable.

Our drinks arrived, and we started taking bigger sips than usual. I noticed she was also anxious, maybe a little skeptical of this whole situation. When we finished and she ordered a second round, a band stepped onto the stage. It looked like a country duo. That’s when I realized Taylor wasn’t there—and that was what had been making Naya uneasy. She glanced at me, and when the waiter returned with our new drinks, she was the one who asked:

“Wasn’t that girl supposed to sing here tonight? Taylor Swift?” she asked with a sharp tone, and the waiter quickly responded. “Yeah, she was, but she landed a better deal with the Bluebird Café, and they asked for exclusivity. She won’t be performing here anymore,” he said before walking away.

I swallowed hard, feeling a massive wave of sadness take over me. I had prepared myself for rejection—but I had never prepared for not even getting the chance to see her. That wasn’t part of the plan, and this change left me deeply unsettled. I tried to hold it together—I didn’t want to cry again in front of Naya—and she noticed I was on the verge of falling apart, so she quickly changed the subject.

“A toast to your first day at Café Carlyle tomorrow!” she said, raising her glass of whiskey, and I raised mine too.

We stayed at that country bar—where neither of us fit—until 10PM. We had a few more rounds of whiskey and talked about everything possible regarding my first day at Café Carlyle. As the hours passed and the alcohol kicked in, I felt well enough not to cry or cause Naya more worry.

That night, I had a dreamless sleep. I woke up a few times feeling anxious, but I did my best to block out the invasive thoughts and focused on my playlist for the next day. It was a terrible night—but at least it came without sobs.

Lea (10:48AM): Hey, Cory told me about Café Carlyle! We'll be there tonight cheering you on. Good luck! Xoxo

Dianna (10:52AM): I was just about to text you! I’m so happy, and I’ll be even happier when I see you all there. See you later. xoxo

I’m sad and feeling low, but at the same time, I know I can’t let this opportunity—so generously arranged by Naya—slip by. I need to give my best tonight, deliver my best performance, so that everyone feels proud and satisfied. It was about time I got back to work—no savings in the world could last long enough to keep someone afloat in New York. I think even the air we breathe here is more expensive than anywhere else. Today, I’ll make sure to eat all my meals and function like a normal person—I need to be okay, with nothing outwardly off.

And that’s what I do. All day long, I make sure to drink a full glass of water every 30 minutes, I had a healthy breakfast with fruit and plain yogurt, my lunch even included salad, and now, close to the time to leave, I’m having a few granola bars and getting ready—I want to look flawless.

Naya (4:49PM): Good luck!! (please don’t be late, PLEASE)

I arrive at Café Carlyle only six minutes late, which is a historic milestone for me, but Chris doesn’t seem to notice I wasn’t on time. He greets me with a warm hug—so different from what I was used to with Ryan—and shows me around the place. The stage where I’ll be singing is small and compact, facing some very fancy and aesthetically beautiful round tables. He introduces me to the pianist, Matthew, and the violinist, Jenna. They all welcome me so kindly that I feel right at home—it feels genuine. From what I understood, they all watched my audition tapes to figure out the best key to accompany me in.

We rehearse for a few minutes, just enough to build the chemistry we’ll need for the night, and it doesn’t take long for us to feel like a band that’s been playing together for years. The connection between the three of us is incredible, especially considering we’ve just met. For a moment, I even forget what had me feeling so down earlier.

At exactly 7PM, my friends walk in and take the table closest to the stage. Naya arrives hand in hand with Heather—it seems like things are getting more serious between them. I hope I’ll have the chance to get to know her better tonight. Cory and Lea come in together, and I see everyone already has their drinks. I try not to show any visible emotion so I don’t risk ruining the performance.

Matt begins playing a few notes, Jenna follows, and I know it’s time. I start singing my first song: Is That All There Is by Peggy Lee, a 1969 classic that very few people appreciate nowadays.

The audience seems genuinely interested in my voice—everyone’s paying such close attention that it almost feels like I’m in a theater. Some are nibbling or sipping their drinks, but their eyes keep returning to me. Cory looks the most emotional—I swear I saw his eyes shimmer with pride, and that fills me with happiness and satisfaction. Naya applauds after every song, and Heather follows her lead. I know I’m doing a good job because Heather’s not the kind to applaud anyone easily—not even me. Lea seems impressed. I still can’t tell whether she’s happy or a bit unsettled to see me singing for so long when she’s not the main act this time, but that uncertainty doesn’t bother me. In fact, I find it kind of sweet—it’s her way of acknowledging others.

“Wow, you’re a wonderful audience! Thank you so much to everyone who took a few minutes of your evening to listen to me. Now I’ll close the night with one of my favorites!” I wink at Matt, and he knows exactly what to do. Gently, he plays the opening notes of Moon River, and I begin to sing.

I take my final bow and see that everyone is applauding, which brings a huge smile to my face—so big I can feel my cheeks go numb. Before I step off the stage to join my friends at their table, I notice a figure sitting alone at the farthest table. She’s also wearing a formal black outfit and looks me straight in the eyes. When I lock eyes with her, she raises a glass—what looks like white wine—and smiles with such radiance that I feel like I might faint from the impact. Her golden hair is straight today, and her bangs are cut sharply across her forehead, completely covering it.

Suddenly, the world goes silent around me. I can’t hear or see anything except the girl toasting alone in my direction from the back of the bar. It’s Taylor. And she’s here, in flesh and bones.

[msoperaghost]

where is the.first chapter of your fanfic 😭😭😭😭😭

Oh, hi!

How are you doing? :)

Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66012535/chapters/170091697

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]

chapter IV - I'm wonderstruck

Time passed faster than I was prepared for it to pass. It’s already October, and I’m still unemployed, with very few opportunities for a job in theater here in New York. I think I spent so much time writing verses and little poems in my journal that I let myself get carried away by creativity and forgot to prepare for the real world—and thinking about that makes me more anxious every day. Did I just keep postponing adulthood and am now pretending that my parents will swoop in and save me like they always did when I was a child? I don’t know how to answer my own questions about myself, and that’s left me feeling pretty depressed. Deep down, I know my parents won’t come to save me because they don’t even know I’m unemployed. I’ve been pretending everything is fine, and I plan to keep pretending until it actually is. What’s that saying? “Fake it till you make it, till it’s true.” I’m going to live that phrase literally.

