“I guess so,” says Sam. “Yeah, sort of. I mean, to me he’s just an uncle.” Just an uncle who wants me to use my platform to fix climate change, she thinks. Just an uncle who belittled my work and basically my whole generation. That’s not art, Sammy,he’d said to her.That’s self-indulgence.
“He scared me so much during the first rehearsal,” Borachio confides. “I mean, I wasterrified.I was like a kindergartener learning to read. I literally had tosound outthe words. Then as we went on, I discovered he’s just a guy. A person. Like the rest of us. Pretty easygoing, as it turns out.”
Ha! Thinks Sam.Easygoing.As long as you don’t attract more attention than he does, then he’s perfectly easygoing!
“Actually,” she tells Borachio. The next words are out before she can really consider them, because she’s still frazzled from the fight, and underneath the frazzling, she’s genuinely hurt. “Actually, he may seem easygoing on the outside, but you know what? Not on the inside. You cross him, you’re going to pay for it.”
“Wow,” says Borachio. His eyes grow wide. “Really? Tell me more.”
It is then that Sam sees a phone pointed at her; the phone, it turns out, is held by one of the white-shorts girls. “Getting it,” she calls to another white-short girl. “Getting the whole conversation. This is going to go so viral!”
No no no no, thinks Sam. To the person with the phone she says, “Excuseme? Were yourecording me?”
“Maybe,” says the girl.
“You can’t do that!”
The girl shrugs. “It’s a free country.”
Sam looks around wildly. What exactly did she just say? What did the girl record? She’s been off social media all summer, and the first person to record her without her permission caught her saying something about her uncle. She feels her cheeks grow hot; she feels a liquid shame pour through her, pool at her feet.
“No,” she says. “Delete it.”
“Make me.”
Borachio says, “Not cool,” to the girl, and just then a woman swoops in. She’s tall and pretty; she has long brown hair with a blue streak, a perfectly made-up face, and an air of purpose and authority. She holds her hand out to White Shorts.
“Phone,” she says.
“WTF?” says White Shorts. “Who are you?”
“Shelly Salazar. Hollywood publicist.Phone.”Miraculously, the girl hands it over. Shelly keeps a grip on the phone and points it toward the girl.
“What are youdoing? Are you insane, lady?” says White Shorts.
“Face ID,” says Shelly.
Smart! thinks Sam. Shelly swipes and presses expertly though the phone, opening the camera app, swiping and pressing some more. She hands the phone back to the girl. “I deleted the video, then deleted it from the deleted files. It’s gone. I also sent your contact info to myself, while I was at it.”
“You can’t do that!” The girl looks to her companion, who shrugs. “You can’t just—do that. That’s myphone, myprivate property.”
“Free country,” says Shelly, and Sam smiles. Shelly goes on: “That video shows up anywhere, and I meananywhere, and I will absolutely track you down. I know a lot of people who can really mess with you. Any questions?”
White Shorts shakes her head, and she and her two friends andtheirwhite shorts turn toward the exit, muttering to each other.
“Just so you know,” one of them spits at Sam on the way out, “we think it’s awful, what you did to Alice.”
“What?” says Sam. These girls are Team Alice! Figures. “But I didn’t—”
It’s too late though; the girls have disappeared through the bar’s doors and into the night.
“Doesn’t matter,” says Shelly, turning to Sam. “Doesn’t matter what you say, they’re going to think what they think.”
“Thank you for saving me,” whispers Sam to Shelly. “Are you really a Hollywood publicist? I thought my mom said you were in books and theater.”
Shelly shrugs and says, “Eh. Close enough.” Then she fixes Sam with a look that manages to be both supportive and disapproving at the same time. “You need to be careful with yourself, sweetie.” Had thesweetiecome from someone else it might have seemed demeaning or inappropriate; from Shelly, somehow, it feels just right. “You, of all people, should know that.”
Sam takes a deep breath. Shelly must know her story. “I know,” she says. “I should, I know.” She turns back to Borachio and smilesher biggest smile. “I was totally kidding,” she says. “Pulling your leg! Uncle Timmy is great. You’re exactly right. He’s just a person, like you or me!”
