I CALLED MY sister a total of twenty times in five minutes, walking around my room in her Metallica T-shirt, perhaps as a detached way of bringing myself good luck, but she declined all of them. Excluding the screenshot she'd taken from the show's YouTube, of Takoda and I frozen in a kiss, and the, It all makes sense now that she'd sent along with it, she was refusing to talk to me.

Before Tuesday ended, people on Twitter went crazy. I was partly waiting for everyone to make fun of how much I'd made an ass of myself on Friday night—getting drunk the way I did, temporarily going missing and driving everyone into a panic, insisting that Takoda sat next to me on the way home, leaving one of Coco's friends to drive the Lamborghini back to Calabasas, then cozying up to him—but none of my expectations ended up being met.

Everyone was saying variations of the same thing.

Mayday!! The ship is sinking!

This is why I like the seemingly unassuming ones, one comment said. When they bring drama, they bring drama!

I thought it was Coco and Takoda?? another one said.

Hold up. Why the HELL would Takoda KISS CLEO LIKE THAT?? I mean, she's cute but have you seeen Coco man?

One word. Damn

I need to be kissed like this before I die. That is all

Most of them focused on comparing me with my sister, and the others either expressed disbelief over the episode, or disbelief over Takoda "choosing" me. They made it sound like he'd just randomly picked me out of a crowd and taken me upstairs.

The episode ended with me in the confessional, saying, "Oh shit," and I wondered how long before I turned into another meme, or GIF, or both.

On Instagram, the approach was different. Many people had tagged my sister and I in related posts and stories, hoping we'd see them, probably hoping we'd respond to them as well. Takoda had disabled people he didn't follow from tagging him, and he wasn't on Twitter, so unless he'd changed that due to some publicity agreement for his upcoming EP, he was free from all that madness, but I doubted it would completely elude him.

Someone even went as far as making a Reel with the caption: Takoda Calebs needs to push the EP release date back a bit, 'cause we all need therapy after the drastic drowning of our ship.

For the Reel, the girl—a redhead that looked to be around my age but was probably younger—basically did a "me before Coco Says season eight, thinking this is the one where Coco and Takoda finally get married" versus "me after watching episode 1" video. Her calm, dopey smile in the first half completely contrasted with the dramatic scream in the second, and a screenshot similar to the one my sister sent me appeared on the screen before the video ended with the sound of a car crashing.

It was funny how people thought about stuff like that, creating humor out of other people's problems. And I struggled a little to stop myself from feeling hurt. Coco Says wasn't just entertainment. It was about us living, documenting, sharing. It was about the range of emotions we experienced everyday. It wasn't a competition between my sister and I, and I didn't understand why people wouldn't stop seeing it like that.

Robin's reaction wasn't any different, though instead of texting me words, she'd sent a plethora of exclamation marks, with a lone question mark at the end.

Explain, I could hear her saying, but couldn't bring myself to respond. It had already been established that the I was drunk excuse wasn't going to help this situation. Takoda had been sober, but he'd kissed me back, and watching the kiss as an observer made one thing clear—we didn't kiss like we were strangers.

I was sitting in my room on Wednesday morning, staring at the sliding doors that led to the backyard, at my most Instagrammable plant sitting next to it, when my phone vibrated in my hand. The device was nearly attached to my skin at this point, and without wondering what the notification was about, I looked into the screen.

Takoda.

Hey, are you okay? It's Takoda

It was a little strange that I wanted to laugh at the realization that he'd actually believed me when I told him I deleted his number.

I pushed the power button of my phone instead of responding to him, forcing the screen to go black, but it lit back up almost immediately, with a call this time. It felt as if he knew I'd seen his text, like he knew I planned to ignore it because the one person I wanted to talk to was ignoring me.

I thought back to Thursday as I wondered whether to pick up or not. If I'd just responded to his stupid text, maybe we would've been friendlier to each other at Coco's house. We wouldn't have done that badly choreographed stare-then-ignore dance we did. I wouldn't have stayed as long as I did in the kitchen, and my mom wouldn't have told me to take his breakfast up to him. I wouldn't have gotten drunk. I wouldn't have gotten jealous. I wouldn't have kissed him. All this could've been avoided.

With all that in mind, I let out a sigh, silently cursing common sense, and picked up the call just as I felt it about to disconnect. I placed the phone against my ear but didn't say anything, and he must've been surprised that I actually responded this time, because he didn't say anything, either.

"What is it?" I was the one who eventually spoke first, and I noticed that I sounded more frustrated than I felt.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, ignoring the harshness of my voice. His voice was different over the phone. It sounded even richer, rumbling through my fingertips and spreading to the rest of my body.

A sudden cold breeze—one that didn't belong here, and certainly not in July—hit the back of my neck, across the spot he'd caressed—

Shit.

I didn't respond immediately, trying to clear my mind, but I eventually admitted, "I've seen better days."

He hesitated just like I did. Then he asked, "She hasn't talked to you either?"

"What do you think?"

"You're mad at me."

I took another moment to respond, wondering if I sounded more angry than frustrated. Even though my mind was currently looking for ways to make this his fault, I knew that I was the only one to blame here. I'd kissed him twice on Friday, almost let him kiss me on Saturday, then gone too far on Sunday. No matter how hard I tried, the truth of what we'd done—of what I'd done—was refusing to leave my head.

I found it frustrating, but I couldn't say I was mad. Especially not at him.

"Why would I be mad at you?" I tried to level my voice that time. "This isn't your fault."

"In a way, it is."

"What do you want, Takoda?" I asked before the silence could stretch out for too long. "Why did you call me?"

"Just to see how you're doing, Cleo."

I got out of bed in a blink, thinking being on my feet would make me endure this conversation better. "You know you don't have to do any of this, don't you?" He remained quiet. "The texting and calling and trying to talk to me—you don't have to do any of it."

"Things don't have to be that way," he said, nearly whispering. The tone of his voice was undoing me, and I absolutely hated it. I just wanted to yell at him or something equally relieving, but he was making it difficult.

These random bursts of anger needed to be dealt with, else I'd explode where and when I wasn't supposed to.

"Yes, they do!" I exclaimed. "It's the only way I can remain sane. You were gone for six months, Takoda, and I was perfectly fine. Then the moment you decided to make your grand re-entrance into my life, I ended up making the biggest mistake I could've ever possibly made on camera. So yes, things have to be like that. I can't deal with any of this, okay?"

For a few beats, silence was the only thing I got in response, and I had to check my phone to make sure he was still on the line.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I don't know if you believe that, but I am. Okay? For everything. And Sunday—" He paused to let out a short laugh of disbelief. "I know you weren't thinking straight and I should've done something, but I wasn't thinking straight, either. I came back and realized that you aren't the same person I left, and I don't know why I found it all as disarming as I did."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" I interjected, my words laced with fury. There were tears in my eyes, the usual company to my overwhelming emotions.

"I don't mean that as a bad thing."

"Look, I don't want this, okay? I just want space. That's the only guaranteed way I can stop making a fool of myself around you." I waited for him to say something, to agree with me, but all I got was more silence. "I have to go—"

"My publicist wants to talk to you—to us."

I didn't like the way he said the us. There was no us. Only me. Only him. Two completely different people from different worlds. He grew up in the industry, his dad already one of the biggest names in the alternative/indie scene before he was even born, and I was thrown into it at the age of eleven because my sister signed a record deal. He had experienced—and was still experiencing—things I would never understand because I was a white kid and he wasn't. He was already working towards his future, and I didn't even know if I wanted to go to college.

Two very different people from two very different worlds.

There was no us. Not anymore.

"Why?"

"It's about the rumors."

"I can deal with them on my own."

"Cleo."

"I told you to stop saying my name like that.

He ignored me and repeated, "She wants to talk to us. About us."

I surprised myself by laughing, more than happy that I was away from the cameras. In the safety of my bedroom, I could behave however I wanted without worrying about how people were going to react to it. "You're insane, Takoda. I'm not talking to your publicist, or your manager, or anyone that's signed a contract with you. Tell them it was a mistake. Hormones or whatever. I was drunk."

"That would've been believable if we hadn't been acting weird the whole time. There was obvious tension between us, and you were clearly pissed at me before the drinks," he said, so calmly that it was almost easy to believe we weren't talking about something serious, and it was my turn to fall quiet. "We're public figures, Cleo. We can't just leave things hanging like that. Think of it as damage control." When I refused to speak, he added, "Let's just talk to her and find out what she has for us, okay? No legal stuff."

There was no us.

"I can't just talk to people like that. I have to tell my sister, or her manager, or my mom, or someone."

"You're not signing any contracts, C—" He paused when the nickname slipped out, but only for a second. "No paperwork or fancy language, I promise. Just a way out."

The weight of the situation only seemed to settle on my shoulders then, pushing down on me until I was forced to sit back on my bed. My heart was thrumming inside my chest, loud enough for me to doubt for a second that he couldn't hear it, too. "And what if there's no way out?"

My question sat in the tense air for a long time. Takoda was thoughtfully quiet, and I tried to provide an answer to the question as I waited for his, but no alternatives came to mind. It was either I talked to his publicist or . . . I didn't. I'd have to deal with it on my own. With Mark still suspicious. With my sister mad at me. With my best friend feeling puzzled and probably betrayed, too.

Finally, Takoda said, "Then we'll have to tell the truth."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I knew that it wasn't an option. Truths hurt on an average day. But this one? This one would do a lot more than hurting.

I sighed in defeat, rubbing a sudden ache out of my forehead. "We can't do that," I softly told him.

"We can't."

I continued rubbing my forehead. "Okay. Where and what time?"

"Is ten okay with you?"

"I basically do nothing all day. I meant it when I said I'm a loser."

"So, ten a.m."

"Ten a.m."

"Cool," he near whispered. "I'll text you the location when she tells me."

"Okay."

I was about to hang up when I heard him say my name, and I silently pressed my phone back to my ear.

"I don't think you're a fool. Or a loser."

I softened briefly, not knowing I needed to hear those words, before coming back to my senses, refusing to let him have any further effect on me. "What you think about me doesn't matter, Calebs. Ten o'clock tomorrow."

Then I hung up, feeling numb.

alexa, play she said he said she said by joshua bassett.

i just wanted to say thank you once again to everyone reading this messy lil project of mine. i thought people would hate it honestly, mostly because of everything that has to be unpacked before we reach the actual heart of the story, but for some reason, people don't. so thank you for being here, and thank you for your support 💖