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way on the other side of the room, pounding each step on the stair master. Two: I had to tell her. I told Jacob, and he looked ready to hire an assassin. I hoped Megan would have some sort of helpful insight. Instead, she looked just as flabbergasted as I'd been since this morning. The fact that we both were completely clueless on how to fix this situation was actually the opposite of helpful. And the only insight I'd gathered was, we're screwed.
    "Leila, I know that face," Megan huffed beside me, her sneakers slapping the treadmill.
    I pointedly locked my eyes on the TV screen attached to the control panel. I didn't have in any earphones so I couldn't hear a thing, but it was the only way I could ensure she couldn't see me. "You can't even see my face."
    "But I know you well enough to know," she took a breath. "To know that you're probably wearing the same face you wore every time I got back together with Brad."
    Brad was her ex, a smarmy asshole who was a pathological liar and cheat. The first couple of times she forgave him, I just shook my head. He was really good at charming his way out of trouble, and a master at convincing Megan that he'd changed. When Megan made her fifth tearful call, telling me she'd found some piece of irrefutable proof that he was at it again, his remorseful act was useless on me. Unfortunately, it took Megan a few more turns on the merry go round before she realized that she deserved so much better.
    I gripped the bar, stabilizing myself long enough to take a swig of water. "So my face is like, are you crazy? Because that's how the Brad situation was. It was the very definition of crazy: taking him back every time when he showed you what his true colors were." I nestled my bottle of water back into the nook on the machine. "And I'm not that crazy."
    I squeezed my eyes shut, sweat trickling into my eyelids. She was just trying to help and I was snapping at her, rubbing her face in her missteps? Had Rachel's bitchiness rubbed off on me?
    Megan went silent, the machines still whirring. Whirring like my stomach as I lowered my speed to walking. I looked down at my feet, then back up at the machine. It read that I'd gone nearly three miles, but I wasn't really going anywhere at all. I'd approached an irrational person with rationality, like this time I'd get through. Just repeating the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.
    I twisted my mouth to the side, the flush in my face mostly due to shame and not exertion.
    "Megan-" I turned to her. She had the same eyes straight ahead, stubborn, angry stride that I'd been rocking a few moments ago. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone there."
    I saw the nerve in her jaw twitching, but she didn't say a word.
    "Megan-"
    "I heard you, Leila," she panted, her machine beeping as she slowed down too. She swiped her towel and wiped her face.
    When she looked over at me, I could have tossed my towel at her. She looked like an ad for the gym; her skin rosy, her strawberry blonde ponytail swishing back and forth, her work outfit a coordinated black and pink top. I just threw an old university t-shirt and kept on the sweats I'd been living in all day. The same sweats that had brought out Rachel's mean girl claws, reminding me that no matter how much money I had, I'd always be me. Beauty came naturally to people like her and Megan. I tugged at my sweat t-shirt depressingly. People like me had to work at it. We always would.
    Megan snapped her fingers and when I glanced up, I knew that she really did know me well. Knew I was having a moment of feeling like I just didn't belong.
    "I know that look too,” she said sternly. “And don't you go entertaining that woman's crap for one second."
    I bit my lip, tears burning in my eyes. As strong as I acted like I was, walking out of Rachel's apartment with my head held high felt like I was dying inside. And not just because I'd failed at getting a handle on the situation, but because she'd reminded me that no matter