Otis shoved more pie into his mouth but still managed to give me a???face.
“Yeah. I mean, Iamgoing on a trip. Not for another two weeks, though.”
Otis’s eyes bugged out. I nodded. He did a little celebratory seat-dance.
Mom looked like she wanted to pinch my cheeks. “Oh, fantastic! And afterward, you twohaveto come for dinner.”
Chapter Five
Snow is a rare and beautiful phenomenon.
Socializing is my middle name.
Don’t forget the pepper spray.
Lew Elliot’s cottage was tucked into the north shore along the lake at Devil’s State Park, about an hour’s drive from Madison. Otis bellowed alongside Cher, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. His devotion to the artist, according to him, hadabsolutely nothingto do with his massive crush on a drag performer known for doing the Shoop Shoop Song in a mermaid tail.
“Isn’t this amazing? It’s like the universe is finally listening to us. You’ll win the competition and become a billionaire, and I’ll play Frank-N-Furter and sleep with the entire cast ofRocky Horror.Youarecoming to the first rehearsal, right?”
“First of all, you have a wild misconception of how much writers make,” I said, eyes trained on the road. “Second, you in a corset? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good,” he sighed dramatically. “Because youhaveto run lines with me.”
When Otis broke intoSweet Transvestiteduring auditions, I may have cried. Okay. Ididcry. It shocked no one when he got the role—he showed up in full face and sounded like a horny angel, sultry and soaring. One of the other actors threw a tantrum after being offered Transylvanian #4. I sat in the third row in an Otis T-shirt and a ridiculous clapping hat—burned later on his request after we celebrated at Garland’s.
My best friend was going places. I knew it in my bones.
But right then, I could’ve used a dose of his poise and self-confidence.
“Just promise me you’ll be nice to people,” he said.
I tore my gaze from the shifting scenery as urban grey gave way to thick forest.
“Hey! Iamnice.”
Otis snorted. “You’re nice to me. And probably only because I share my wardrobe with you.”
Snow began to fall—fat flakes hitting the windshield like drops of white paint. It was definitely colder up here. Winter had taken over.
“I share my wardrobe withyou,” I countered. “Remember my Bowie shirt that now fits me like a nightgown?”
Otis flipped an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder. “Well, it got me laid. Sometimes you have to pay a little to live a little.”
We drove up a narrow mountain road. I cracked the window open, breathing in the crisp air. I loved snow. In the city it never stuck— just turned into roadside slush.
“My nips are turning into raisins. Would you mind?”
I sighed and rolled the window back up. A few flakes had landed on my leopard coat. I smushed one with my fingertip, turning it into a cold little puddle.
“You’re the only person worth being nice to,” I said softly.
He didn’t answer, but I caught the edge of a smile. I glanced at the navigation—the blue line almost reaching the red dot. I opened the itinerary on my phone again.
Social events.
I grimaced and scrolled fast to the bottom. No way was I wasting this trip on philosophical debates over wine and cheese.
“Don’t youdarehave fun without me,” Otis warned.
