“Not all paparazzi are despicable,” she says. “I’m sure someone would have a moral bone and help me against angry hecklers.”
“What if the paparazzi aren’t around?”
She holds up her finger. “One time,” she tells me. “Only one time in the past four months have I beenalonein public. And that was when Lily drove down five wrong streets in a row.”
“Hey!” Lily speaks up. She’s on the ground in proper workout clothes like Daisy. Only she wears her furry white cap that’s more suited for the snow than warm, mid-May weather. It has tusks and apparently it’s something called a Wampa fromStar Wars. The only reason I can see her wearing it is Loren. Every time he glances her way, his breathing deepens and his amber eyes glaze in desire, looking ready to mount her.
Lily stands to her feet, abandoning whatever move Loren was trying to show her. “I only drove down the wrong streets because the GPS was in French.”
Rose gives her a look. “You were the one who put it in French.”
“Only because I’m trying to learn the language,” Lily explains, “so that I can know what the hell you two talk about behind our backs.”
Last episode was the first time they aired us speaking French to each other. Production included subtitles.
Our conversation revolved around Lily and went something like this on TV.
ROSE:She’s losing weight. I can see her ribs.
ME:That’s a shadow.
ROSE:It’s not a shadow. It’s her skeleton.
ME:I have a physics book upstairs. I’m sure it talks about light and shadows. Do you want it?
ROSE:Why would you have a physics book? You’re a business student.
ME:For moments like these.
It was one of our more calm exchanges in French, but Lily wasn’t amused by the fact that we were discussing her weight—right in front of her.
Apparently they all thought that we just argue about “smart people” things (Lily’s words) and that we have a rule to not talk about them in French.
I do have a rule.
If you want to understand me, learn my language.
Ryke and Daisy don’t seem to care that we could have talked about them, but Lily and Loren are aggravated.
“And just so you know,” Lily says, “I can say five whole words in French already. So at this rate, I will be fluent in no time.”
Daisy walks over after jumping up and down. “Didn’t you fail Spanish and Latin in prep school?” she asks with a smile.
“That’s a mute point,” Lily defends. “Those aren’t even the same languages.”
Rose gives meanotherlook, but I can’t stop myself. “Moot point,” I correct her.
Lily stares at me, dumbfounded. “What?” Loren wraps his arms around her waist as she explains, “It’s mute. Like it doesn’t make a sound, so it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s moot,” I repeat. “I assure you.”
Rose elbows me, and Lily’s eyebrows bunch in even more confusion.
“No one likes the fucking grammar police,” Ryke tells me.
“That’s scary coming from a guy who used to write for the city’s newspaper in college,” I say. “Did your editor hate you?”
He flips me off.
