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Jace and I respond a second apart, but the messages make me laugh.
Shut up, Hal.
Jace: Shut up.
Hal: This ^ only proves my point.
An envelope slides under my door, accompanied by an irreverent knock. I slip out of bed and pick up the delivery. Inside is the print of the photo Hal’s texted me. He must’ve invaded Mom’s office and helped himself to her photo printer. I open my door and shout, even though there’s no one in sight, “You’re so annoying!”
He texts me in response.
Hal: You’re welcome.
Track 18
First Things First
Laurel
It’s no surprise I change my mind about the party. I can handle one public appearance, with people who might actually understand what it’s like to be me. I may end up with a bouquet of mockery, of course, but what if I won’t? What if it’ll be okay, or even fun, and I’ll never find out because I keep clinging to my shelter?
First thing the next morning, I’m rifling through my clothes. Two problems: everything I own is outdated and most of it doesn’t fit me right anymore. Four years can add a lot of curves to a girl’s body, and sports bras and graphic T-shirts won’t cut it if I’m going to the party of Portland’s princess of music. I looked Briar up. She’s only four years older than me, but she’s considered to be a fatemaker all along the West Coast. Jace’s recording label, it turns out, is the pickiest place in the entire country that signs only the most promising artists, and Briar Eaton is their chief talent scout. I need to remind Jace he’s under the wing of a mogul. Two actually, if I count Dad. Jace has no business feeling as unimpressed about his music as he tends to be. His band is in the upper league.
Anyway, none of my fancy clothes fit, my makeup has dried out, and my hair… Oh, my hair.
I need help.
The best person to ask is Mom. She will be thrilled.
Cringing as I imagine her excitement, I make my way to her office. Whenever my parents are in town, she spends her mornings dealing with finances and paperwork and fending off Dad’s manager. We keep telling her she should just take over, but Mom always responds she wants to have time to go shopping and do crazy things with her daughter.
I stop by her office door, fist raised. Safe and sound and unharmed, I’ve been robbing my parents of opportunities to do things with me.
Well… I tell my racing heart to settle down. Today, I hope, I’ll make up for some of what I ruined. I knock on the door and push it in.
Mom glances up from a piece of paper she’s holding. She hurries to hide it under her keyboard then comes toward me. “What can I do for you?”
Her overabundant smile is way too suspicious. “What was that?” I angle myself around her desk and lift the keyboard.
“Nothing!” Mom pushes me aside to grab the paper, but I’ve had enough of a peek to understand why she’d be hiding it from me.
“Where did you get a picture of me and Jace?” The one Hal gave me more than a week ago. I’ll kill him.
“What? That’s you and him?” Mom brings the photo closer to her eyes.
“You don’t have vision problems,” I grumble.
She watches me over the edge of the photo. “You are so cute together. And Jace.” Her eyes morph into two sly half moons. “Can’t you see it? You’d have the most beautiful babies.”
I snatch the photo out of her hands. “You’re too young to be itching for grandkids.”
Mom pinches my cheek. “Thanks, sweetie. That’s nice of you to say. Anyway, can I help you with something?”
“I, ugh…” Oh, come on! “I need to go shopping.”
“Okay.” Her phone chimes, and she checks it, all calm and serene as if I can’t see that she’s already inching toward the chair with her purse. “What do you need?”
“Clothes. Of the party variety. Makeup. Nothing special.” Fanning my face with the confiscated photograph, I scan the scribbles on her calendar board. Act cool, act cool.
