“Gah.” I couldn’t stop smiling, and I didn’t even try. “Everything he says is so good. Why won’t he show his face? That just makes me want to see it more.”
Laney picked up her phone like the answer was obvious. “Because he’s not as cute as the others. I’ve heard he’s painfully skinny and has red hair.”
It felt like a backhand.
Because I had red hair. Bright red hair.
She heard it a second after she said it. “I mean, I love red hair on you,” she backpedaled. “But not everyone can pull it off.” She waved her hand lazily. “You know what I mean.” Then she went back to scrolling.
Laney did that sometimes—said things that sliced and then quickly took them back. Almost like a lawyer tossing out a pointed comment, then asking to strike it from the record. But the damage was done. Laney blamed it on her ADHD, which I wasn’t sure she even had. I was pretty sure she used it as an excuse to say whatever she wanted.
But I told myself it was our last sleepover. I should drop it and just have fun.
“Look at this.” She pointed to another reel. “Elias keeps posting brainrot.” There was an edge of insecurity in her voice that told me I’d better be ready to pad her ego.
She restarted the video for me. It began with a black background and the caption:She says we’re just friends.Then the subway surfer guy burst onto the screen, running 200 miles an hour. Another comment popped up at the top of the video:So why am I locked in?
Laney glanced at me, mouth hanging open. That was my cue.
“He’ssotalking about you!”
She batted her lashes. “You think?”
I grinned. “Totally.”
But then she studied my face, and her forehead furrowed slightly. “I don’t know, maybe.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Laney thought she needed a nose job. Talked about it incessantly. “I wish I were as pretty as you.”
I groaned inwardly.
“You’re prettier than me.” I swallowed. “I love your warm brown eyes and your cheekbones.” I made the chef’s kiss gesture. But my stomach curdled.
Laney brought every conversation back around to looks. Mostly my looks—and how she’d never be as beautiful as me. Other girls might’ve been flattered, but sometimes I got the feeling that the only reason she’d befriended me—the new foster kid at school—was because I was pretty.
Yes, I knew I was. How could I not? It was all people talked about when they met me. That or the fact that I was an orphan. As if those two things were the sum total of Julie Skinner. Just once, I wished someone would ask me which hike I’d do first if I had a car, or what I thought of the new Sabrina Carpenter album, or whether Five Guys or In-N-Out was better.
In-N-Out. Not even a contest. Animal style everything. Though I’d driven past it thousands of times, I’d never been until Laney invited me over for the first time and her parents took us there for dinner. I’d been hooked ever since, but only got to go when I was with the Lannisters.
“It’s too bad you can’t actually be a model.” Laney studied her nails.
I blinked, and my stomach soured, like I’d swallowed a cup of vinegar. “I can’t?”
“My mom looked into it, and apparently the headshots—the pictures you need to get an agent—are like,expensive-expensive. So it’s really only for people who, you know, have money and stuff.” She wrinkled her nose, swiping to another reel. “Also, you never see red-haired models.”
Make that two cups of vinegar.
A knock drew our attention to the doorway.
Mrs. Lannister stood there, giving Laney a pointed look, letting us know she’d heard the end of our conversation.
Then her expression softened. “Did you know that only one to two percent of the world’s population are natural redheads?” She said it brightly, as if it were something I should be proud of. “Some people pay big money to get that hair color. Combine that with those big blue eyes and that smile, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we see Julie’s face on the cover of Allure magazine someday. Or Vogue.” She smiled proudly. “Lean into what makes you unique, I say. That’s your brand.”
My shoulders lifted, and it felt like I’d grown a whole inch.
“Oh-kay, Tiffany,” Laney’s tone dripped with annoyance. “Did you need something?”
I didn’t need parents of my own to know calling them by their first names was next-level disrespectful. But even if that hadn’t been obvious, the look on Mr. and Mrs. Lannister’s faces every time Laney did it would’ve spelled it out for me. But they never corrected her.
Her mom exhaled, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a phone. “Julie, Ross and I thought you might like Laney’s old cell. It’s not hooked up to a plan, so it would only work if you’re connected to Wi-Fi—but it still might be helpful for you.”