Even though I’m not living my best days, Lea has been a great influence on me. Every morning she stops by and leaves my favorite Starbucks coffee in the kitchen before heading out for her day, always with a little note saying something positive about me. Sometimes I even believe the qualities she makes up about me, but as the hours pass, I sink right back into that dark place. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’m sure she’s already realized how differently we see the world. She finds everything fun, is always laughing, and nothing seems to shake her confidence or her faith that it’s going to be a great day. Me? I’m always sighing, trying to understand the meaning of life when I don’t even like needing to exist in the first place. And yet, for some reason, she’s still my friend and tries to cheer me up every day—ever since our dinner at the Japanese restaurant she picked.

I remember being really impressed by the place! The walls were made of red wood, decorated with fine black paint strokes that formed Japanese characters. I have no idea what they said, but that décor gave the place a warm and beautiful touch. Our table was the most secluded one, tucked away in a corner with no chairs. It was a low wooden table with small yellowish lanterns lighting the top. We sat on the floor, and that’s when I realized that was the point, since everyone else there was also sitting on the floor while eating. I found the whole scene wonderful, and I remember feeling happy when I saw her warm smile as our eyes met.

Dinner was lovely, too. We tried several different types of sushi—the waiter brought them out two by two—and Lea seemed to know everything about the menu. It was impressive for someone who hasn’t been in the city that long and probably hasn’t even been to that restaurant many times. Being with her is always easy because she’s extremely decisive and firm. I don’t have to make decisions or think too much—she does it for both of us. I know I sound completely passive when I say that’s what makes our friendship easy, but I’m just not in a place in my life where making decisions is something I want to do. I don’t want to. I’m living on autopilot, and I know it. I also know I need to snap out of it, but I don’t have the strength to think about that now. So I just let Lea guide me through life.

That night brought us closer. Lea told me all about her family’s history—how her parents encouraged her to sing from a very young age, and how that made her extremely demanding of herself and very competitive with everyone around her. I learned that nothing will stand in her way and that success will be the inevitable result of her years of hard work. That made me admire her—and envy her too. Deep down I know I want to make it to Broadway, but I just don’t have her willpower. I don’t have her drive or her fierceness. I wonder if maybe I should just give up and get a normal job. Maybe I could be a secretary or work retail. Whatever I end up doing, I know Lea is not someone I’d want to compete against for a role.

Lost in these thoughts, I hear my phone ringing and see Naya’s name pop up on the screen. Another person I never want to compete with again.

“Hey,” I say, unenthusiastically.

“Wow, that was the saddest ‘hey’ I’ve ever heard,” she says with that signature sarcastic tone of hers.

“Oh no, I’ve always been sad, I just used to love you more before,” I try to match her sarcasm, but I know I failed miserably.

“Sure, sure… anyway, I’m calling to let you know I’ll pick you up at 6 PM. Cory and Lea scored VIP tickets to a masquerade party, and it’s open bar.” I notice how excited she is, and I know I don't have the power to win this argument.

“Alright, but I’m only going because it’s an open bar party.” She can’t see me, but I roll my eyes. I really don’t feel like going to any kind of party right now. But it's Naya, there's no point trying.

“Great. I already got your mask—it’s Phantom of the Opera. See you later!” She hangs up, leaving me with that piece of information.

Looks like I’ll be the only person at the masquerade whose face isn’t completely covered. But the truth is, I don’t have a mask at home, and it’s too late to go out and buy one. I need to get ready, and I don’t have much time. Since Naya didn’t give me enough information about the party, I open my laptop and start looking online for the theme and what kind of outfits people wear. I realize I don’t even know the name of the party, and almost automatically, I log into Tumblr to vent to the person who has become my closest friend over the past few months.

downtherabbithole: HELP!!! Naya invited me to a masquerade and I don’t know anything about the theme or what kind of clothes people wear!!!

wonderstruck: LOL!! She’s always dragging you into random stuff. But hey, there’s only one masquerade in NYC tonight.

Over time, wonderstruck and I became very close. With our daily game of asking each other one new fact, we’ve learned so much about each other that it feels like we’ve known each other forever. I feel just as close to her as I would if our friendship were in person rather than online. But I’m still scared to show her who I really am. I’m afraid she’ll realize how depressing and unhappy I truly am and stop liking me. I can’t lose our connection—it’s the only thing that makes me feel genuinely happy. I know it’s not healthy to get so attached to someone I’ve never seen, but my life has been so gray that I can’t let go of the color this friendship brings. Lea is a great friend, but she doesn’t know even 1% of who I am the way wonderstruck does.

wonderstruck: I’m going to tell you today’s fact even though you didn’t ask: I’ll be at that party too.

I read her message and feel my heart pound so hard that I can hear my blood in my ears. I feel hot and anxious, like I can’t get enough air into my lungs, and I might faint at any moment. I can’t tell if the feeling is good or bad, but I know I’m not ready for this meeting. I’m not ready to disappoint her in person—to the point where she’ll never want to speak to me again. I can’t go through that. Losing her now would destroy me. I try to think of ways to avoid it and start counting my breaths to force myself to calm down. I can’t lose my shit before the party, or Naya will drag me there by my hair, whether I like it or not.

wonderstruck: I know you well enough to know you’re freaking out. It’s a masquerade party, I won’t know who you are in the crowd. Don’t worry, there’ll be tons of people—I won’t bother you.

She’s right. Not only is it a masquerade, but she’s never even seen my face. The only photo I ever showed her was a tiny cropped image of just my eyes. Even if there weren’t masks, she wouldn’t be able to recognize me in a crowd. Suddenly I feel ridiculous and embarrassed for having a panic attack over this. And then I remember something important—she didn’t see my panic! She just thinks (actually, she knows) me well enough to guess that I would act like this. And I can just deny it and pretend I was doing something else and that’s why I didn’t reply right away. That’s my best shot at keeping my reputation intact. So I start typing:

downtherabbithole: I guess you don’t know me that well, miss! I was looking for my makeup bag, I swear I wasn’t freaking out.

I try to focus on something else—on the party—but I can’t. Her reply doesn’t come as fast as usual, and it’s making me uneasy. Did I upset her? Is she mad at me? That’s the last thing I wanted to do.

wonderstruck: OK!! Gotta go, I’m running late. Click the link for the dress code. Have fun!!

