Hey guys! I'm SO sorry I haven't updated my story. I can't promise it won't take this long until next chapter either… School is really hard right now and I need to focus. I love writing fanfiction but I hardly have the time anymore. I hope you guys understand. This doesn't mean I've stopped writing though, I will DEFINITELY keep writing. And I promise that as soon as I go on spring break I will write more often. I hope you guys like this chapter. I have a lot planned for how it will go after I finish describing the episode :)

Again, time is centered in the middle of the pages, POVs are underlined, memories are italicized, and just assume that the person is signing if it makes sense.

Bay's POV:

I can't believe what just happened. I'm in the ladies room of my un-art show trying to process all of this. This wasn't a real art show? Everything had been going so incredibly well. J and K were loving it. Regina had come. Daphne came, and even brought her new boyfriend along with her. Everyone was having such a great time. And I - I was the star. Even Ms. Booth seemed to be enjoying herself. And it wasn't real?

It had all started as I was showing Ms. Booth around.

"So what inspired these?" She questioned, pointing to some pieces of mine.

"Well, um" I started, "I had an experience this year, a private one, that was suddenly made public." I said, referring to the whole Tank situation. I was not interested into going into detail. I didn't want to think about it. It makes me crazy, and I'm not in the mood to be rattled, especially not at my very first art show. Tonight is just about enjoying myself, and making sure the night was special. "A lot of people had opinions about it" I continued, as I stopped to face her. "They used language, both verbal and written, to label me, to define my experience for me." I was happy to see that she was engaged and looking very interested. I had calmed down and I thought I was doing pretty well at finding words to describe my art.

I turned to see the gallery owner walking towards us. "Uh what's going on?" He asked. He did not seem pleased.

"Hi Matt" Ms. Booth said, sticking her hand out to shake his.

He accepted it but he still didn't seem happy "Oh, uh, what are you doing here?" He asked in a voice that sounded less like a question and more like a voice a parent would use with a child stealing cookies. Not angry just, questioning when they think something's wrong. 'What are you doing with the cookies?'

"Someone from your office invited me." I questioningly looked back and forth between them. Was it so wrong to invite an art critique? I mean I know I used a fake name but it's customary for critiques to come to art exhibitions.

"If they did that was a misunderstanding and I'd like to know who called you." Uh-oh. I guess it was wrong to invite her? But why? I looked up at Ms. Booth, dreading what came next. How was I going to explain? 'Oh, uh, yeah, I just called her up and pretended to be someone I wasn't to get her to come' Yeah. That would play out well.

"A Joan Cabernet?" The gallery owner (Matt I guess) blinked a couple of times in disbelief. It was obviously not a name he recognized.

I looked at him, guilty as ever and tried to come up with an excuse. Ms. Booth looked over at me, now also confused. "That must have been my publicist." I got out slowly.

Okay, I get that I lied about who I was but why was inviting an art critique that bad of a thing to do anyway?

"I'm gonna go get some wine" Ms. Booth declared, excusing herself, obviously sensing something was up.

"I'm so sorry" I tried to explain to Matt "I just know that it's standard to invite critics to openings, and since you hadn't had a chance to do it yet-"

"You know what?" The almost bald ginger said, cutting me off, "I've had enough of this. I agreed to pretend this was a real show to make your boyfriend happy, but when you put my reputation on the line by inviting my colleague, using my name…" What? I was so confused. None of this lined up. It didn't make sense.

"Wait, real art show… Did you say boyfriend? I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about"

"This is a rental, sweetie" He explains. Though by the tone of his voice he sure doesn't see me as a sweetie. "I was dark between shows so sometimes I let people rent the place out. Your boyfriend payed me 400 dollars for the night. I hadn't seen your - work," He said the word work like what I had could barely even be called such a thing "until just now." Okay, it was all making sense now. But one part still didn't line up. Who had paid for this?

"I don't have a boyfriend" I told him, tearing up

"Trevor" he said, like I should know, "Trenton" he said, trying again.

"Travis?" I asked. It was all making sense now.

"And there you go" He nodded before walking away. I gulped, trying to force down tears. I was so angry.

Emmett's POV:

I zoomed through the world, not watching anything that passed and thinking, thinking so hard. I wasn't sure where I was heading, just far, far away. I was in my own world. Nothing existed but me and my motorcycle. I saw a red light and stopped. I looked down a bit to see my reflection in the rear view mirror and saw much I was frowning. I relaxed my forehead and then felt a buzz in my pocket. It must be Skye I thought to myself.

As soon as the light turned green I found a place to pull over. I got off my bike and leaned on a tree near where I had parked. Skye and I promised we would text and unless I had warned her I was going to a movie or something I usually responded immediately. I didn't want her to worry so I pulled out my phone and glanced at it.

"Hope your trip is going well, I hope Bay isn't being too annoying about the breakup. Miss you lots!" She had written. I ran my fingers through my hair.

Skye knew about how crazy Bay was being in Mexico but that was about it, I hadn't exactly told her about the part about me being jealous or getting into a fight with Travis. This text made me so mad. The last thing Bay could do was be annoying. Just as I had thought I had finally cooled down she had to send this text.

"She is not being annoying, not at all" I typed back. To her it would seem like it was meant to be reassuring. But truthfully, it was an angry text.

I needed to think. I didn't just need to collect myself, I needed to think, deep and hard about what I was feeling and what I was supposed to do with those feelings. I hopped back on my motorcycle and continued riding, this time sure where I was going.

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