“No,” Julia, my longtime publicist, snaps back. “I don’t recommend this course of action at all. It’s not what’s best for your career or your reputation. There are too many wild cards. What I advise is that you ignore the video and the whole situation and do a few pap walks with a media-savvy celebrity who wants some mutual promo. That’s the simplest and easiest way out of this situation. But you said your primary consideration is to keep this girl from further embarrassment. And there’s only one way to do that.”
After I hang up with Julia, I wander down the stairs, looking for Daisy. My gut churns with the need to make sure she’s okay. But it’s been hours, and she’s nowhere to be found. She disappeared right after the dog playdate broke up. Even Archie is gone. I checked, and his leash is gone as well, so Daisy must have him.
The house feels empty without the two of them. Since Daisy hurt her ankle, I’ve gotten used to their constant presence. I’m used to her teaching Archie tricks in the kitchen. To her sewing while I willed words and melodies to come to me.
Just as we had that long ago summer, we’d settled into a rhythm together. Her presence was both comforting and inspiring.
But there won’t be any laughter, not after today. I humiliated her in person.
And I know she’ll consider herself humiliated on video as well. In front of the world. Memories of how small and pale she looked in the hospital bed ten years ago taunt me.
I dial her phone.
I need to find her.
And then I need to tell her the plan.
CHAPTER 19
Daisy
(TEN YEARS AGO)
Dear Diary,
I thought that maybe, just maybe, Ryder was starting to like me. Except something’s changed now. He’s different lately. Distant. And when we’re together, Chase watches us with a concerned look.
(NOW)
“You’re famous! Famous!” Taylor says twenty minutes and one more cup of tea, heavy on the brandy, later.
“Stop acting like this is a good thing. Ryder heard me tell the world that I loved him. Oh my God,” I say, filled with shame.
Maybe this summer really has changed me. Because normally, I’d be using the fact that I’m being humiliated on a world stage and am, once again, internet-famous to go back out,get blindingly, blazingly drunk, and dance on tables, rather than having spiked tea.
Of course, that was in LA. As Taylor pointed out, Rockhaven only has the one bar in town, and I don’t want to risk getting filmed there again. If it were karaoke night, I’d at least have the regulars to protect me. I’m absolutely sure Margery would kick ass in my defense.
“Well, to be fair, you only told little ol’ me,” Taylor corrects. “Not the world. It’s not your fault you were filmed. That was a blatant invasion of your privacy. But that’s not what’s important. The world is behind you.”
That’s the wildest part of the entire viral scenario.
Earlier tonight, I dared to look at the comments section, which I thought would be a bloodbath. And it was, partially. Because. Toxic fans. Trolls. But overwhelmingly, people love me. They want Ryder and me together. I declared my love for the man. They saw us perform together. And they’ve decided that we’re the perfect couple. The world “ships” us.
People are tagging Ryder in my love proclamation video and telling him he needs to tap that. Women everywhere—from South Africa to the Philippines, from the US to the UK—think my confession is romantic because of the way I described our friendship over the years. Because he’s my brother’s best friend.
It helps that his last on-again, off-again fling was unpopular in the fandom. So most consider me an improvement.
Taylor is reading through the comments again. After that first look, I’ve followed through on my promise to never again check them. But Taylor says he doesn’t have the discipline.
He gasps. “Shannon Mendez reposted a screenshot of you and said she loved your style. And she hates everyone!”
“I’m glad she approves,” I say dryly.
“This is major. She’s a regular contributor toVogue.”
“And, apparently, a Ryder Black fan.”
“Well, who isn’t?”