I feel strangely off, like my stomach just dropped from the top of a rollercoaster. I can’t tell if she’s offended or just busy. Should I have said something about her being at the party too? Did I mess everything up before we even met in real life? I feel like the biggest idiot on Earth and collapse onto my bed, arms stretched out, staring at the ceiling. I feel the warm trail of tears running down my cheeks and lie there for a few minutes, letting the crying take over. It’s not a loud or desperate cry—it’s silent and full of regret. I’m interrupted by the sound of a message arriving on my phone. I sit up, wipe my cheeks with my sleeve, and grab my phone.

It’s Lea.

Lea (5:12PM): Di, I'm going with Cory, meet you there?

As always, I’m running late. I have 48 minutes to get ready and I know Naya will make my life a living hell if I don’t stick to our plan. I take a deep breath and push away all my sad thoughts—I don’t have time to be myself right now, which usually means spending time alone crying. I need to pull myself together and get ready for this party. I type my reply.

Dianna (5:13PM): See you there! :)

Racing against the clock, I jump into the shower. Luckily, I don’t have to worry about my hair—it’s already clean and straightened, so I don’t waste much time. At 5:28PM, I start putting on my makeup. I apply the foundation carefully, then the powder. For blush, I choose an orange shade that gives me a sun-kissed look, as if I actually went to the beach, though I haven’t set foot on sand all year. At 5:48PM, I apply a dark green eyeshadow and carefully line my eyes with black eyeliner, flicking it out slightly for a cat-eye effect. I pile on the mascara and finally fill in my lips with a nude-colored lipstick. By 5:55PM, I feel truly satisfied with my appearance. The green eyeshadow makes my eye color pop, and the liquid foundation has done a great job covering my dark circles. I walk back into my room wearing only my underwear, ready to pick out an outfit, when suddenly I hear a loud, shrill voice. I know who it is even before the doorbell rings.

“DIANNA ELISE AGRON!” — Naya bursts into the room, completely ignoring the fact that I’m nearly naked. Lately, I’ve felt strangely self-conscious around my friends, and I don’t know why. I’ve always been comfortable being naked in front of Naya, but this time I’m sure if it weren’t for the blush, she’d see my cheeks turning red. “I knew you’d be late. Here, wear this.” — She tosses a piece of clothing at me. She knows me too well.

“Sorry, I really thought I’d make it on time this time, but look… I just need to put the outfit on.” — I unfold the clothes she threw and it’s actually a great pick. A sleeveless white dress shirt and a black vest that leaves most of the shirt front exposed. With the Phantom of the Opera mask, I’m sure it’ll be a cool look.

“Perfect, then we have time for a few shots before we leave.” — Now she’s smiling as she rummages through my closet. Eventually, she tosses a short, tight leather skirt at me. I understand this is what she thinks would go well with the top, and I just go along with it.

Naya leaves the room, and I’m sure she’s off to find the tequila shots she mentioned. I take the chance to finish getting dressed before she gets even more impatient. I put on the skirt and grab a leather jacket from my closet. I know I’ll be cold, so I go for a pair of black combat boots that reach mid-calf. With the full look on, I check myself in the full-length mirror. I’m giving off a bad girl vibe I don’t really have, but it feels fun to pretend for one night. Through the mirror’s reflection, I see her come back with two small glasses filled with a clear liquid—and I know they’re not water. She hands me one, and I do my part, downing the tequila in one quick go, feeling it burn down my throat.

“You’re not going with your hair down. If you want to be a bad girl, you have to do it right.” She has a mischievous grin on her face, and I know she wants to style my hair however she wants. I let her—she’s a true expert at bad girl looks. Forty minutes and three more tequila shots later, I’m ready for the party. Naya tied my hair up in a high ponytail and, with a can of hairspray and a comb, created a dramatic pompadour at the front. I barely look like myself, but I’m loving this version of me—what I could be if I dressed like this more often. She, on the other hand, looks stunning in a black bodycon dress, white blazer, and black patent leather stilettos with pointed toes and sky-high heels. Naya didn’t go heavy on the eye makeup, but her red lipstick is killer—it nearly takes my breath away. She looks amazing, and I know she’s not going home alone tonight. We put on our masks and head to the party.

________________________________________

“Now I get why you two were late—Di’s look is insane. That hair must’ve taken forever.” — Cory hugs me and lifts me off the ground for a second.

“Naya’s a hair artist.” — I reply, already a little tipsy. Four tequila shots were enough to get me a bit drunk, which I guess helped boost the confidence I didn’t have earlier when I was sober.

“WOW, Di, you look hot!” — Lea comes over and hugs me longer than usual. She looks gorgeous too, wearing a beautiful red dress with a flared skirt, high black heels, and a dramatic white mask with feathers rising high. I almost didn’t recognize her.

For the first hour of the party, we chat, gossip about other aspiring actors, and drink a lot. I must’ve had at least three glasses of whiskey on the rocks, which put me in a much more animated state. I also stopped worrying about whether my wonderstruck friend is watching me or knows who I am. There’s no way she’d recognize me—especially with this bold outfit and my Phantom mask covering half my face. When the conversation starts to get sloppy from the booze, Lea grabs my hand and pulls me to the dance floor. A song I can’t quite name—or just don’t know—is playing, but it’s upbeat enough for us to dance in sync. After a few minutes, Cory and Naya join us. Naya brings a girl she introduces as Heather, and we all start dancing together in a circle at the center of the dance floor. After a few songs, Cory and Lea go to grab more drinks for us. As they return, the music stops, and silence fills the room. For a moment, I think the party’s over—just when I was drunk enough to enjoy it—then I hear a man’s voice over the speakers.

“As you know, this party is dedicated to all of you aspiring musical theater performers, and like every year, we have a special performance tonight from someone who truly impressed us with her songwriting. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our first artistic act of the night: Taylor Swift!” The man exits, and a blonde girl with curly hair and blue eyes steps on stage. I don’t hear anything else around me. I think people are clapping, but suddenly the world goes quiet and I can only focus on this new artist we’ve been introduced to.

“Good night, everyone! This first song I’m going to play is about someone who’s here with us tonight. You know who you are!” - She’s wearing a purple dress and nude ballet flats, but what really catches my attention is her guitar. She looks so young, yet so experienced in what she’s doing. She sings with such emotion that I can’t do anything but listen.

Get me with those green eyes, baby

As the lights go down

Gimme something that'll haunt me when you're not around

'Cause I see sparks fly, whenever you smile

The part about green eyes intrigues me. This girl is so detailed in her lyrics—it’s impressive. When I snap out of my trance, I see my friends are just as mesmerized as I am. Even Naya, who hates acknowledging other people’s talent, looks surprised. Lea, on the other hand, though she can’t take her eyes off Taylor Swift, has a furrowed brow and a serious look on her face. Maybe Taylor’s talent is just too much for Lea’s competitive ego to handle after so much drinking.

“She’s a good songwriter, but she’s not that great a singer, come on.” - I want to defend that girl, but Lea surprises me by placing a soft yet firm kiss on my cheek. I’m speechless.

- “I’m going to get us more drinks.” — She heads off to the bar.

“Di, you’re screwed. I told you the tiny one wanted to kiss you. I knew it!” — Naya never lets this go, and I’m starting to think she might be a little right. When I look back at the stage, Taylor is introducing her next song.

“You know that bitch who tries to steal what’s yours? This song’s called Better Than Revenge, and I hope you enjoy it.” - Taylor has a fiery look in her eyes and starts the song with such intensity that it’s almost contagious. I think she’s lived every experience she puts into her lyrics. Lea returns with my whiskey, and I feel happy to be drinking again. All the rage in that song had me tense—I need to loosen up again.

The next songs are Speak Now, Mine, and Mean. All the songs, as far as I can tell, are about things she’s actually lived through, and she sings with so much feeling that I find myself admiring her unexpectedly. Or maybe I’m just too drunk. Lea stays close—too close—hugging me from behind and resting her chin on my shoulder as we watch Taylor perform. Then, to my sadness, she announces the final song of the night.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed everything so far! I picked this last song especially after I found out someone special would be here tonight, and I’m so happy to share this moment with all of you.” - After strumming a few chords, she returns to the mic and says the song’s title: “Have you ever felt enchanted to meet someone? This one’s called Enchanted.” And she starts singing with the same emotional intensity as before. Again, we’re all in awe of the melody.

Your eyes whispered: Have we met?

'Cross the room your silhouette

Starts to make its way to me

Lea’s touches no longer bother me. In fact, I don’t feel anything but the music. For some reason, that talented girl on stage has captivated me in a way I can’t explain. The rest of the world seems less urgent than listening to her. I start to think I’m in the presence of a modern-day poet, and then... something makes my body freeze. That panic and breathlessness I felt earlier hits me again like lightning.

This night is flawless

Don’t you let it go

I’m wonderstruck

She sings that part while looking straight into my eyes—so deeply that I feel exposed. It can’t be.

Dancing around all alone

I’ll spend forever

Wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

I freeze, trying my hardest not to show the panic and urge to run as far away as possible. At the same time that I want to run, I also want to stay. But I can’t decide. How can I be sure it’s her if I don’t even know what she looks like? I don’t know her face, but my body seems absolutely certain. She doesn’t know who I am either, but she’s staring into my eyes as she sings each word. All I can do is stare back—and that’s what we do until the end of Enchanted.

I’m certain. It’s her.

She bows, gives me one last look, and smiles to the crowd, as if nothing just happened.

“Thank you, everyone! I loved our time together. If you want to hear me again, I perform every Thursday and Saturday at Stardust Bar.”- With that, Taylor leaves the stage, and I don’t see her again for the rest of the night. This can’t be. What the hell just happened here?

[msoperaghost]

taylor and hayley ~ ❣️!

[msoperaghost]

chapter III - misery business

I'm walking down a dark, monochromatic street where all the buildings are different shades of gray. The sky is overcast, and I feel very cold. There's no sign of anyone else walking around—it's like a ghost town, abandoned by any living creature. I quicken my pace to get out of that depressing, strange place. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up lost. I have no idea where I am or why I ended up here. Was I on my way to something important? I don’t even remember leaving the house. I force my brain to recall something, anything, but I just can’t remember a thing.

At the end of the block, I come across another street exactly like the one I’m trying to escape. Am I going crazy? I’m certain I didn’t choose to come here. I walk quickly, trying once again to escape this frightening scene. There's no one on the streets or in the local shops. I can’t hear any sound besides my own footsteps. I’m consumed by an overwhelming loneliness and feel like crying. Then I remember that I cried a lot yesterday. A humiliating situation for someone who’s always been so good at hiding her feelings. I shake my head, trying to dismiss that grim memory—it doesn’t suit me. The more I walk, the more I realize how alone I am. There’s no one here but me and thousands of depressing gray buildings. I feel my cheeks burn when touched by the cold wind—I must be blushing.

I can’t tell how long I’ve been walking—practically running—to escape this horror movie landscape, but then I spot a tall, slender figure ahead, almost like a mirage. It’s a woman—finally a living soul who might give me some answers. She’s so far away that I don’t know if she’ll wait for me. The closer I get, the blurrier my vision becomes, and I realize it’s because I’m crying. I cry because I feel alone, because I don’t know what to do with my life, I don’t know where I’m going or what I like. I cry because I’m lost and alone in an unfamiliar place. The woman doesn’t move—no matter how long I take to reach her, she remains where she is, like a lamp post glued to the concrete floor.

“You’re late.” It’s Naya. I’m not alone anymore. I wonder if she noticed I’m crying like a child.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you here.” I hug her, and my sobbing worsens. I feel pathetic. She doesn’t hug me back. When I let go, I notice her expression is completely blank—it’s like Naya’s body is there, but my friend isn’t inside it. Her eyes are empty and don’t look directly at me but rather into the distance, as if I weren’t even there. Her clothes don’t scream Naya either—she’s wearing a long black dress with a black overcoat and a pearl necklace. I can’t help thinking she looks like a vintage 1950s version of herself.

“Come in, they’re all waiting for you.” She points to a wooden door that reminds me of an emergency exit. A bit creepy, but I obey—I don’t want to be alone and cold out here.

The first thing I notice is that the place is fully carpeted in red, and the walls are also red, covered in a velvety fabric. It reminds me of the inside of a theater or opera house—there’s even a small stage at the front, but no seats for an audience. In the far corner, I see a round table with two people sitting at it. One of them gives a small wave. It’s Lea—she seems to have been waiting for me while talking to a blonde girl who’s sitting with her back to me, facing Lea. At least it’s a familiar face, so I walk over with Naya strangely silent beside me.

