Willow gasps, suddenly lighting up. “How about you move in with me? You could stay in my guesthouse, and we could go to school together.” She claps her hands, celebrating her idea.
“Really?” I clutch my chest, touched. And Gavin said I didn’t have friends. Well, he’s wrong about that, among so many other things. “You’d do that for me?”
“You poor, poor thing.” This time her expression turns quickly from sympathy to pity. “I mean, isn’t it enough that your parents squandered the business, leaving you destitute? You have to be subjected to living here too?”
I was willing to overlook her earlier comments. I had the same reaction when I first got here, and I understand more than anyone that living in Blaire takes some getting used to. But something about the way she’s droning on about it is rubbing me the wrong way. I’m about to tell her that it’s not that bad here once you get used to it. But at that moment, a young woman approaches us. By her cargo shorts and athletic shoewear—casual, functional attire suitable for behind-the-scenes work—I’m guessing she’s a production assistant.
“Here’s your order.” She hands Willow a paper bag.
I smile awkwardly at the PA while Willow opens the bag and inspects it.
“Ew, what is this? I didn’t order this.” She shoves it back.
The PA peers up at Willow, confused. “It’s your lunch. A burger—no patty, no bun, mayo on the side.”
By the description of the order, I can understand why the contents seem unappealing.
“That’s what I ordered, but that’s not what this mess is. And why is the mayo red?”
“It’s kimchi mayo.” The PA reads off the receipt.
“Gross,” Willow mutters. “No wonder no one wants to live here.”
The PA takes back the bag even though she doesn’t understand what’s happening. I can’t say I blame her. Willow is being utterly impossible when the order was made to her specifications.
Even though I’m mad at Gavin, a protective rage stews in my gut.
“Oh, before I forget, I have to get a photo of us.” Willow whips out her phone.
“A photo?” I self-consciously run a hand through my hair. My fingers get caught in the oily texture.
“Proof that this place exists. No one will believe it otherwise.” She plasters her cheek next to mine and purses her lips.
“No one? Who are you going to show this to?” I’m not ashamed of this town, not like I was before. But people can be mean. Without getting to know what it’s like here, they can be ruthless. Before I can protest, she angles her phone at us and takes a burst of photos.
“You’re not going to, like, share that with anyone, are you?” I hate the nervous lilt in my tone.
“Oh my God, are you, like, embarrassed people will think badly of you because you’ve been reduced to living here in this sad town?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just that you caught me off guard. I don’t have makeup on, and I’m dressed like a slob.” It’s not the real reason I don’t want her to post these photos of me, but it’s also kind of true. Because I tried to downplay my looks, I look worse than I normally would. Of course, it’s just my luck that my disguise didn’t work on Willow the way it did on Gavin and Brennan.
“You know I don’t post anything without Facetuning it. So don’t worry.” She touches a finger to my chin and pouts, looking at me pitifully. “No one will know anything about your life has changed.”
Before I can convince her to delete the photos, a sleek black electric car rolls up.
“Gotta run. But I’ll be in touch about the guesthouse. Kisses!” She prances off the same way she approached me and follows the PA into the car. After she leaves, I stand there, frozen, trying to process what just happened.
“Elena!”
I blink myself back to the present to see Callie running toward me.
“I got it.” She’s waving a piece of paper in her hand.
“What did you get?” I ask, still wrapping my head around the fact that I was talking to Willow just a moment ago.
“The permit for the Blaire Fair!”
“Already?”
