Page 2 of Shapes of Love
For the next three months, I don’t have to follow anyone’s schedule, and I can fall back on my own routine. I still have to give a speech at my old high school tomorrow as part of their “notable alumni initiative,” and I’m supposed to have three new demos for my label by the new year, but writing is my favorite part of the process. I get to be creative. I get to be myself.
I get to breathe.
There’s a spring in my step as I head to my dressing roomand change into an oversized hoodie and soft sweatpants. A sigh escapes me as I kick the itchy skirt away; it’s like I’m shape-shifting, shedding Sassy’s skin and reclaiming my own. I’m Sasha again.
Marissa offers to drop me off at home, but I convince her to take a detour to the local Yogurtland. No one eats Froyo anymore, but my throat feels raw after a day of nonstop talking, and I need my fix. I can already taste it: medium cup, original tart with multiple scoops of Oreo—
“Fuck me. It’s closed?” I lean out the window, the night air tousling my dark brown hair as I stare at the sign on the door. It looks like it’s been out of business for a while. My heart sinks a little. I can’t remember the last time I was here, but if I had known it was going to close, I would have committed it to memory. “When did this happen?”
I could swear I wasjusthere. Okay, maybe it was last year, but still. Mom graduated and we all came here to celebrate. She went back to college to get her master’s in her forties, and Mamá looked so proud taking pictures of her with her physics diploma. Sonia and I ran into the store and grabbed her a cup of vanilla tart with sliced strawberries and granola—her favorite.
“Iwillbe dramatic about this.” I slump against the car’s leather seat.
Marissa veers onto the exit toward my neighborhood, the familiar layout of the mall springing into view. There’s a group of teenagers sitting outside a 7-Eleven wearing jackets with my high school’s mascot, but I don’t recognize their faces. I briefly wonder if they’ll be attending my speech tomorrow.
The thought makes my chest tighten a little. I don’t know if it’s me, or because all of my friends have already gone off to college, but something about coming home feels different this time.
“What happens to people’s teeth when they get veneers?” I ask.
“Why?” Marissa frowns. “Do you want to get veneers?”
“No—”
“You’re nineteen.” She arches an eyebrow. “No fillers. No veneers. No fake boobs. Your contract doesn’t allow it. You can do Botox, but personally I’d wait. You do frown a lot, but you can just learn to move your face less. We can run it by your coach—”
“Chill. I wasn’t planning to.” I nudge her playfully. Marissa cares, but sometimes she cares too much. Her hazel eyes look like melted caramel, but there’s a sharpness to her gaze when it hardens, like she’s about to cut you open.
“I have them,” she says. “Veneers.”
“Are your teeth all right?” I turn to look at her. Her pale cheeks are colored pink by the night breeze sneaking in through the window as she flashes a practiced grin. I’ve never noticed, because they look so natural, and Marissa’s smile is so effortless. But if you look close enough, there’s an unnatural shine about them, like they’re too symmetrical, too perfect. “Man, everything is an illusion.”
Marissa studies me, as if she’s worried about my mental health.
“Don’t give me that look. I’m just sleep-deprived.” I shift my gaze out the window and unbuckle my seatbelt when shepulls up to my house. It’s not a lie. I’ve been sleep-deprived since I signed the record deal. Every day it’s been go-go-go. Which is fine; I’m a go-go-go person, too, when it comes to doing what I love, but it’s catching up to me. The past few months have been a series of trips for music videos and press events. This is the first time I’ve been home for more than a few days since the album released, which is weird. The last time I actually lived here, I wasn’t even famous.
As Marissa parks in front of my driveway, I take a good look at my house, making sure that it hadn’t changed in some way while I was gone. The outside is weathered and in need of paint, but I like how it adds a homey vibe, as if letting you know it’s been lived in. My sister’s bike is strapped to the porch, and a bunch of heat-resistant plants add a splash of color. Through the kitchen window, the faded yellow curtains with duck prints have lost their luster, but Mom would never replace them because it was the first thing she and Mamá bought for the house.
“Want me to come in?” Marissa asks when I don’t show any signs of vacating her car. “I know your moms aren’t back from their trip yet. We can rehearse your speech for tomorrow and keep watching that show we started on the plane.”
“I’m okay.” I’m not, though. I hate the fact that my house is the only one without any lights on inside. Marissa says I should look into buying a bigger place in a better neighborhood, but I’ve been putting it off. Humans are the heart of a house. To leave this place would be like ripping out its heart.
Marissa kills the engine and steps out. I give her a look when she unearths the spare key from one of the cactus pots. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you eat dinner and brush your veneer-less teeth.” She opens the door and motions for me to get in. “It’s my job as your manager, so come on. Dinnertime.”
How she knows where the spare key is, I don’t know. She pretty much knows everything about me, even though I don’t know much about her, except that she’s sort of corporate America–coded, and she decided to become a manager after serving as her sorority’s president. When my label introduced me to her, I wasn’t sure we were going to vibe at all, but I can’t deny she’s good at what she does. She’s taught me so much about this industry that I don’t think I could have survived the last year without her. She’s like my guardian angel, if guardian angels had two smartphones and a caffeine addiction. A few months ago, this famous YouTuber wouldn’t leave me alone at a party, so I punched him when he tried to put his hands on me. Marissa showed up ten minutes after I panic-called her and threatened to have him blacklisted if he so much as sent me a DM again.
Inside the house, the living room feels frozen in time. The couch is a mess of blankets because everyone in my family gets cold while watching movies, and the kitchen is spotless but littered with electronics—the noisy toaster, an air fryer we’ve never used, and Sonia’s school laptop that she always leaves in the most random places. The faint smell of something sweet still lingers in the air, enveloping me like a ghost hug.
It’s home. It just feels empty without them.
“Are they having fun in Spain?” Marissa asks. She doesn’t take off her shoes when she comes in, and I’m too tired to nag her. I guess this makes me a people pleaser, and I hate it,but no matter how hard I try, I don’t know how to be anything but nice.
“Yeah. They should be back home soon.” I show her the picture Mom sent me this morning. She, Mamá, and Sonia are currently visiting la Alhambra de Granada, standing in front of a dazzling palace as they smile at the camera.
Mamá grew up in Spain—she’s from León, but she lived in Málaga during middle school and high school before moving to the US. She and Mom have taken Sonia and me to visit a few times over the years. We didn’t have the chance to travel much growing up, so now that I can afford it, I want to spoil them as much as I can. This trip was my idea, actually. Mamá hadn’t seen her childhood friends in a long time, and I wanted to surprise her. I would have come with them had it not been for the Grammy nominations. Suddenly it became really important for my label that I film a music video, and before I knew it, I had multiple talk shows and interviews lined up.
I didn’t want my family to miss the trip, so I told them to go without me this time.
