Jane gives me a curious look.
“What?”
“You’re more popular than me.”
“If I were that popular, I wouldn’t besecurity. I’d need security.” And Tara won’t remember my face by tomorrow.
Jane says a French word that I assume meanstrue.Then I follow her gaze to Maximoff.
He hasn’t been able to touch his lunch. I already grabbed him a to-go bag. And every time he goes for his hot sub sandwich, another person approaches to throw their arms around him. Most to say that they’re happy he’s okay. Others to share their story with him.
He listens.
He’s good at that.
Some girls and guys cry as they talk, and he puts a consoling hand on their back. He focuses harder. He leans closer. Gives them encouragement and praise.
Like right now, one girl rubs her watering eyes. No older than twenty. She holds her cellphone tight. “It seems silly, but every time you post on Instagram or if I see you in the news or if a new episode ofWe Are Callowaycomes out, it just makes me happy.You’ve always been my favorite. I’ve watched you sinceIwas little. And I feel like we’ve grown up together, in this weird way.”
“It’s not weird,” he tells her.
Tears fill her eyes, emotions gather, and where some guys may be uncomfortable, Maximoff reaches out and places a hand on her shoulder.
She continues, “I just want you to know that you’ve helped me through some dark times, and what you do here, for all of us—it means something.”
“Can I give you a hug?” he asks her, his eyes reddening.
She smiles and wipes her tears. “Yes.”
He pulls her into his arms, and she hugs back.
She’s one of hundreds, but I know Maximoff will remember the moment. Her name. Everything. These interactions remind me how people find comfort in all kinds of places, with all kinds of people.
Jane’s expression can only be described as sheer pride. “They love him,” she says fondly. “As they should.” She eats a spoonful of chili.
I bite into my red apple. I can’t stop thinking about the camp-goers and all the shit they’ve said about Jane. Even about Sulli.
The women in these famous families have a much harder time gaining favor from the public. It makes no sense to me.
Think about it: the “fans” claim to love Maximoff to the ultimate core. Yet, they still hate Jane. If they loved him at all, they’d realize how much he’d despise anyone who spewed malice towards his best friend.
All day, my mind has been blaringprotect Jane Cobalt.
And if anyone asked me at the start, if I had an opportunity to sit beside Maximoff or to sit next to Jane in a camp mess hall—which would I choose.
I’d never believe them if they said Jane.
And here I am.
Keeping her company. Just because I fucking feel like it.
“They could love you one day too, Jane,” I say, turning my apple for another spot to bite. She has her fair share of fans online, but not very many seem to be here.
“I don’t need their love.” Jane stirs her chili and then meets my gaze.
We both overhear those five bastards nearby. They congregate at a table to the left of ours. Still dressed in yellow shirts from the capture the flag game. Still obnoxiously fixated on Jane.
“Do you see what she’s wearing? God, it’s ugly.”
