Of course they’d have custom name tags. If I wasn’t still feeling wrung out, I might smile at the little sign, the line to put your handle down. It’s cute.
“Thanks,” I say instead, taking the tag and affixing it to my blouse.
The room behind me is crowded with people, mostly women, all talking about collaborations, likes, views, follows. For a second, I’m paralyzed next to the check-in table.
I paid more than a hundred dollars for this, months ago, thinking it was going to be a great opportunity for me. Now, the last thing I want to do is hold a flute of champagne, stand around and talk to these people for hours, fake-smiling until my cheeks hurt.
This morning, when I woke up with puffy, crusty eyes, I decided I wouldn’t even be attending. But I’d put it on the calendar, and when Maisie came home, she’d marched right into my room, pulling off the covers and demanding I get out of bed.
“You are not about to give up on your career because of aman,” she said, taking me by the shoulders and forcing me toward the bathroom to take a shower.
“I’m not giving up,” I’d whined, shutting my eyes and shaking my head like a toddler. “I’m just taking a day off.”
“You were really excited about this. And I know the ticket was expensive. You’re going.”
So, through the sheer will of my roommate, I showered, dried my hair, got dressed, and marched down the street to the rooftop patio of a local hotel for the Seattle Influencer Conference.
At least there’s free food. Well, not free, but paid for long enough ago that it feels free now.
I pile a plate full of little pastries and something that looks like a tiny hot dog, then head for the corner of the room, dropping down at a table that might as well be shrouded in darkness. Nobody’s in this corner of the room. Why would they be? Who would come to an influencer conference and hide away from networking opportunities?
“Hey, can I sit here?” I blink and look up at the girl standing on the other side of the table. She’s wearing trendy purple checkered pants and a cropped black shirt. Her shoulder-length black hair is pin-straight, and there’s a piercing shining on the left side of her nose.
I recognize her. She’s the other Seattle influencer going for the Ecotra spot.
“Oh,” I say, looking around at the other empty tables around me, throat suddenly feeling thick. “Sure.”
“I’m Abbie,” she says after sitting. She clears her throat and offers me a quick smile with dark mauve lips. “Sorry for ambushing you. I’m not good at networking, and I thought talking to just one person might be more manageable than going out there.”
She jerks her thumb in the direction of the main part of the room, where people laugh and sparkle, throwing their heads back and feverishly exchanging information. I feel bad for thinking mean thoughts about Abbie, even if I didn’t say them out loud.
“It’s all good,” I say, clearing my throat and offering her the best smile I can. “If I’m being honest, I was a different person when I bought the ticket to this.”
“Oh, I was the same person,” she snorts, looking down at her little plate of food. “I justthoughtI’d be differentnow.”
That makes me laugh, and before I know it, Abbie and I are talking easily. She’s lived here her whole life, and she’s posted about bookshops and record stores for years. With the inclusion of herAlt in the Woodsseries, she’s only just started racking up the kind of follower count that makes you aninfluencer.
“It was weird,” she says, shaking her head, wiping the condensation away from her cup. “I was posting because I wanted those places to get more love, and it worked. And now people look up, likerecord stores in Seattle,and I’m one of the main things that comes up.”
After she gives me some recommendations for which shops to go to, she leans back in her chair — looking far more comfortable — and asks, “So, what happened to you?”
I blink at her. “What happened to me?”
“Yeah, you said you were a different person when you got the tickets.”
Abbie watches me with serious eyes, and before I can stop myself, I tell her. Just like I told Maisie, I tell Abbie everything about what happened — with the exception of Rowan’s identity.
“Holy shit,” she says when I’m finished. She’s laughing, but it’s not mean — mostly disbelieving. “That’s… I’d say wild, but I’m not sure that word can cover it.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, sinking back down in my seat, cheeks hot. “I mean, you probably think I’m nuts.”
“Nah.” She shakes her head, letting out a little sigh. “When I started doingAlt in the Woods, it was because I wanted to make space for people like me to still enjoy nature, you know? Most people who hike are all like, Patagonia and ponytails and stuff.”
I laugh, because that’s exactly what I looked like when Rowan found me.
“Anyway, I kind of get the feeling that… well, when you’re hiking or camping or whatever, you kind of get whatever you need.”
“… what do you mean?”