“Hi, Dianna,” Lea says as she stands and approaches us. The girl with her back to us doesn’t move—she could be a mannequin, she’s so still. I can’t even see any sign of her breathing.

“I see you recovered well from yesterday.” Her voice is oddly formal, and like Naya, her eyes are vacant and distant—it’s like she was abducted by aliens and replaced by a robot.

“Yes, it seems so,” I respond equally formally, trying to process this information.

“We brought you here to let you know that Lea and I are going to share the lead actress role in Ryan’s new play. You weren’t invited because he doesn’t think you’re talented,” says Naya, completely emotionless. I know she’s blunt and unfiltered, but ouch? That sounds strange and cruel—she usually doesn’t try to hurt me on purpose. What the hell is going on here?

“Oh, I knew that.” I lie—I knew Lea was in the play, but I didn’t know about Naya. “What’s happening here?” I ask, feeling a horrible sensation take over my whole body. My legs go weak, my heart races, I’m sweating despite the cold, and I can’t catch my breath. The air I inhale doesn’t seem to reach my lungs. I feel like I’m dying. Dying doesn’t scare me, but the suffocation does. I start screaming and begging for help, but no one does anything.

“We don’t need you anymore,” Lea says, looking at me with malice before linking her arm with Naya’s. They turn their backs and leave together.

“HELP ME!” I scream. But it’s useless. My knees give out, and I collapse, sobbing and gasping for air in vain attempts to fill my lungs with water.

“Breathe, I’m here with you,” says a sweet, velvety voice. I feel strands of hair brushing my face and see they’re blonde when I open my eyes. I can’t see her face, but deep down, I know who it is. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, gently touching my shoulder with her fingers.

“Di, are you okay?” I open my eyes and see Lea right in front of me, holding a mug in both hands and looking at me with concern. I’m in my bed—it seems like it was all a dream. Or at least most of it.

“Oh, sorry! I think I had a nightmare,” I say a bit embarrassed.

“You definitely did. You were screaming for help.” She sits on the bed beside me, still holding the mug. “I hope you don’t mind—I made some coffee.”

“Of course. After what I put you through yesterday, the least I can do is offer you coffee—even if you made it yourself.” I cover my face with both hands, trying to process everything. “We… I mean… what happened after I got sick?” I ask, dreading her response, but she just laughs and hands me the mug full of coffee. It takes her a few seconds to reply. “Not much. You really were in bad shape, but…” She bites her lower lip, clearly debating whether to tell me. “I doubt anything could be more humiliating than what I’m imagining.” I sip the coffee—it’s pleasantly hot and strong enough for my taste.

“It’s nothing serious, it’s just that… I had to give you a bath. You looked like the girl from The Exorcist. There was no way you could go to bed like that.” She tries to hold back laughter, but I know she wants to laugh. I feel deeply embarrassed for not even being able to bathe myself. What a pathetic scene. “But don’t worry, you’ll survive,” she says, and she seems sincere—but I still don’t feel okay.

“Hey, thank you. I’m sorry for all the mess. If I didn’t scare you too much with my perfect Regan performance last night, maybe we could have dinner tonight if you’re still up for it.” I say, still feeling embarrassed, but I know I need to move on.

“You didn’t scare me that much and I’m impressed you can remember the name of the girl from The Exorcist! I’ll leave my number for you on the kitchen counter. Text me later—if you’re feeling okay, we’ll go.” She gets up, and I notice she’s already dressed in the same clothes as yesterday. I vaguely remember her saying she had to rehearse all day with my soon-to-be ex-boss.

“Deal! Talk to you later.” I say, relieved that she’s heading out. I need to deal with this emotional overload alone.

Once I hear the door close and know she’s gone, I get up to pour myself another big mug of coffee. I don’t have any plans today, and it feels great to have a day just for myself. I need time alone to process everything I’m feeling. Back in my room, I turn on my laptop. Almost automatically, I open Tumblr and enter the chat that’s been the most comforting to me in recent months. There’s a new message, but it’s from the day before yesterday—I didn’t reply because of happy hour.

wonderstruck: If you want to know anything, just ask. Now that I told you where I’m moving, I think it’s your turn. Where do you live?

downtherabbithole: I don’t know where you live, I just know where you’re going to live! But that’s not the point—you know more about me than I know about you.

wonderstruck: Want to try a new game?

downtherabbithole: Depends. What kind of game?

wonderstruck: Every day, we either share a fact or secret or ask something about the other—but the other person has to ask. And of course, if you’re not comfortable, you don’t have to answer.

downtherabbithole: I’m in! Are you a girl or a boy?

wonderstruck: Wow, straight to the point. I’m a girl. My request today is a photo of your eyes—if you feel comfortable.

downtherabbithole: I don’t mind, just give me a sec.

I search my laptop for a photo where my eyes are clearly visible and find several. I don’t know which to choose because suddenly this task feels really important—I feel a huge pressure to choose one she’ll like. I feel an overwhelming need to keep her interested, to not lose her attention. After several minutes of sorting through last year’s photos, I find one I sort of like. I’m facing forward, but looking to the side, and I think it gives me a relaxed vibe that might look nice to her. Using Photoshop, I crop just my eyes and create a perfect rectangle to send her. With one click, I upload and send the photo. The wait for her opinion makes me anxious.

wonderstruck: I think I’ve never seen eyes so beautiful in my life. Lucky you! Are they green?

downtherabbithole: Thank you! My eyes change color depending on the light, but yes—they’re green in this photo. Sometimes they look hazel.

wonderstruck: That’s amazing! I’m blown away by your eyes—very happy with today’s request.

downtherabbithole: Can I see yours?

wonderstruck: Maybe on your request tomorrow, haha.

downtherabbithole: Fair enough! How was your day yesterday? Sorry I didn’t show up—my day was chaotic, but I missed talking to you.

wonderstruck: I wasn't much online either—been sorting out the final details for New York. But what happened?

