Page 223 of Bad Prince

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Open the Uber app.

Pause.

Then lock the screen instead.

Because for the next five minutes?—

just five?—

I stand there on the sidewalk in North Fair Oaks, breathing in grilled meat and exhaust and heat and life?—

And let myself just be Stella again.

Not the Ice Princess.

Not the rumor.

Not the girl caught between two boys.

Just a daughter.

A girl who misses her mamá.

A girl who knows what she wants?—

even if she doesn’t know how to get it.

The park isn’t big.

Just a stretch of green carved between streets that don’t slow down for anyone.

A few benches.

A small garden someone clearly cares about—roses, marigolds, lavender pushing through the heat like they’ve decided to bloom anyway.

There’s a fountain in the center.

Water trickling soft.

Not loud enough to drown anything out.

Just enough to sit with.

I drop onto a bench in the shade, my bag sliding off my shoulder, my body finally still after what feels like days of running in place.

My hands are still shaking.

I don’t know when that started.

Maybe the training room.

Maybe the gym.

Maybe before that.

I don’t know.

I just know I can feel everything now.

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