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“I’ll walk you to your car,” I say, stopping myself from making a promise I don’t want to keep.
I grab her hand and lead her outside to the silver BMW she supposedly “shares” with Scarlett. I’ve yet to see Scarlett behind the wheel.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say, shutting the door.
“I’ll hold you to that.” She blows me a kiss. “Happy birthday.”
I stand in my driveway long after she’s gone, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I grab the keys to my dad’s car and head to the only place I want to be.
7
ME
Dear Elliot Tipton,
In debate class, you once argued that “parents who put their kids on the internet for content are selfish people who fuck them up for life.” I told you how wrong you were, how I grew up in a family like that and I turned out just fine.
You were right, though….
One hundred percent.
Wish I Would’ve Told You,
—Scarlett
Ilook like a poor girl’s version of Little Bo Peep.
All I’m missing is a flock of sheep and a golden herder stick.
“Stop frowning, Scarlett!” My mom fluffs the white petticoat under my pink dress. “This is a thirty-thousand-dollar period piece. You should bethrilledto wear something so beautiful.”
“The corset is too tight, Mom,” I say. “I can barely breathe.”
“Nonsense!” She grabs the strings and pulls them in even tighter. “Now, let’s see what we can do about these wayward ruffles.”
I suck in what will probably be the last breath of my life and wince as she stabs my skin with a pushpin.
Since I had the misfortune of beating Tully home from school today, I’m standing in for her latest sponsorship fitting.
“We’re sensing that the Renaissance era will be making a fashionable comeback in the near future, and your daughter’s online persona truly fits in line with our brand.” A woman in a light lavender suit, who looks like she’s descended from English royalty, sips tea in our living room.
“She has such lovely posture and bone structure.” The woman smiles at me. “That dress truly comes to life on you, Miss Crane.”
“Say, thank you very much, Scarlett.” My mother chides.
“Thank you, Miss. Very much.”
“Pardon me asking.” The woman sets down her tea cup and walks over to us. “But are you sure you don’t want to join your sister for this campaign? I know you don’t have as many followers as she does, but if you both did videos on her account, I’m sure our marketing department would negotiate a higher payout.”
“She’s not interested.” “I’m not interested.” My mother and I say in unison.
“Not even for triple the amount?” She smiles.
“No.” “She’ll think about it.” We speak in unison again, but our answers aren’t in sync this time.
“I thought so.” The woman smooths the lace sleeves of my dress. “Back in my day, there was no such thing as social media, influencers, or lifestyle bloggers.”
“I’m sure life was much better back then…”
