I know what it looked like—not a tame interview like Maggie had intended.
I know what Coach Hammer, the commissioner, and the world will think when all I want to do is shout from the rooftops how much I love a princess named Maggie.
Everything is ruined.
Blair sits back in her chair, wearing an impish grin. “The player got played.”
I don’t have anything to say to her that doesn’t involve words forbidden by my etiquette training.
Shuffling backward, I scan the room for Maggie. She’s not here. I hurry outside. The sidewalk is empty.
I try texting and calling. No answer.
I go home. She’s not there.
Staring out the window into the harbor, I’m lost at sea. I regret going along with the dumb interview. Should’ve trusted my gut. I should have told Maggie that I have feelings for her when I had the chance. But she put on the brakes because Coach Hammer gave me an ultimatum. I don’t want to ruin the guys’ careers and now it’s going to look like I did.
I have to talk to Maggie. Where could she be?
After searching on my phone, I learn that it’s official fluffernutter day. Marshmallow fluff and peanut butter make me think of desserts...which makes me think of cupcakes.
The driver brings me to the neighborhood where we’d seen the bakery cafe hosting a little kid’s birthday party when we’d first toured the city on Maggie Day.
Traffic moves slowly, so I hop out of the car at a traffic light and hurry the rest of the way on foot.
The strumming of a guitar and singing filters from down the street. Low light sparkles from inside. The bakery is hosting an open mic night and people are perched everywhere, watching and nodding their heads to the beat of the music.
I spot Maggie in the corner. Cutting through the crowd, I don’t take my eyes off her. When I get close, her eyes are damp.
“I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to find you,” I say.
She looks up at me and blinks a few times. She must not have heard me over the music. I want to talk, but don’t want to be rude to the performers and patrons. I lean in, catching her sugar-sweet scent. “Can we go outside?”
Maggie gives a slight nod and we head outside and sit on a low wall.
I reach for her hand, not sure whether to start with an apology or an explanation.
She speaks first. “There’s something I want to tell you. Growing up, my favorite thing was holding hands. It made mefeel connected, less alone.” She takes mine. “You heard my parents call me Lefty. Partially because I’m left-handed, but I started to think it was because I was always to the left of what they thought was cool—I liked nature, reading, and baking. While they were all about money and their reputations. I just wasn’t built with the factory settings they wanted.”
“I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”
“I didn’t fully explain that I was a child TV star. Honey Holiday on Friends of the Family.” I slowly deflate like a balloon with a hole in it.
“Regrettably, I can’t say I’ve heard of it. Didn’t grow up with much access to television.”
“That’s not a bad thing. It was sometimes fun, but there was a lot of pressure.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“It was my whole life until I was eleven. My parents were chasing fame. I felt like an alien. Like I didn’t belong. They never included me. They’d travel, vacation, go to dinners, and they left me behind. I was raised by nannies. Most of them were nice, but it wasn’t the same. For a while, I was hoping I was adopted. No such luck, but I was always so afraid I’d turn out like them. They’re self-obsessed, selfish, social climbers who wanted nothing to do with me and who take pleasure in humiliating people. I never told you about them because I was ashamed, yet wanted nothing more than their attention.”
“You’re not your parents, Maggie,” I say.
“I used to try to make them like me. When that didn’t work, I just faded into the background.” Her eyes pinch as she holds back tears.
I want to show the world how amazing she is, but know My Mag-wonderful well enough to understand that isn’t what she wants. Instead, I listen to her story.
“On my twelfth birthday, they hosted a surprise party. I was shocked, delighted. But it turned out they’d hired a team of clowns, knowing that I was deathly afraid. I know it’s irrational—” She shakes her head.
