Maya didn't cry when she got home. She didn't fall apart. She didn't scream into her pillow or tear up the green dress that made her feel like a living echo.
She just walked into her room, locked the door, and sat on the bed like a machine cooling down.
Her hands were steady, but inside, everything was crumbling—shattered glass and a heartbeat that didn't belong to her. It was like she was still pretending to be Maya Sinclair, the girl who was supposed to live her life. But that girl was slipping away, piece by piece. Sammy had taken her place without asking.
Ten minutes later, Sally and Luna were on a three-way call. No greetings. Just Maya's voice—cold, mechanical, sharpened by heartbreak.
"We have a new plan," she said, her tone flat, unrecognizable.
There was a pause on the other end.
Sally was the first to break the silence. "Uh. Okay? Hello to you too?"
"I went to see Sammy's mom," Maya said bluntly, skipping the small talk. "She told me Eddie used to be different. Wild. Loud. Not the careful, quiet, pocket-protector nerd he is now."
A long pause, filled only by static.
"She said… he changed after Sammy died. Like his whole family had to force a reset on him or something. He wasn't always… like this."
Luna's voice cracked the silence. "That kind of grief rewires people. It messes with your head."
"No," Maya snapped. "This wasn't just grief. This was guilt. It felt like… he's not mourning her. He's punishing himself."
Sally whistled low. "You think he caused the accident?"
"I think," Maya said slowly, her chest tightening with each word, "he knows more than he told me. I think I'm just the person he could… love because I look like her. But if he truly loved me—he wouldn't keep hiding from me."
The words hung between them like a weighted fog. Maya could almost feel them suffocating her.
"And what are we gonna do about it?" Sally asked, excitement threading her words. "You wanna confront him? Torture him with the truth?"
Maya closed her eyes, her voice raw. "No. We'll make him face it. We're going to make him crack."
Luna hesitated. "You mean…?"
Maya nodded, her mouth dry. "We become her. We make him see Sammy in me—feel her in me. He'll crack eventually."
A pause followed, thick with the weight of what Maya was suggesting.
"You mean like… full ghost cosplay?" Sally said, unsure whether to laugh or be terrified.
"I mean we test him," Maya said with a coldness she didn't recognize as her own. "We act like her. Speak like her. We see how far we can push it until he snaps and tells us the truth. If he's only with me because I resemble her—then let's push it. Let's be her. Let's see how deep this thing goes."
Luna's voice was cautious. "That's dangerous, Maya."
"And so is loving someone who only loves your borrowed heartbeat," Maya said. Her hands tightened into fists. "I'm done being the collateral damage in someone else's tragedy. This ends now."
Sally grinned. "Damn right it does. You're about to haunt the hell out of him. Let's do it."
Luna sighed. "I can't believe you're making us do this. But fine. What's the first step?"
Maya's eyes were empty, the determination of someone with nothing left to lose. "We become Sammy."
A beat passed, and then Sally muttered, "I've been waiting my whole life for this level of dramatic espionage."
Later that night…
Eddie sat on the floor of his bedroom, a bottle of something brown and burning in his hand, half-empty, half-forgotten. His hair was a mess. His fingers clutched an old photo so tightly it was warping around the edges.
Sammy was smiling in the picture, wind in her hair, her eyes squinting at the sun. She was alive there. Vibrant. And he was beside her—laughing, messy, real.
Not the ghost of a boy he'd become.
His hand trembled as he brought the photo to his lips.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so goddamn sorry."
He drank until the edges blurred, then slumped against the wall. His eyes closed.
And then he saw her.
White dress. Barefoot. Hair in that lazy braid she used to wear when she was feeling stubborn. She was standing in the middle of the road, smiling.
"Eddie," she said.
He reached for her. "Sammy?"
Her laugh. His heart cracked.
And then—tires screeching. Metal twisting. Her scream.
He jerked awake, breathless, drenched in sweat. His chest ached like someone had stomped on it.
The room was spinning.
His phone buzzed.
Maya.
He picked it up, half expecting to see the usual texts, the ones that kept things light, kept him comfortable. But this time, it was different. She hadn't apologized in a while. She hadn't asked for anything.
> I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run off. I want to make things right. Can we meet?
Eddie blinked. His heart hammered in his chest, fast and frantic, like a drumbeat urging him to respond.
He stared at the message for a long time, too long. His fingers hovered over the keys. His throat felt tight.
And then—another message.
> Miss you, Starboy.
Starboy. Her nickname for him. Sammy's nickname. No one had ever called him that but Sammy.
His whole body froze. The words on the screen blurred, and for a moment, he thought he was imagining it. But the phone was in his hand. The words were still there. He couldn't breathe.
"No," he whispered. "No no no…"
That was Sammy's name for him.
He dropped the phone like it had burned him. His thoughts raced. Panic crept in. He couldn't breathe. Was it possible?
His eyes snapped to the picture of Sammy, the one he was holding earlier. That smile, that laugh, the way she used to look at him.
The room felt too hot, too suffocating.
He picked up the phone again, almost desperate. His fingers were shaking as he typed a reply.
> Where?
He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Meanwhile…
Back in Maya's room, she stared at her phone screen like it owed her something.
"He answered," she said flatly.
Sally grinned. "Damn right he did. You just haunted that man in real time."
Luna looked worried. "Are we really doing this? Are you okay?"
"I'm done pretending," Maya said, a chill in her voice that she barely recognized. "This stops tonight. If I can't be me, then I'll be someone else. I'll be whoever it takes."
She stood up, walking over to the mirror. She untied her hair. It fell around her shoulders in waves—just like Sammy's. She ran a hand through it, feeling the weight of the decision settle over her. She looked at herself.
But not as herself.
She looked like a memory dressed in vengeance.
To be continued…