She rolls her eyes. “Nice try. Try again.” She crosses her arms. “It was a big deal, wasn’t it? Those guys weren’t just a holiday thing. You really liked them.”
“If I talk about this before the party, I might cry in public again,” I admit.
Lulu nods, business-like. “Fair enough. But we’re talking about it tomorrow. You’re myfriend, Summer. Let me help you.” She glances at her phone and pulls a face. “Ugh, the Uber driver’s texting me to hurry up. I’m going to go flirt with him before he gives up on us and leaves. Get dressed and meet me in the car, yeah?” She jangles out of the room, letting the door click shut behind her.
I sigh, picking up the dress. The fabric is shiny and stretchy. I already know it will feel disgusting to wear, clinging to my stomach and riding up all night.
I lift my gaze, looking at the pink dress spread across my armchair.
Ten minutes later, Lulu blinks at me as I slip into the back of the Uber next to her. “Err,” she says. “Hi, Glinda the Good Witch? What’s going on?”
I smooth down the fluffy skirt of my dress. The silky slip is soft against my skin. I feel pretty. “Do you like it?”
“I mean, it’s gorgeous,” she says, reaching over to play with my skirt. “You’re like a hot ballerina fairy.”
“Thank you, that’s what I was going for!”
She frowns. “But I don’t think it really matches the theme, babe. Hardly sad girl glam. Bit too pink for that.”
“I don’t care,” I decide. “I want to wear it.”
Her red lips purse. “Seriously,” she says. “I know what I’m doing. You should wear the dress I got you.”
“Thank you,” I say honestly. “But I really want to wear this.”
“But—”
“Am I contracted to wear the other dress?”
“No, but?—”
“Then I’m wearing this. I don’t care if it doesn’t match the theme. Shall we go?”
Lulu stares at me for a few seconds, her gold-rimmed brown eyes wide. “You know what? Fair enough.” She turns to the Uber driver. “Have your fairy princess moment. Let’s hit it, Ned!”
An hour later, I stand frozen in the club, my hands fisted in my skirt.
This was a bad idea.
Lulu has outdone herself. The underground club she booked is massive. The walls are lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflect the white strobes flickering from the ceiling. Giant balloons full of confetti bounce over the crowd. Champagne towers stand precariously in the crowd. Above the DJ booth, a live feed of my follower count is currently being projected across the wall.
And the place is rammed. It seems like every major influencer in the city is here, dancing and drinking. I recognise beauty gurus. Lifestyle vloggers. Socialites. I don’t think there’s a single person in the club who doesn’t have their phone out.
And I. Can’t. Stand. It.
I hate it. Ihateit.
The music is too loud. The strobing lights are too bright as they reflect off the walls and scatter. The air is so thick with dry ice that I can’t breathe.
Worst of all: people won’t leave me alone. I stand awkwardly in the corner, people crowding around me, jabbering, taking pictures.
“Summer, remember me? We met at Adam’s drinks last year?—”
“Summer, Ilovethe dress, where is it from!”
“Summer, take a pic with me!”
“Let’s take a selfie!”