I think about holding back and not saying anything—it was all too humiliating, and I don’t want to relive those horrible feelings. But sharing my life with her eases the weight of my emotions. For some reason, wonderstruck is the person I feel most comfortable opening up to, and the fact that she’s so interested in what I have to say makes me feel light as a feather. So I tell her everything. In detail. From how I learned I’d be unemployed soon to the point where I threw up and cried like a child. I also tell her about my nightmare and my morning with Lea. The message ends up long, and I feel a bit scared she’ll find me too much and stop replying forever—but that’s not what happens.

wonderstruck: I’m so sorry about your job, but I’m sure you’ll find something else soon. I promise you—nobody could say no to those eyes. Honestly, I don’t think anyone could say no to you at all, lol.

wonderstruck: I think your new friend really likes you. Have you texted her yet?

wonderstruck: How are you feeling now? Want to talk about what made you cry?

downtherabbithole: I hope my eyes do land me a job, like you say! I haven’t texted her yet, but I will—I can’t risk losing more friends. I feel nauseous and don’t think I’ll eat anytime soon. But the worst part is this lingering feeling of loneliness that doesn’t go away. Do you know what that’s like?

wonderstruck: I know exactly what it's like. But I want you to know—as long as I exist, you’ll never be alone, even if it’s just virtually... for now.

downtherabbithole: Same goes for you—as long as I exist, you won’t be alone. Talking to you is the highlight of my days. Thank you for being so kind to me—our conversations mean a lot.

wonderstruck: That makes me really happy to know!

I spend about another hour chatting with her—now that I know she’s a girl. We talk about various things, share a few more songs, and then I realize I haven’t texted Lea yet—and I haven’t done anything all day besides being on the computer. I think about asking for her number so we can text, but I already made my request today, and I don’t want to push it. She seems like a private person—it took her almost seven months to tell me she was a girl. Maybe I shouldn’t rush things. I end the chat with a promise to return later.

In the kitchen, I find a phone number written on a napkin with a star doodled beside it. It’s only been a day since I met Lea, but I already know she likes to stand out and be different. I feel happy she didn’t get scared away by my crying, vomiting, and nightmare-induced screaming. I save her contact in my phone and send a message.

Dianna (10:02AM): Hey, it’s Di here. Save my number. I’m feeling better—if you’re still up for dinner, I’m in.

I go back to my room and plug in my phone to charge. I take the opportunity to lie down and try to rest a bit more—my body feels heavy and exhausted. I know I need a few more hours of sleep, so I let the fatigue take over and shut my eyes tightly. A nap is all I need to wake up refreshed and ready for dinner with my new friend, Lea. I don’t have to try too hard—within minutes, I fall into a deep, thankfully dreamless, sleep.

---------------------------------

Lea (12:13PM): Perfect! I know the perfect place for us to eat Japanese food. I'll send you the address. See you at 7PM?

Dianna (1:16PM): Sounds great, see you there.

Dianna (7:03PM): I'm on my way, sorry if you're already there. Wait for me!

Lea (7:04PM): I just got here and picked the perfect table for us. I’ll be waiting for you here!

[msoperaghost]

chapter II - the pool of tears

I think it was a smart decision, and it’ll probably be better for my career since I got too comfortable with the routine and steady paycheck and stopped chasing my real dream: Broadway! There's also another upside: I won't have to worry so much about how Naya feels about us sharing the same role—whether she's upset I took more shows than she did at some point or if she’s competing with me when we're hanging out with the theater crew. It’s hard to tell. Naya is incredibly loyal and a great friend, but she’s also the most competitive person I know. And honestly, sharing the spotlight as Lila with her onstage hasn’t been easy. The truth is, I think she's amazing onstage and I've never understood her insecurity. During some performances, I even think she outshines me.

I’m finishing removing my makeup, staring at my reflection in the large lit mirror in my dressing room when I hear a notification on my phone. It’s Naya—I’m already late for our meet-up. I just needed a few minutes of complete and total silence to process the news about the end of my first lead role in theater. I know I still have two months to prepare, and with my savings I’ll be financially stable for a little while longer, but knowing I have to start from scratch in New York is still terrifying. It’s a new beginning, and new beginnings are really hard for me. I don’t handle sudden changes well, especially when something had become a sure thing. I need to mentally work through leaving the comfort zone I’ve been in for the last two years. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and try to slow down my thoughts before reading her message. Does she already know?

Naya (6:12 PM): You’re late!!!

Naya (6:23 PM): Cory brought the most annoying girl in the world to our happy hour. For the love of God, don’t leave me alone with them. HELP!!!

Naya (6:36 PM): Dianna, I swear I’ll kill you if you don’t show up!!!

The last thing I wanted was to piss off Naya, but I can’t ignore how much I enjoy her exaggerated reactions to anything that mildly irritates her. My best friend is the most dramatic and unfiltered person I know, and I’m sure it’s Cory who really needs me there, not her. He’s too nice to handle her teasing, and I bet she’s not going easy on his guest. Smiling slightly in amusement, I start typing a reply.

Dianna (6:37 PM): Sorry, I just needed a few minutes, but I’m on my way now. Be nice to Cory’s friend, Naya!

Naya (6:38 PM): Too late for that.

I toss the phone in my bag and give myself one last look in the mirror: minimal makeup, but I nailed the outfit! I’m wearing a short black leather skirt and a sleeveless white button-down shirt. My black heels add just the touch of elegance I needed to complete the look. I consider putting on some lipstick, but I’m pretty sure Naya will ruin the entire happy hour mood if I take any longer, so I rush out toward the nearest subway station.>

Luckily, I only had to wait about two minutes for the C train, but I did have to fight the crowd heading in the same direction. As shocking as it sounds, New York no longer has calm times to catch a subway—it’s always chaos. When I reach my stop, I hurry out of the station and walk three blocks to the bar, which, thankfully, doesn’t have a line to get in this time. Good, because any more delay might mean my death at Naya’s hands.

My eyes scan the faces at the tables inside Piano’s Bar, looking for the familiar and angry face of my best friend, but the first eyes I meet are Cory’s. He smiles warmly at me, and I know it’s genuine, so I smile back. I missed him! Then I see the girl sitting beside him—must be the friend he brought. She’s brunette with loose hair and bangs that give her a kind of childlike look, a prominent nose, a wide smile, and a tight white top. I notice she’s staring at me a bit too intently, which makes me a little uncomfortable, but before I can move toward the table, Naya steps in front of me, arms crossed and scowling.

“Well, look who finally showed up! The people’s princess had to be over an hour late and leave me stuck living the nightmare that is Cory’s friend?” she says, furrowing her brow and staring into my soul.

“Relax, I’m here to save you. But she doesn’t seem that bad, don’t exaggerate.” I roll my eyes at her grumpy face.

“You’ll see for yourself. I won’t have to do much this time for you to agree with me.” I catch an ironic, maybe slightly wicked, smile on her face, but before I can comment, she links her arm in mine and leads me to the table.

