“Yeah, they’re pretty nice. I mean, I don’t plan to spend much time there. I was going to get one of the tents but my friend Steve, who’s another YouTuber, bailed at the last minute. I mean, luckily, I hadn’t bought my ticket or anything just yet.” The heat of embarrassment rose in James’ cheeks as he explained the situation. None of them were going to verify where he was staying, so he could have lied, but James wasn’t a liar, as much as the internet often claimed otherwise.
Steve isn’t even here and he’s still embarrassing me¸he thought but didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“It’s whatever.” James shrugged. “I have better things to spend my money on. And like I said, it’s pretty nice. It’s more like a hotel room than a dorm.”
“Yeah, there’s not much to complain about here, right?” Cassidy said. She sounded sincere.
“Except the fucking assholes who got invited,” Daisy said, somewhat distantly. She and Apricot were both scrolling on their phones.
“There is that,” James said.
“Why did your friend decide not to come, James?” Cassidy asked, looking up from her phone. She seemed more sincere, but he wasn’t sure he judged any of these women correctly.
“He thought it sounded too sketchy.”
Cassidy shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it kind of did. My manager was worried about me coming, but I saw the lineup of the artists and there was so much positive confirmation—”
“And it was just too good to pass up,” Daisy said while her thumbs tapped away at her phone screen. “I mean, if it was bad then like, it’s bad for a little while, but if it’s good and you don’t go? What if you never get the invite again?”
“Right,” James agreed. “You only get some chances once.”
“Exactly,” Apricot agreed. “And, like, what are the chances that all three of us would be invited?”
James thought it was a good question. He and Steve at least had similar platforms, so it made sense to him that both of them got invited, but he didn’t recognize any of the women he currently sat with.
“They probably mined our data off of Ticketmaster or something like that,” Cassidy said. “Have you ever been to Burning Man, James?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, trying to make it sound obvious. That was another festival that he was almost completely unable to afford and still went to anyhow. It was a miserable, dry weekend, but he got some good content for the channel out of it.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” Apricot said. “Like I said, Lexi Kirkland went to Burning ManandCoachella and she didn’t get an email to come here. It’s not based on mined data. It’s probably more about connections or something. They want to get recognizable faces and names. Maybe no one outside of L.A. would recognize our faces, but anyone who is in the know is going to recognize our last names or our parents.”
“What are your last names?” James asked, regretting the question as soon as it left his mouth.
All three heads turned to him. Despite what Apricot just said about the three of them not being well known, they each bore a look of slight irritation.
“I’m Apricot Anderson, this is Cassidy Burns, and this is Daisy Palmer,” she said, gesturing to herself and her friends and emphasizing surnames.
The names all conjured images in James’ head of famous musicians and actors. “Oh, okay, so you’re all kids of celebrities?” He said it in a disappointed and judgmental tone like he would use if he were talking about them to Steve rather than saying it to their faces over dinner.
“My parents aren’t celebrities,” Apricot quickly clarified. “Not in that way, anyhow.”
But James knew the Anderson name was behind one of the biggest production companies in Hollywood. Apricot’s parents weren’t on-screen famous, but they were still rich, filthy rich, 1% rich.
Rich nepotism babies,James thought.They really will let anyone on the island.
“We’re artists, actors, models, things like that,” Cassidy told him, but she was looking at Apricot, who was working her jaw like she was warming it up for something.
“And who are you, James? I’ve never heard of you before.”
“Well, I’m still trying to make a name for myself because I wasn’t born into a famous one.”
“You say that like you think there’s something wrong with having a famous name,” Apricot said, but she spoke for all the women at the table. All three of them had their eyes on James now, waiting to see what he would say next.
James could feel the indignant anger rising in his chest. No matter where he went, no one respected the hard work he’d put in. No one understood how much time he put into learning the skills behind the magic, figuring out how to edit, learning how to get noticed, learning marketing, running social media campaigns, engaging genuinely with fans and haters alike. It was all hard work, and none of these women had any notion of that. Whatever fanbase they had came easy to them, and if they ever lifted a finger to actually put in effort, they were rewarded tenfold more than he would ever be for doing a hundred times more work.
“No, there’s nothing wrong with having a famous name,” he said, pausing to swallow the angry bile rising in his throat.
The air over the table felt thick and James brought his glass of water to his lips but struggled to drink. The women returned their attention to their plates, poking at the food, and casting glances toward one another.
