“True. Do you think I could pull off Girl Next Door?”
“I think you’re more of a loveable Villain.”
I shake my head. “The Villain never wins. And if I’m doing this, I’m in it to win it.”
“Just whatever you do, don’t be the Whiny Bitch.” He brings up his phone once again. “Hold on,” he says, tapping something into the screen. “Here.” He passes me his phone, displaying a grid of photos of a blonde woman in various poses and places. “Do you recognize her?”
I click on one of her photos, a #nomakeup selfie where she’s clearly wearing blush, bronzer and mascara. I peer at her face. She’s familiar in that she looks like so many other influencers—the right lighting, makeup, clothes and pose—but there is nothing about her that is instantly recognizable.
“No, who is she?”
Cori shakes his head. “Doomed to live in obscurity, is who she is.”
“What?”
“I went to high school with her. She went on some reality show last year, but she got kicked off pretty early. According to her, they gave her a bad edit.”
“A bad edit?”
He scrolls through her feed, then clicks on a post. The photo shows the girl from behind, in a hoodie and shorts with her hair in a messy bun, sitting on a beach looking at the sun setting over the water. I take the phone and read the caption.
There are no facts, only interpretations. —Nietzsche.
I scrunch up my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Cori rolls his eyes. “She claims they made her look bad on screen because she questioned their tactics, and so they got rid of her.”
“Huh,” I say, scrolling through more photos of her looking introspective accompanied by cryptic quotes. “Was it true?”
He shrugs. “She was always annoying, so I don’t doubt it.”
“Wouldn’t you say the same about me?” I mean it as a joke, but Cori’s face softens. He’s looking at me like we’re in an after-school special, and he’s my concerned dad. “What?” I say, squirming in the heat of his gaze.
He sighs. “You’re my best friend. And I want you to be happy.”
“I’m happy,” I lie.
“Sweetie, no, you’re not. You’re cynical.”
So what if I’m cynical? It keeps my head clear. Maybe if I had been more cynical when I was with Dylan then I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’m just a crusty bitch, you know that.” Cori smiles, not a happy kind of smile, but enough that I know that he’ll concede. “Now, my hair isn’t going to do itself.”
He shakes his head as he plugs in my curling tongs. A few flicks of the wrist later, I have a head full of beachy waves. He puts his hands on my shoulders, appraising me.
“Gorge,” he proclaims.
“Now, can I grab a ride to the audition?” I bat my heavily mascaraed lashes.
He sighs. “Fine. But when you make it to the Oscars, I’d better be your date.”
As we pass through the kitchen, I stop to grab the empty bottle of pinot grigio. “Hey, can we stop by the Liquor Mart on the way?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I need to return this,” I say, holding up the bottle. “It tasted weird. I think there was something wrong with it.”
“But you drank it all.”
