Annabelle's hands shook as she read.
"Sources close to the singer say Raven has been planning her return to the spotlight for weeks, carefully staging her 'spontaneous' village hideaway to generate sympathetic press. The charity event, which raised funds for a small primary school library, appears to have been the perfect vehicle for the singer’s image rehabilitation following her highly publicized breakup with a former bandmate.
'She knew exactly what she was doing,' says one anonymous attendee. 'The power failure was almost too convenient, it gave her the perfect moment to swoop in and play hero. Verycalculated. Very on-brand for someone trying to rebuild their reputation.'
It went on and on, each paragraph worse than the last. Twisting every beautiful moment from last night into something cynical and manipulative. Making Raven's genuine gesture look like a calculated PR move.
Annabelle felt physically sick.
She scrolled through more articles, each one worse than the last. Some speculated about drug problems. Others suggested mental breakdowns. One particularly vicious piece called her "desperate," "washed up," and "pathetically transparent."
This was wrong. All of it was wrong.
Raven hadn't planned any of this.
Someone needed to tell the truth.
Someone needed to defend her.
Someone needed to fix this.
And Annabelle was going to be that someone.
WHICH IS HOW she found herself in Blossom's Café two hours later, showered and changed into her most professional cardigan, sitting across from a man who'd introduced himself as Jeremy Stone, a freelance journalist.
He had kind eyes, she noted. A warm smile. The sort of person who seemed trustworthy. He’d also happened to leave a message on her voice mail, so he’d been the natural choice.
"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me," he said, pulling out a voice recorder and setting it on the table between them. "I promise you, this isn't going to be a hit piece. I want to tell the real story. The truth about what happened last night."
Annabelle wrapped her hands around her tea mug, Blossom had made it for her without asking, bless her, and nodded. "Raven doesn't deserve what they're saying about her. None of it's true."
"Tell me what is true, then."
So she did.
She told him everything.
"She didn't want any of this," Annabelle insisted, leaning forward earnestly when she was done. "The fame, the spotlight, the cameras. She came here to get away from all that. Last night wasn't calculated, it was just Raven being kind. Being generous. Stepping up when we needed her most."
Jeremy nodded, taking notes in a small notebook. "What made her come to Bankton specifically? Do you know?"
"She said she needed somewhere quiet to write. Somewhere nobody would recognize her. Somewhere she could just… be herself for a while."
"And the charity event, was that her idea?"
"Oh no, it was ours. Mine and the school committee's. We asked her to help. She actually said no at first." Annabelle managed a small smile at the memory. "We had to be quite persistent."
"So Raven didn't volunteer to help. She was coerced?"
"No! I mean, yes, sort of, we were persistent, but she genuinely wanted to help once she understood what it was for." Annabelle leaned forward even more, desperate to make him understand. "You have to understand, Raven has a personal connection to libraries. She grew up in foster care, and libraries were her safe space. The one constant in her childhood. When she heard ours might close, she couldn't not help."
Jeremy's pen stilled for a second. "Uh-huh."
"I mean, you probably shouldn’t print that, I’m not sure you should, I don’t know if… if people know. The important thing is that this really wasn’t a set-up. It just wasn’t."
"Right, sure, of course."
And he sounded so reasonable. So kind. So trustworthy.
