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“Sorry,” she says. “I just meant, you living in LA and all. We were looking for someone tan, blonde, maybe in stilettos like a movie star—” She shakes her head, cutting herself off. “Never mind. Fiona, by the way.” She juts her hand out and I shake it before she quickly takes it back. “Sorry. Again.”
“No,” I agree. “I’m no movie star.” I shove my hand back into my pocket.
“Yeah.” The other girl chimes in. “We were thinking you’d be all dolled up, spray tanner, heaps of makeup.” She eyes my coat. “And thought you’d have yourself a pair of those expensive tits.”
Fiona nudges her friend. “Rude, Carol Ann!”
“What?” Carol Ann shrugs. “Just saying. You said the same thing yourself on the car ride over, Fiona. Not like she had any social media profiles we could stalk before she got here. Why haven’t you got any?” The dark-haired girl narrows her gaze at me.
Fiona’s face is now as red as her hair. “Hush, Carol Ann! Seriously. You’re going to scare her off before she even gets off the tarmac.”
I say, “Straight, boring brown hair. No socials. Average boobs.” I glance down at my chest, which if padded could be a B-cup. “Okay, slightly smaller than average.” I give Carol Ann a sheepish grin. “Sorry to disappoint?” Before she can further question me about my lack of social media presence, I quickly change the subject. “While we’re making preconceived judgments, I have to say, I wouldn’t picture you as a Carol Ann.”
Carol Ann gives me a funny look, still seeming to be trying to make sense of me. I feel embarrassed, thinking my comment was rude.
I’m relieved when Carol Ann’s pretty face breaks out into a wide, toothy grin. “Exactly! Thank you! Finally, someone agrees with me.”
Carol Ann tucks the sign under her arm, grabbing the handle of my roller case from me. She starts walking down the tarmac, natural leader of the group, and Fiona and I follow while she talks at us over her shoulder. “Would you tell my mum for me, please? I’m trying to convince the family to call me C.A. or Carrie, at least, but they’re not going for it.”
“Why not?” I ask. “People change their names all the time in LA. My roommate was a Rachel and when I came back from spring break it was Raquel.”
Fiona links arms with me as we walk. “Strict churchgoing families,” Fiona offers, giving me a sincere look. “Everyone knows everyone in this tiny country and seems like if you get into any trouble your mam and pa know before you do.” The feel of Fiona’s arm in mine makes me happy. I feel relaxed for the first time since stepping on the rattling plane.
“Do you think—” I swallow down my nerves. “Do you think everyone else will expect me to be—different?”
“Don’t you worry,” Fiona says, patting my arm. She leans her head on my shoulder for a moment of reassurance. “They’ll all like you just as you are. A natural beauty, you are.”
“Yes, they’ll love you. We already love you.” Carol Ann pauses long enough to turn over her shoulder and make eye contact. “Sorry about our rude introduction. My mom always says I need to grow a filter. I think you’re just right as you are. It’s just when we heard Orange County?—”
“And Los Angeles, no less,” Fiona adds.
“Let me guess,” I interrupt. “Your mind went straight to rich reality-TV housewives with too much time on their hands who can afford any and all forms of beauty treatments and plastic surgery?”
“Yes!” they both say at once. Followed by a mutual, “Jinx!”
“You’re jinxed,” Carol Ann tells Fiona, an edge of authority in her voice. “That means it’s your turn to put the kettle on when we get back to the lodge.”
“I always put the kettle on!” Fiona protests.
Fiona and I catch up to Carol Ann and we make our way to the parking lot together in a line of three, me in the middle.
“I am sorry we made assumptions of you.” Fiona gives my arm a friendly squeeze. “That never feels nice.”
“Well, you’re right. I don’t look like most women in Orange County.” I think of how I don’t really fit in in LA, even though I love the sunshine and my mom. Two things that drew me to college there. “And the sun burns me. I have to wear SPF 50 on the beach. Pale as a ghost. Or vampire. Depending on which paranormal fantasy you prefer.”
“Vampire,” Carol Ann says. “Like the Cullen Clan.”
“Aye. They were all so cute.” Fiona giggles. Her cheeks suddenly go pink as she glances at the ground. “Though I prefer my mafia romances, to be honest.”
“Stop it.” The purple tips of Carol Ann’s hair flip over her shoulder as she admonishes Fiona. “You do not. You like nice boys.”
“What’s wrong with mafia romances?” It feels a little early to admit to my new friends of five minutes that I’m a virgin whose only sexual history is between the pages of spicy novels. “I love them. The bad boys are so delicious.”
“It’s nothing,” Carol Ann says. “Just Fiona being silly. She’s too shy to even talk to any boy and the last book she read was Pride and Prejudice.”
“My mom saw the cover and thought it was one of my bodice rippers.” Fiona laughs. “The girls on the front were wearing those gorgeous old-fashioned dresses with the big skirts. Here, for once I was reading something nice, and I still get in trouble. All the more reason to take this internship.”
“We both go to the local university but live at home,” Carol Ann explains. “Babygirls who aren’t allowed out of our parents’ sight.”