“Cory, I missed you so much! I want to hear everything!” He gets up to greet me and gives me the biggest hug ever. It’s incredible how safe and at home I feel in my giant friend’s embrace. It’s so familiar it calms me down.

“Di, this is Lea! She guest-starred in a few episodes with me. She’s a great actress.” Another aspiring star in Cory’s orbit.

“Nice to meet you, Lea. Welcome.” She hugs me before I can react. It takes me a few seconds to return the hug—it felt strange to hug a stranger so suddenly. When I glance over, I catch Naya’s ironic smile. She’s enjoying this because she wants me to side with her no matter what.

“I already ordered the first tequila shot for us. I think you’ll need it,” Naya says, pointing to the little glasses filled with clear liquid on the table. My stomach flips—I haven’t eaten yet, but I’m not in the mood to argue. I shrug, sprinkle a bit of salt on my tongue, and down the tequila shot calmly. The lime burns more than the liquor, which tells me I shouldn’t keep drinking. “Looks like wild Dianna is out tonight,” she laughs.

“Oh, I just found out the play is ending. It was a toast to unemployment.” I say, pretending not to care, but the word unemployment stings more than I’d like to admit.

“I’m so sorry, Di. Naya told me,” Cory says, looking concerned. Another round of tequila shots arrives much faster than I was ready for. “This one’s on me!” He raises his glass and drinks it—no lime, no salt.

“You didn’t know? I got the email yesterday and saw your address in the recipients. Thought you’d seen it,” Naya downs hers in one go, like Cory.

“I guess I didn’t check my email yesterday. I heard it today straight from the director.” Then I remember why I didn’t check my email—I was too caught up in conversation with my wonderstruck friend and ignored everything else. But I don’t want to tell my real-life friends that.

“Enough sad talk. How about a game? Ever played Never Have I Ever?” Lea asks with a hopeful puppy look. She’s right though—some fun might lighten the mood. “I’ll start! Never have I ever kissed a girl.” Then she drinks while staring at me. I’m confused—until I realize… everyone drinks except me. I have never kissed a girl.

“Never have I ever cried while drunk,” Naya says, looking straight at Cory with that look. He drinks—and so does Lea.

“Never have I ever wanted to kiss my best friend,” he says, locking eyes with Naya, who drinks and laughs.

“Unfair. Everyone wants to kiss Dianna.” She grins, making me suddenly shy. “That’s why your little friend won’t stop staring at her,” Naya says, winking at Lea, who doesn't seem bothered.

The game goes on a while longer. I learn a lot about Lea—despite being loud and overly enthusiastic, she’s actually fun. Or at least, she’s a fun drunk. Turns out she sings too, and Cory says her voice is amazing. I believe him—he’s not trying to impress her romantically, just stating a fact. I only realize how drunk I am when I head to the bathroom. I’m way too cheerful for someone who just found out she’ll be unemployed in two months. When I get back, they’re all standing, pointing to another section of the bar where a band is setting up. I follow them through a side door.

“They’re amazing! I know the lead singer—we took a singing class together last year!” Lea says, pointing at him. He sees her in the crowd and gives her a wink. Cory and Naya come back with two drinks each. Naya gives me one, and Cory hands the extra to Lea. The band starts, and I recognize the first song immediately—it’s a cover of “That’s What You Get” by Paramore. I start wondering if I’m being haunted by this song. My thoughts drift to wonderstruck, and I wonder if they’d fit in with my real-life friends, if we could ever enjoy this music in the same physical space. The thought warms me. This person has been my most consistent companion lately, and I suddenly feel bad for not replying yet about their move to New York. I sip my drink and try to ground myself again.

We’re dancing, and after eight songs, the vocalist points to Lea and invites her onstage. She’s obviously drunk and stumbles a bit as she climbs up. Naya is laughing—she didn’t believe Cory when he said Lea was a great singer. I’m curious. I can’t imagine what her voice sounds like. Then the band starts playing Don’t Rain On My Parade from Funny Girl, and when Lea sings the first notes, I feel a chill like lightning. The girl can really sing! Before I can help it, I’m screaming the lyrics right in front of the stage, completely giving away my level of intoxication.

When the song ends, Lea comes offstage and hugs me. “My number one fan! Thanks for cheering for me!” I give her a small smile, and we head to the bar for another drink.

It’s 11 PM. Cory’s already left, and now Naya’s going too. She hugs me and whispers in my ear, “Di, this girl wants to kiss you.” Then she leaves me with Lea anyway. Lea says goodbye to her too, and we both go back to the tables. We don’t have much time left.

As we sip our final drink—too drunk to stand—we talk about our careers and dreams. Lea is incredibly driven. Despite her intense personality, she’s going places.

“Cory introduced me to you guys because I don’t have any friends in the city yet,” she says, sounding sad. I realize it must be hard for her to make new friends.

“Well, I know Naya’s tough, but there’s room for another friend in our group.” I shrug.

“Naya’s great, but I think you and I have more in common.” She stares at me again, a little too hard, barely blinking.

“You’re probably right. I might be the easiest link into the group.” I laugh nervously. My drink��s gone.

“Tomorrow I have my first rehearsal for the new show. Ryan Murphy is directing it. But how about dinner? You can bring Naya if you want.” Hearing the name of my soon-to-be ex-boss sends a jolt through me. So he has another project. He just didn’t invite me. And they’re already rehearsing. Her drink’s gone too.

I think about saying yes—but I’m too drunk to filter anything, and what comes out is something I try to avoid in public: tears. Suddenly everything feels awful and unbearably sad. I know the tears aren’t just about the play. My emotions have been a mess for a while, and this was just the final drop. I cry uncontrollably—so hard my vision blurs. Lea hugs me to comfort me, but it doesn’t help. I sob like a five-year-old who just lost her favorite toy.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.” She helps me up, wraps her arm around my waist, and leads me out to find a cab and she doesn't ask me anything.

On the ride, I feel nausea rising along with the tears. I try to ignore it. I feel like Alice in a pool of her own tears, drowning. When we arrive, Lea kindly comes up to my apartment with me. I can tell she’s worried. She goes to the kitchen, searches my cabinets, and brings me a glass of water. Still sobbing, I take a sip. The water doesn’t sit well. I hand it back, wipe my mouth, and thank her, a little calmer—but I know what’s coming next. And I’ll be even more embarrassed than by the crying... I rush to the bathroom and throw up everything I drank. I puke until I can’t remember anything else.

