Sophia ordered a matcha latte.

She'd been ordering odd-flavoured lattes for years now. Rose-infused tea lattes. Coffees with lavender. Blue spirulina cappuccinos. It had started as a hobby, and then Sophia had realized that colorful drinks performed better on Instagram, and — at some point — it had just become habit. Matcha lattes were her go-to drink now.

Besides, Sophia thought, settling into a leather armchair, Books and Nooks did an excellent version of a matcha latte. Not that she spent a lot of time here; Sophia was partial to cafes with marble and rose-gold and decorative plants. But Ophelia liked it here, liked the roaring fireplace and the smell of old books, so here they were.

Sophia glanced at her watch.

And — true to form — Ophelia was running late. Three, Sophia thought, sipping her matcha latte. Two. One—

Ophelia burst into the room.

"Sorry!" Her cheeks were flushed, her red hair escaping its braids. "I'm so sorry."

"You're only five minutes late."

"Not about that," Ophelia said, exasperated. "About this." She held up a tabloid, punching the front cover with a disturbing amount of force. "This is all my fault."

"Why?" Sophia sipped her latte. "You didn't make me wear last season's Simone Perele." She squinted at the photo. "Lovely bra, but horribly bent out of shape. I never should have put it in the wash."

Ophelia stared at her. "Is that a joke? Did you just make a joke?"

"I either joke about it," Sophia said lightly, "or I cry. And I look hideous when I cry. Trust me. I had to do it for a waterproof mascara commercial once."

Ophelia plopped into a chair. "I shouldn't have drunk that much. And I definitely shouldn't have taken some man's ketamine." She looked at Sophia entreatingly. "Are you angry with me? You're allowed to be mad. I would be furious."

Sophia sighed. "I'm not mad."

"You're not?"

"No."

And Sophia meant it. Ophelia was the type of person who would ask for coke at a rave and then get confused when someone handed her white powder instead of a soda. She should have known better than to leave her at a party full of strangers, Sophia thought. She should have stayed with her.

Speaking of which.

"Listen," Sophia said, "there's something you should know."

She filled Ophelia in, beginning with the morning pancakes and ending with Jenna's suggestion to leave for Bashaw. By the time Sophia finished, Ophelia's tea and almond croissant had arrived, although her cousin hadn't seemed to notice; she was staring at Sophia.

"You're leaving?"

"No. Maybe." Sophia took a sip. "I don't want to. Do you think I should?"

Ophelia fiddled with the ellipsis tattoo on her finger. A nervous habit. "I want whatever's best for you. Always. You know that."

"I know," Sophia said. "I just wish I knew what that was."

Her phone rang. Callie, Sophia thought, her heart lurching. And sure enough, the name "Estrella" popped up on the screen. She rose, trying to ignore the way her stomach was suddenly clawing its way out of her throat.

"Sorry," Sophia said. "I have to take this."

Ophelia waved her off. "Don't worry. I brought a book."

Some part of her warmed. "You always do."

Her cousin winked, pulling out what looked suspiciously like a Dickens novel. Or Jane Austen. Or something heavy enough that it doubled as a weapon, anyway. Sophia crossed to the window, punching the green button.

"Hello?"

A quiet voice answered. "Good morning, Ms. Huntington. How are you today?"

Sophia closed her eyes. She could picture Callie's bubble-gum pink bob, hear the rhythmic slap of shoes on a treadmill. She wasn't entirely sure that Callie owned a treadmill, actually, but it seemed like the sort of thing the CEO of Estrella would do every morning. In heels. With a coffee in hand.

"I've been better," Sophia said.

"You've seen the photo, then?"

She winced. "I'm so sorry, Callie. It's not what it looks like."

"Unfortunately," Callie said, not unkindly, "I don't care. Do you know what our buzzwords for this perfume launch are? Fresh. Elegant. Refined. We're filming the teaser in a field of daisies. I don't need to tell you that the face of our brand developing a ketamine habit isn't great for business."

Sophia swallowed.

She traced a finger through the condensation gathering on the window. Outside, Lovewood Academy towered over the street. There was something disconcerting about seeing her old alma mater right now; Sophia could picture four girls running around the stone ramparts, climbing gnarled oak trees and grinding scented pencils into bespoke "perfumes" that they'd gleefully wear to class.

So much had changed since then.

