“They’re supposed to be,” Noelle said curtly. “There’s the whole scene where Eloise’s feet are killing her and Mallory throws her shoes into the lake.”
Dylan frowned. “Can’t we justactlike they’re killing me?”
Noelle just smiled without her teeth. Dylan knew the designer was known for authenticity on set, but Jesus.
“These really hurt, Noelle,” Dylan said, rubbing her toes.
“Look,” Noelle said, sighing and pressing her fingers into her eyes. “My assistant went waterskiing over the weekend and now has a fractured fibula, whatever bone that is. All I know is that Vee can’t walk, so they can’t work, and I’m a little pressed. So, please, Dylan, just put on the shoes.”
Dylan had kept her mouth shut after that.
Now, as Dylan sat in her too-tight flats and ruminated on the vast chasm between Eloise and Mallory—a chasm that was contrived and scripted and one hundred percent supposed to exist—her breath felt suddenly short and uneven.
“You okay?” Blair asked. “You just went white as a…well, a white person, but you’re even whiter now.”
Dylan forced a laugh. “I’m good.”
“So what do you think?”
Dylan swallowed. “About?”
Blair sighed. “Never mind.”
“I’m just not sure what you mean,” Dylan said. “Eloise loves Mallory because…because she’s…”
But she had nothing.
Her mind went blank, heart thrumming in her temples, taking up all the space. This was ridiculous—Mallory and Eloise were fictional. Made-up. Their creator was walking by the lake right this very second. There was absolutely no reason for this sudden panic building in Dylan’s chest like a violent storm.
“Because she’s…” Blair said, rolling her hand for Dylan to go on.
Dylan opened her mouth, determined to say something, anything, but then Ramona appeared at the back door, a set pass around her neck.
“Hey,” she said. “There you are.”
Dylan cleared her throat. “H-hey.”
“Oh, good, Ramona,” Blair said, sitting back in her iron chairand crossing her long legs. “Help me out here. You’ve read the book, right? Why does Eloise like Mallory so much?”
Ramona, who’d been visiting the set a few times a week when her schedule at Clover Moon allowed for it, just laughed. “What?”
“I need some insight,” Blair said.
Ramona flicked her eyes to Dylan, a small crease in her brow. Dylan’s panic surged, and she shot up from her chair. “Do you want to meet Iris Kelly?”
Ramona’s eyes widened. “For real?”
“Yeah, she’s here,” Dylan said, slipping her hand into Ramona’s and squeezing. She looked out at the yard and spotted Iris’s red hair ambling toward the house. “She’s heading this way.”
“Oh my god,” Ramona said. “She’s gorgeous.”
Dylan laughed. “She is. Bohemian vibe.”
“Yeah,” Ramona said, her voice breathy. Dylan just watched her watch Iris approach, those long lashes, her pink mouth open a little, thinking about how Iris wasn’t the only gorgeous one.
Which sounded cheesy and silly but perfect in her head. She started to say it out loud, but then Iris froze at the bottom of the porch steps.
“Dylan Monroe, oh my god,” Iris said, climbing the steps.