-------------------

With a pounding headache, I wake up and check the time on my phone: 3 AM. I’m in bed, my hair’s wet—did I shower? I’m wearing a silk nightgown I don’t remember putting on. I turn and see Lea, deeply asleep next to me. She’s wearing my old Paramore T-shirt. I don’t know if she’s wearing shorts. I don’t know what happened, and I start to panic. The last thing I remember is hugging the toilet. Oh God, what did I do? Suddenly, all I want is to talk to wonderstruck and truly vent about what I’m feeling. But instead, I lay my head back on the pillow and force myself to sleep again. Maybe it’s just a dream—and when I wake up, it’ll all be gone.

[msoperaghost]

chapter I - whiterabbithole

I open my laptop and my secret Tumblr page instantly pops up in front of my eyes. I notice I have a few new messages and decide that I relax much better when I’m chatting or building conspiracy theories online with my friends. It might seem silly or even naive, but I feel way closer to the people I’ve met on the internet than to any friend I’ve ever had. I think there’s a kind of complicity among all of us there, because we’re all trying to find someone we relate to, but we’re too afraid to show who we really are. When we’re online, we don’t have to reveal our true identity—there’s no risk of exposure. Our secrets are safe with those people whose faces or scents we don’t know, but who feel as close as family.

The first message is from someone new—I started chatting with them just before Christmas. We have a lot in common, but I still haven’t figured out whether they’re a girl or a guy; the gender keeps getting dodged or switched mid-conversation. Someone really doesn’t want to be found out. All I know is that this person added me because of my Tumblr’s visual aesthetic: the header is made from cutouts of Lewis Carroll’s original Alice in Wonderland book, with the phrase “we’re all mad here” in the center. My posts are vague, but they include details about the kind of art I like and a lot of music. Have I mentioned I love to sing? Besides being my gift, it’s also my profession—or at least part of it. My icon is always a picture of an artist I’m really into at the time, but for the last few months I’ve been using a black-and-white image of the White Rabbit holding a clock and looking suspiciously at the screen. I thought it fit perfectly with my Tumblr name, downtherabbithole, so I left it there, and it seems like my new friend liked it and added me because of it. Their mysterious Tumblr is called wonderstruck and I still don’t quite understand what it’s about, but I know they’re really good at conversation.

wonderstruck: I was listening to That’s What You Get by Paramore and it reminded me of that talk we had about generational depression.

downtherabbithole: Oh my God, I love Paramore! And you’re totally right, that song is perfect—I’m gonna put it on too.

wonderstruck: Haha cool, let’s listen together then! How was your day?

downtherabbithole: My day was really exhausting, but I think I actually prefer it that way. It’s like tiring days keep my brain too busy to fall into depression, hahaha.

We spent two hours talking non-stop about all kinds of things, and I totally forgot to reply to my other Tumblr friends—some of whom I’ve known for years and even seen their real faces. It’s crazy how, when you get really engaged in a conversation with someone, time and space just seem to disappear, because nothing feels more fun than being present in that moment. But it was already past eleven at night, and I need to wake up early, so I have to find a way to end the conversation without making this person lose interest in being my friend.

wonderstruck: You know what’s really good to take your mind off things? Movies! You should watch How to Train Your Dragon. It’s in 3D and such a fun experience! If I lived nearby, we could go together!

downtherabbithole: I really want to see that movie!!! And you don’t even know where I live, hahaha—how can you tell if you live far away?

wonderstruck: Haha I live far from everything... but that’s going to change next month. Who knows?

I hear my phone vibrating and glance at it, since I’m too focused on the conversation to reply to other messages. When I see Naya’s name pop up on the screen, I decide it might be best to open and check it. Naya and I work together on the same musical play—we even play the same role and take turns throughout the week at the theater so the workload doesn’t get too heavy for either of us. And before you ask, no, we’re not on Broadway... yet!

Naya: Drinks tomorrow?

Dianna: You can count on me!

Naya: It’s a date. See you at 6 PM at Piano’s, Cory’s coming too.

I send a smiling emoji and set the phone aside. Naya and I get along really well, even though she’s super outspoken—sometimes even when I haven’t asked for her opinion. But the truth is, I really miss Cory, and seeing him will be great. He’s not always in town, and I always try to spend time with him when I can. Cory is an actor and much more famous than me and Naya, but he doesn’t act like a star—he’s a cool guy and always makes everyone laugh. I feel really comfortable around him, just not comfortable enough to tell him I collect internet friends and talk way more with them than I do with my real-life friends.

downtherabbithole: You’re moving and I don’t even know where you live now? Unfair!

wonderstruck: You never asked, haha.

downtherabbithole: Well, where are you moving to?

wonderstruck: We’ve only been talking for six months, but I guess that’s not top-secret info, haha. I’m moving to New York! I can’t wait.

Suddenly, my heart freezes in my chest. I feel my breath stop, and a jolt of anxiety hits the pit of my stomach out of nowhere. Why am I feeling this way? I don’t even know who this person is, and New York is a massive city—I’ve lived here for two years and I barely run into people I know, let alone someone I’ve never seen before. I take a deep breath, then hold it in. I can’t understand why I’m reacting like this, and that makes me feel a bit embarrassed. Thank God you can’t see reactions through Tumblr chat—I’m incredibly grateful for that right now.

downtherabbithole: That’s awesome! New York is amazing, I’m sure you’re going to love it!

downtherabbithole: Wow, we’ve been chatting non-stop for two hours, haha. I need to sleep, but tomorrow I want to hear all about your move. Sleep well!

I close my laptop immediately after sending the message. I don’t want to read the reply, I don’t want to have to answer where I live. All I can think about is that I’m not ready for that kind of exposure yet. I leave the laptop on the desk and change into something more comfortable for bed. An old, oversized black T-shirt with “That’s What You Get” written on it and a very low-res picture of Paramore is enough to bring me comfort. I flop onto my bed and close my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but it’s useless. All I can think about are the last two hours spent talking to a complete stranger online—a stranger who feels more familiar to me than my closest friends. This night is going to be a long one.

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]

jackantonoff: rep forever guilt free listening!

[msoperaghost]

Splendidly selfish, charmingly helpless

[msoperaghost]

[msoperaghost]