“Both are at the bar.” Which was all of fifteen feet behind us. I raised my voice almost to a shout. “They’re wearing knockoff Armanis and fake Rolexes!” Then I swiveled in my seat and made eye contact.
One of the men gave me a toothy grin and shamelessly snapped a photo.
“That’s it!” Fallon yelled, sliding out of the booth. “Out! No paparazzi!” When they made no move to leave, she jammed two fingers into her mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle. The entire restaurant turned, manager included. “Paparazzi!” she shouted, pointing at the vultures.
“Hey!” the manager yelled.
That did it. The men jogged for the lobby.
I laughed. “Nicelydone, Fal.”
She flopped down next to me. “There.” She slapped her palms together as if dusting them off. “Now, can you enjoy yourself?”
“Doubtful,” I grumbled. “I just want to go home and watch some mind-numbing TV for about a week.”
“Juliette?” she huffed, and I knew I was about to be scolded. “You’re the woman all other women aspire to be. The woman other women would kill to look like.” She threw up her hands. “What do you have to be salty about?”
I scowled, annoyed at the reminder. But Fallon was right. As the youngest model ever named the face of DayGlow Cosmetics, I had everything fourteen-year-old me had wanted. But twenty-two-year-old me had twenty-twenty vision, and if I could’ve gone back in time, I would’ve crossed right through item number one. With a Sharpie.
But I couldn’t admit that to my friends. Not when I was living their dream. “I’m just tired,” I mumbled. “And a touch hangry.”
The fact that our waiter hadn’t taken our food orders yet wasn’t helping.
“Aren’t we all?” Fallon inhaled deeply, like the grease-slicked air might somehow sustain her. “Wish I could order a basket of fries.”
I moaned. “With fry sauce.”
Briar perked up. “Oh my gosh, yes. Do you know how long it’s been? I used to have fry sauce every day after school, with a couple of fries on the side.”
We laughed. It wasn’t lost on me that we were reminiscing about a condiment. Pathetic.
“Yes,” Riley said. “And you were fifty pounds overweight.”
Briar’s face fell for the first time tonight.
“Rude,” I snapped.
Riley held her hands up. “Just saying.”
“Who cares?” Briar said brightly. “What if we just did it? Just this once. Let’s order the fries. And the fry sauce.”
“No,” Fallon said. “You know we can’t.”
“Cecil will never find out,” Briar mused.
“Cecil always finds out,” Fallon, Riley, and I chorused.
DayGlow held weekly weigh-ins the way some employers held weekly drug tests. I’d had no idea when I signed my contract that the obscene paycheck would come with perpetual hunger.
“And if the scale doesn’t tell on you,” Fallon said, “your face will when it blows up like a puffer fish from the sudden sodium overload.”
“I’ll just tell him I got a bad bottle of GlassLift Serum.” Briar puckered her lips, blew out her cheeks like said fish, and crossed her eyes.
When they started daydreaming about what a burger on an actual bun would taste like, I turned toward the entrance, scanning for Declan—the designer I was walking for in tomorrow morning’s finale. He was supposed to swing by and introduce me to my runway partner, some up-and-coming male model he wouldn’t stop talking about.
I shot him a quick text.
Juliette
