“Damn, that’s impressive. I don’t think many other people here can say anything like that. I mean, there are a lot of musicians here, and that takes talent, but I think most of them are on Soundcloud if they’re not Top 40, you know?”
James laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“So, have you interviewed anyone here?”
The question caught James off guard, though he realized it shouldn’t have. He took another swig to buy time and remember the most recent artist lineup.
“Oh yeah, yeah. I’ve done a couple every day.”
“Are you interviewing anyone today?”
“Uh, yeah, I think I’m doing an interview with Lil Neb today.”
Allen’s jaw dropped. He caught himself and sat up straighter to regain composure. “Well, I am jealous. I wish I had your job. Tell him that he’s amazing for me, okay?”
“I’ll try to find a way to sneak it in,” James said.
A group of women walked into the bar then, drawing Allen’s attention away.
“Look who it is!” he said in a sing-song. “I didn’t expect any of you to be awake before noon. Aren’t you all super hungover?”
“You can’t be hungover if you’re still drunk,” a redhead with a bad sunburn and oversized sunglasses said.
Allen pointed at James, who sat on the other side of the bar from the women. “I just learned that my new friend, James here, is getting to meet Lil Neb today.”
“Oh shit, that’s cool,” the woman at the bar said. “Did you win a meet and greet?” she asked.
James shook his head, trying to make eye contact with her around Allen. “No, I’m a journalist, and I’m doing an interview with him.”
“Who do you write for?” the woman asked.
“I’ve done articles for a lot of different magazines,” James said. “But this one is for Buzzfeed.”
“Oh my god, is it one of those interviews where you have them read mean tweets people have written about them? I like, love those but I also hate them. Like, I can’t stand when people say mean things about me, but everyone I’ve seen always has such good clap backs.”
James shrugged and gave a small laugh in agreement. “I guess you’ll just have to read it when it’s published.”
The friends started to talk about something else while the bartender took their drinks, and James decided to take his leave and let the group forget him while he went back to his tent and put his new identity out onto the internet for the island to make of it what it would.
“Hey! Leaving so soon?” Allen asked when James stood.
“Uh, well …” James started to say.
“Is your interview soon?” the woman asked.
“No, but I should probably go get ready—”
“Aw, come on, stay for a while. You’re here alone and it sounds like you’ve been working a lot. Stay with us and have a little fun. You’re as close as I’m ever going to get to meeting Lil Neb,” Allen said.
The group moved to a table so that they sat more comfortably, and when they all got their drinks, they took group photos and selfies from every angle. Allen took a photo with just him and James. Immediately, Allen started reviewing the photos he took and demanding that no one post any without his permission.
“What’s your handle?” he asked James. James froze. If they looked at his handle now, they would see he wasn’t a journalist.
“It’s just my name,” James said, forcing the sound through his dry mouth.
A heavy anxiety crawled up his spine as he watched Allen hit “post.”
James checked the notification that showed up on his phone. The caption read:
