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Choosing to do neither stretches my heart threadbare.
Turning away, he slides back into the role of Kim’s boyfriend so fast, so easily, it’s like we never happened. Every fake smile he gives her, every fake touch, feels rock-solid real.
A hand lands on my shoulder. Crimson fingernails. Silver chunky bracelet. “Jess.” Leftover anger slices through Vi’s voice and a different kind of pain zip-ties my chest. “Don’t say anything to Julie Ann about the second book until after...” The harsh edge to her tone trails off as she notices Gabe and Kim. Gentling her hand, she slips it down my back and guides me toward the party I don’t deserve or want.
Even though Vi’s hardly warm or soft or maternal, and I’m pretty sure she hates me, something needy inside me leans into her touch.
Passing the poster ofHaunted,and the author picture I hate, we step down into the sunken open bar in the atrium and a space overflowing with people. High-topped tables blur together in a sea of white linen, wine glasses, and women.
“I know you don’t want to.” Vi weaves us through patchwork conversations—and fried appetizers that curdle my stomach and have me breathing through my palm. “But in the next two seconds, you need to paste on a Disneyland smile. It wasn’t easy for Julie Ann to get budget approval to have your release party at the hotel.”
Like my editor hears her name, she turns from where she’s talking to Donna next to an old-fashioned stone fireplace. Slicking back her short black hair, she sets down her wine, while Donna chugs hers and pours another.
“There’s our wonder girl. I can’t wait to read your new book.” Julie Ann punctuates her teacher’s-pet tone with an enthusiastic hug that jerks my countdown corset.
I try to work up Vi’s requested smile, but a desperate need to breathe gets in the way.
“I’ll introduce you.” Stepping back, Julie Ann squeezes my shoulder. “You’ll say a few words and read an excerpt, then we’ll move into the signing and end with the interview once the reporter shows up.”
Each step of her plan dangles a red cape at my anxiety until the dormant itch on my wrist makes a furious comeback. I press into the skin and spin away. That’s when I notice Dad in the corner tucked next to a potted tree. He came.
In a tie with a crisp dress shirt he left untucked over a pair of dark blue jeans and his hands shoved in his pockets, there’s something about the way he’s standing that makes me long for the way we used to be. When everything wasn’t so out-in-the-open messed up. When we were at least pretending to be a family. When he hugged me and talked to me and cared about me.
Julie Ann tugs me behind a table stacked with my books and picks up a mic. “Thank you for coming. We’re excited for Jess to launch her debut at this conference. It’s not often a seventeen-year-old...” Her voice tumbles away as people start to quiet and look at her, look atme, like I’m naked on the big screen.
Losing Gabe, the book I couldn’t write, the truth aboutHauntedsummon the perpetual panic attack stalking me from around the corner, giving me a cough-syrup kind of high. This time when I sink into the abyss, Gabe won’t be here to save me.
Julie Ann pulls me in for a quick side hug. “We’re very proud to introduce you to a very special girl, DigitalReads sensation and debut author Jessica Thorne. Stick around after the signing for a sneak peek at her next book.” People clap, and she offers the mic.
Only I don’t take it.
I can’t.
I don’t even know who Jessica Thorne is supposed to be. Who I am. Maybe I never did.
The clapping in the bar fades in awkward pauses while I stand motionless, except for the slight trembling taking over my shoulders.
Vi inches beside Julie Ann, who clears her throat and offers the mic again.
Breathless, I push it away. “I can’t do this anymore.” I’m suffocating from the lies.
The gag order driving Vi’s intense gaze closes my throat and tries to muzzle me.
But the band choking the life from my ribs proves stronger, and I stand up to Vi, and turn to my editor. A gallon of acid rolls through my stomach. “There is no second book.” Rolling becomes rocking. “I couldn’t write it because...” Rocking turns to churning. “I didn’t come up withHaunted. Sara’s diary—it’s my mom’s story. It’s her life.” Churning speeds to spinning.
Someone clears their throat, and I realize I’m close enough to the mic that it broadcast my private confession to everyone. And sometime during that confession, Gretchen showed up with her cameraman. By tomorrow morning, everyone will know what I’ve done.Momwill know what I’ve done. And she’ll never forgive me.
My stomach bubbles and cramps. I sprint out of the bar and into the closest restroom, falling to my knees in the first stall just as it rebels. Afterward, I pull myself up and grab a white paper cup next to the sink to rinse my mouth with the complimentary pump mouthwash. I’m on my fifth rinse when the door swings open.
And Donna walks in.
The liquid I meant to spit out burn my throat. Hanging my head, I brace myself on the counter, desperate to disappear, sure I’ll dissolve from her first dart. Extended silence lifts my gaze to hers in the mirror.
Guilt darkens her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“You’re right. I don’t belong here. I’m a total screw-up.” Straightening, I dry my shaky hands on a paper towel. “But you’re wrong for believing I ever thought any different.” I slink past her, trying to figure out how to make it to my room before Vi’s pit bull descends on me.
“Jess, wait.”
