I read through the stories in reverse chronological order and discovered all the previous ways Ayala had ruined things for Chewie and Rey.
The only time I’d ever done anything worthwhile was when, overcome by anxiety, I threw up on a Hutt named Yantuh,
creating a momentary distraction that allowed Chewie to grab a blaster and save us from certain death.
I stayed up too late reading, and then later still thinking about what I’d say to Daisy the next morning,
my thoughts careening between furious and scared, circling around my bedroom like a vulture.
I woke up the next morning feeling wretched—not just tired, but terrified.
I now saw myself as Daisy saw me—clueless, helpless, useless. Less.
As I drove to school, my head pounding from sleeplessness, I kept thinking about how I’d been scared of monsters as a kid.
When I was little, I knew monsters weren’t, like, real. But I also knew I could be hurt by things that weren’t real.
I knew that made-up things mattered, and could kill you.
I felt like that again after reading Daisy’s stories, like something invisible was coming for me.
I expected the sight of Daisy to piss me off, but when I actually saw her,
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