Ophelia was studying English at university. Ella had just released her EP and was performing at a slew of high-profile concerts across North America. And Louise was in London, partying and studying in equal amounts.

And Sophia?

Just investing in skincare, Sophia thought wryly, and selling my face for money. One photoshoot at a time.

Still.

She needed this partnership with Estrella. It would pay for the rest of her business undergraduate degree, as well as a much-needed holiday for her mother. She'd beg if she had to.

"What can I do?" Sophia asked. "Tell me what to do to fix things, and I'll do it."

Callie didn't miss a beat. "Publicly admit that the drugs weren't yours. Preserve your image."

Sophia inhaled sharply.

She traced a heart on the window, playing for time. She had contacts in the media; it would be easy to organize an interview. She could release an Instagram story right now, denying that the drugs belonged to her. Her followers would understand.

Sophia's gaze drifted to Ophelia.

But what about her cousin? Aunt Carmen was many things, but she wasn't an idiot; she'd realize that if the drugs didn't belong to Sophia, then her daughter was the likely culprit. And Carmen would go mental. Like, "pull-Ophelia-out-of-university-and-put-her-in-a-rehabilitation-clinic" kind of mental.

No.

She couldn't do that to Ophelia.

"I can't," Sophia said.

"Can't," Callie said, "or won't?"

Her throat tightened. "There must be another way."

"I'm afraid not," Callie said. "Good day, Ms. Huntington."

"Wait!" Sophia blurted. "What if I move to the countryside? I have family in rural Alberta. I could move there for the year. Rebrand myself." She clutched the phone. "I can be that girl, Callie. Fresh. Elegant. Refined. Just give me a chance to prove it."

There was a long pause. Sophia's heart pounded wildly in her chest, a separate, living thing. When Callie spoke, her voice was cautious.

"What about the launch parties for Estrella? The press events? You'll be expected to attend them."

"I'll fly out," Sophia said.

"Your schooling?"

"I'll transfer."

"It's a tempting offer," Callie mused. "And honestly, Estrella needs this. Our social media platforms have been growing, but we've been seeing a decline in Instagram followers lately. You could help with that."

Sophia sketched a star on the window. Truthfully, she thought that Estrella would benefit from switching up their hashtags when they cross-posted their content to Instagram, but she knew better than to say so; she was the face of the brand, not the brains. Several people had made that clear to her over the years.

"Just give me a chance," Sophia repeated. "Please."

"It could work," Callie said slowly.

"No," Sophia said. "It will work."

Callie sounded amused. "Well, I admire your confidence, Ms. Huntington. We'll give it a shot." The shoe-slapping noise stopped, followed by a button beeping. "But I need you posting wholesome countryside content by the weekend."

"I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

"Excellent," Callie said. "Let me know when you land."

She hung up.

Sophia made her way back to the table. Ophelia bookmarked her page, nibbling on a piece of almond croissant.

"Well?" Ophelia asked. "Was that Estrella?" When Sophia nodded, her cousin set down the pastry. "How did it go?"

"I'm moving to Bashaw," Sophia said.

Ophelia leaned back. "Wow."

"Yeah." She plopped into a chair. "Do you think they'll have stores?"

"Of course."

"Like Zara?" Sophia asked. "Or H&M?"

Ophelia hesitated. "Well, maybe."

"Sure," Sophia sighed. "And maybe the Earth is flat, and Sarah Gellman really did fall off her horse and break her face, which is why she got a nose job."

"She does own horses," Ophelia said mildly.

"And I own a fire extinguisher," Sophia pointed out. "It doesn't mean that I use it, though." She eyed Ophelia's pastry enviously. God, what she would give for a buttery croissant. "Fi... You would tell me if you thought I was making a mistake, right?"

Ophelia's face softened. "Obviously."

"And you'll call?"

"Every day."

"I love you," Sophia said hoarsely, surprising them both. "You know that, right?"

Her cousin set down her book. Around them, commuters bustled around the café wielding lattes and muffins, a blur of briefcases and ill-mannered tempers. Ophelia reached across the table to squeeze Sophia's hand.

"You'll do great," Ophelia told her. "I know it."

Sophia smiled tightly. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

: Sorry, Sophia — it's going to be bad ;)

I'm just gonna jump in here and say that I grew up in Alberta, so any digs that I make at the province are made with love; I'm a big fan of Stampede breakfasts and cowboy boots and country music. Dean Brody, anyone?

Affectionately,

J.K.