Claire arrives armed for war. Snacks, face masks, nail polish. She's not leaving until we've solved something.
"Movie night is a cover. We're actually having a crisis management session."
"Claire—"
"Don't." She points at me. "You've been weird for days. Cryptic texts. Avoiding calls. Something's happening and you're going to tell me everything."
I sink onto the floor beside her.
"Everything is a lot."
"I've got all night."
The confession tumbles out in a rush. Grant's apartment. The kissing. The way he makes me feel seen. Then Jordan in the kitchen. My hand on him. The desperate wanting I can't satisfy. The key locked in Mrs. Ellison's safe. The impossible tangle of needing two people in completely different ways.
Claire listens without interrupting.
"So." She holds up one hand. "You got Jordan off in your kitchen while your dad was upstairs."
My face burns. "Yes."
"And you're also making out with Grant."
"Yes."
"And you don't know which one you want."
"I don't know if I want either of them. Or both of them. Or if I just want to want something that's mine to choose." My hands press to my face. "Does that make me terrible?"
"No." Her voice softens. "It makes you human."
"I'm going to hurt Grant. He said he's starting to really care about me and I'm lying to him every time I kiss him."
"Are you lying? Or are you confused?"
"What's the difference?"
"Intent." She shifts closer. "Maya, your parents control everything. And now you're feeling things for two different people and you don't know how to process it. That's normal."
"It doesn't feel normal."
"Because you've never been allowed to feel anything." She grabs my hand. "But we're not dealing with your love life first. We're dealing with the key."
"What?"
"Priorities." She pulls out her phone. "You said it's in Mrs. Ellison's bedroom safe. In her house. Where there's a charity gala in three weeks."
"How did you know about the gala?"
"Grant mentioned it at church last week. Big fundraiser. Whole community invited." Her green eyes sharpen. "That's our chance."
"Our chance for what?"
"Getting the key." She opens her notes app. "We're planning a heist."
"Claire, that's insane."
"Is it? Or is it the only option?" She starts typing. "Okay. Layout. You've been to the house. Where's her bedroom?"
"Second floor. East wing."
"Security?"
"I don't know. Probably something."
"We'll figure it out." She's fully focused now. Problem-solving mode engaged. "Grant can help from inside. He knows the house. Knows his mother's schedule."
"You want to involve him?"
"He already knows about the key. And he wants you free." She looks at me. "Unless you don't trust him?"
"I do. I think."
"Good enough." She keeps typing. "So. Night of the gala. Everyone's downstairs. Grant creates a distraction. You slip upstairs. I run interference if anyone notices."
"And if we get caught?"
"We won't."
"Claire—"
"Maya." Her voice goes firm. "You've been wearing that thing for weeks. Your parents gave the key to someone else like your body is property. We're getting it back."
Tears prick behind my eyes. "What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we try something else. But we're trying this first." She squeezes my hand. "You're not alone in this."
We spend the next two hours planning. Drawing the house layout from memory. Discussing timing. Assigning roles. It feels impossible and necessary in equal measure.
Claire maps out distraction scenarios. "I'll start a conversation with Mrs. Ellison. Loud. Draw attention. You slip away during cocktail hour when everyone's social."
"What if someone sees me upstairs?"
"You're looking for a bathroom. You got lost. The downstairs one was occupied." She shrugs. "Plausible deniability."
"And the safe?"
"We'll figure out the combination. Or Grant will." Her confidence feels contagious. "One problem at a time."
By the time we finish planning, dawn edges the horizon. We finally put on the movie we were supposed to be watching. Lie on the floor in sleeping bags.
"Claire?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when you're free." She rolls onto her side to face me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Okay."
"What do you actually want? Not your parents. Not Grant or Jordan. You."
The question sits heavy in the dark. I don't know how to answer.
"I want to choose." My voice comes out small. "I want my body to be mine. I want to make decisions without permission. I want to want things without feeling guilty."
"That's a start."
"Is it?"
"Yeah." She's quiet for a moment. "For what it's worth? I don't think you need to choose between them."
"Between who?"
"Grant and Jordan. I don't think that's the real choice."
"Then what is?"
"Choosing yourself first." Her words settle over me like a blanket. "You have to choose you."
The concept feels foreign. Radical. I've never been allowed to choose myself. Don't even know what that would look like.
"I don't know how."
"You're already doing it." Claire finds my hand. "Planning this heist. Fighting back. That's choosing yourself."
"It doesn't feel like enough."
"It's a start." She squeezes once. "The rest comes after. When you're free."
We lie in comfortable silence. The movie plays unwatched. I think about freedom. About what comes after. About choosing myself when I don't even know who that self is underneath all the rules and expectations.
The idea terrifies me.
But maybe that's the point.
My phone buzzes. The screen lights up in the dim room.
I reach for it. Claire props herself up on one elbow to read over my shoulder.
Grant: My mother just confirmed the gala date—three weeks from now. She's already talking about using it to formally announce our engagement to the whole church community. If we're going to do this, that's our window.
The words sit heavy on the screen. Three weeks. That's all the time we have.
Claire looks at me. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Are we doing this?"
I stare at the message. Think about the belt. About choosing myself. About freedom. About taking back what was stolen while I slept.
"Yes." The word comes out certain. "We're doing this."
"Good." Claire grins. "Because I was doing it with or without your permission."
"That's reassuring."
"I know." She flops back down. "Now get some sleep. We've got three weeks to plan a heist and I need you sharp."
I set the phone down. Close my eyes. But sleep feels impossible.
For the first time in my life, I'm choosing myself.
And God help anyone who tries to stop me.