“Yes.”
“Deep breaths. Picture a scenic rustic countryside.”
I look around at the scenic rustic countryside. “Er. Okay. Done.”
“I will fix this, okay? I’ll bury it so deep no one ever even finds its bones. This is my job. This is what I do.”
I nod, but the comments swim in front of my eyes.
A grown woman responding like this to broken makeup is literally dystopian
What is wrong with this girl?
She’s so shallow it’s actually disgusting.
“Hey.” Lulu’s voice firms. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were tired and drunk, and you cried. I sobbed like a baby the last time I drunk ordered a pizza and they forgot to add the pepperoni.”I sniff. “People love finding someone to hate on, but this will all blow over. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sure,” I mumble.
The truth is, Ican’tnot worry about it. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve hated people not liking me. It makes me feel…off-balance. Scared. It’s probably how I managed to do so well on social media. I’m a well-practiced people pleaser. As soon as my platform started growing, it was second nature to just twist myself into what my audience wanted to see.
You think I look tired with no makeup? No worries, I’ll never take a picture barefaced again. You don’t like when I talk about designing my own clothes? I’ll stop making those posts. You think my roots look ugly? Guess what, I now book salon appointments every two weeks.
I’ve spent the last few years being the prettiest, bubbliest, most likeable version of Summer I can be. And now everyone hates me. I check my follower count. I’ve lost several thousand followers. I feel like I’m falling down a hole.
“Should I stop posting for a bit?” I whisper.
Lulu’s voice gets an edge. “No. Listen. Summer? If you don’t want this to become a bigger deal, you have to keep posting. Pausing right now would turn this into a story. Nothing says ‘guilty’ like going dark. A girl crying at a party is hardly a crime. A girl crying at a party and then falling off the face of the planet? People will start wondering why. I’ll book your ticket down to London tonight, we’ll have a pint of ice cream about it, and then we’ll keep going on as normal. God, I cannotbelievethose bitches at the spa cancelled without even talking to me, if I were there I’d poke their eyes out?—”
Even the thought of going home makes my throat tighten. “I can’t,” I realise.
“You can’t what?”
“I can’t go back to London. Not while this is happening.”
Everyone will have seen the video. The neighbours in my building. My local barista. People I pass in the street. Everyone will be looking at me and judging me.
“I’m scared,” I say. “I don’t want to go back there. It’s too embarrassing.”
“Well, what else can you do?”
“I don’t know.” I look around the garden for inspiration. “Maybe I just…stay here for a bit?”
As soon as I say it, I realise it’s perfect. This place is so secluded, and I highly doubt Cameron, Fraser, and Alec spend their free time scrolling through Picturegram.
“You…want to stay on a sheep farm?” Lulu asks. I can hear the blatant horror in her voice.“With, like… mud?”
Lulu is deathly afraid of any mud that doesn’t come in face mask form.
“It’s nice,” I enthuse, looking around the garden. “I could make some really nice content here. And it’s just for a few days, right?”
“If you want to stay up in Scotland, at least go down to Edinburgh. I can book you into a hotel, and you can go shopping. No need to live on a farm in the middle of nowhere.”
“But Iwantto be in the middle of nowhere. If I go to the city, there might be people who’ll recognise me. Please, Lulu?”
Lulu sounds doubtful. “I mean, if you want to. Send me the address though.”
“I will,” I say. “And I promise I’ll keep posting. Anything else I need to know?”
