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As though reading my thoughts, Margot peers over my shoulder and says, “Don’t even think about it. We don’t have time for parties.”
I huff and cross my arms in front of my chest. Yes, it’s immature, but Margot and I have been close friends since we were teenagers. At some point in our relationship, however, she started acting like my mother. Which is rich, because my real mother abandoned me ages ago, and I’m not looking for a replacement.
The hotel comes into view, and we both stare down at it in awe. The pristine white skyscraper towers over the rest of the city like a shining beacon despite its odd shape. It looks like an upside-down U, with two legs and a rooftop but a completely hollow center, kind of like a table. At the apex of the building, tiny blue and pink lights flicker and shimmer down the sides like a waterfall made of light. There aren’t any lights on the sides, only at the top, I guess that’s where the rooms are? But why would you build such a monster of a building and only use a quarter of it? Seems like a waste to me, but I’m no design expert.
“We need to talk about getting you a new bodyguard,” Margot says as the hoverbus lowers onto the ship’s docking pad below. “I sent out a job listing this morning and we’ve already received several suitable-looking applicants—”
“I don’t need a bodyguard,” I say, shooting her a cutting look.
Margot puffs out her cheeks. “Okay, clearly, you do. I thought we could get away with the venue’s security teams, but obviously not.”
“Margot, please. We’ve been over this. I don’t need a babysitter.”
When Zeddie pulls the hoverbus toward the swooping entrance of the hotel, several male attendants dressed in black suits rush forward, ready to assist us. Palm trees line the plush red carpet that trails all the way to the automatic sliding doors. Despite the modernity of the place, it has a few rustic touches that remind me of vintage photographs from Terra’s Hollywood.
“This discussion isn’t over,” Margot snaps, then shuffles out of her seat. I open my mouth to protest, but she points her finger at me. “Stay on the bus while we get everything taken care of.”
She checks her lipstick in the bus’s rearview mirror before descending the steps to meet the hotel staff. A few minutes later, I’m whisked out of the bus and into a suffocating pack of four men dressed to the nines in suits and dark sunglasses. It’s 2:30 in the morning. The sun doesn’t rise for several more hours. Why are they wearing sunglasses?
Sucking in a breath to keep myself from laughing at the absurdity of it all, I chance a glance behind me and notice a small group of maybe five or six fans standing several feet away from the red carpet.
“Kal! We love you!” one of the women shouts as she waves a giant sign in the air. It’s decorated with hearts and my name. Clearly a lot of love went into its creation, and I catch myself lingering to admire it.
Two of the men have their hands on the small of my back as they try to push me away and up the steps toward the doors, but I stop. They look down at me, brows furrowed.
“This way, Miss Kallista. We have a beautiful suite waiting for you,” one of the men beckons, but I shake my head and push through them.
Margot grumbles loudly as I head toward the group, smiling. The fans, three men and three women, are dressed in T-shirts with my face on them. When I first rose to popularity, I’ll admit that the T-shirts used to creep me out. Seeing photos of myself on someone else’s tits took some getting used to, but I eventually got there.
I can’t imagine they expected to see their favorite pop star at this ridiculously luxurious hotel wearing a ratty hoodie and ripped jeans. Or wearing her hair up in a twisted bun on top of her head to hide the fact that she hasn’t washed it in days. Oh, well. At least I still have Chloe’s makeup on. But when I smile at them, their eyes widen like baby deer, and they vibrate so enthusiastically they could probably power a small village. It’s really endearing, and I love them for it.
“Hi,” I say, and hold out my hand to the woman clutching a tiny chip that must be my album. “Do you have a pen, hun?”
“Pen! I need a pen!” the suspiciously perky woman yells, and a glasses-wearing man next to her produces one in an instant. I take the pen, sign the chip, and hand it back to her. Then I do the same for the other five fans and even take a selfie with them.
Margot groans and moans throughout the entire exchange. When I’m finally done, she’s glaring so hard at me I’m surprised I haven’t turned into a block of ice yet.
My uptight entourage flanks me on all sides and whisks me away into the hotel lobby.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters under her breath. She’s trying so hard not to yell at me right now. I can hear it in the way her voice is straining, like glass ready to shatter at any moment. One wrong move and it’ll shatter. As we step into the glass elevator—with only two of the men, thank god—I roll my eyes.
“What, be nice to my fans? Right, wouldn’t want to do that, would we?” I can’t help but snort, and Margot’s entire body stiffens next to mine.
She twists her long, dark ponytail around her index finger and chomps angrily on her wad of gum. “I meant the selfie, Kal. You shouldn’t have taken a selfie with them.”
Okay, wasn’t expecting that. The elevator sluggishly soars up, up, and up, making my stomach somersault. Thanks to the glass, I can see every inch of the hotel’s public spaces. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I would enjoy this a lot more if I wasn’t being interrogated by my supposed best friend.
“You haven’t showered in ages, you smell like a ferret cage, and—”
I give her a withering look. “My fans like it when I’m real with them. It’s more authentic.”
“There’s keeping it real and there’s keeping ittooreal, if you know what I mean,” she says.
The elevator dings to signal we’ve reached the top level of the hotel, and we step off with the two suits. We’re whisked down the hallway to my suite, which Iwaslooking forward to, before my best friend said I look, and smell, like crap. To my face. And that I shouldn’t let other people see me like this. Because supposedly I’m not worthy of being seen when I don’t have a Weave on.
My blood boils. The indirect insult stings, especially after a six-hour long flight, but I don’t have the energy to fight, argue, or stick up for myself, so I trudge off down the hallway.
“I’m going straight to bed,” I announce as Margot unlocks the door with her handprint. The two suits nod and take their leave once we’re safely inside the room. At least they’re not coming inside. That would have been awkward.
