Now That I've Found You

by Kristina Forest

  “Were you invited?” she asks, walking closer. She narrows her eyes. “I can’t believe you somehow found your way here, at a James Jenkins party, of all places. Your grandma can’t be too happy.”

  “Don’t you dare speak of my grandmother,” I say, finally finding my voice, and it’s laced with venom. “How can you talk to me like you didn’t ruin my life? Why did you leak the video, Simone? How could you do something like that to me?”

  She sighs. “Not everything is about you, Evie,” she says. “That was your problem to begin with. When it came down to supporting you or helping myself, I chose me. You got that role in Paul Christopher’s movie because he’s an Evelyn Conaway fanatic and you know it. I have the role now because I deserve it. Not everyone has the whole world handed to them on a silver platter, like you. Some of us have to do what’s necessary to get what we want. I was always going to choose me. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have done the same.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” I say. Now I’m crying. “I never would have done what you did.”

  I can’t believe I used to think she was my best friend. How could I have been so naive?

  “Were you always pretending to be my friend?” I manage to say, wiping my face. “Was any of it real?”

  She stares at me, her mouth set in a tight line. I hold my breath as I wait for her response because I need to know the truth. For some reason, her answer means everything in this moment. If she says that our friendship was real, could I find it in myself to forgive her? I’ve been so lonely. As much as I hate her, I miss her even more.

  In the end, it doesn’t matter, because she doesn’t answer my question. She blinks and tilts her head as if she’s just come to a realization.

  “Oh my God,” she says slowly. “Is this a disguise? Are you wearing a disguise right now, Evie?”

  I push past her, and she grabs on to my arm. I yank away with a hard tug.

  “And Celia Reyes, really?” I say, spinning around to face her. “That’s who you were on the phone with? The same girl who dumped you a million times? The girl you cried on my shoulder about? Great! That’s just great!”

  “What do you care?” she yells, following after me out into the empty hallway. Now I see why no one came into the bathroom to disturb us. One of the Aliens Attack Earth 4 cast members is giving a drunken speech onstage, and everyone has their phones out to record him. “The only reason you never liked Celia is because when I was with her, it meant that I was spending time away from you. Do you know how exhausting it was being your only friend? To watch you get cast in lead roles at McKibben and have to pretend to be happy for you, like I wasn’t jealous?”

  Now she’s crying too. The two of us standing in the hallway, sobbing in front of each other.

  I don’t have time for my messed-up past with Simone. I have to find James Jenkins.

  “I can’t do this right now.” Or ever. I turn away and head back toward the dance floor.

  “I don’t know why you’re here, but you obviously don’t want people to know that you are,” Simone calls. “Imagine what people would say if they heard Evelyn Conaway’s granddaughter was out supporting James Jenkins. That Evie Jones finally made a public appearance again.”

  I freeze and then spin around. I slowly breathe in and out, trying to keep my voice level. “You wouldn’t.”

  “There you are.”

  A warm hand smoothly slides around my shoulders. I look up to find Milo by my side.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” He takes in the expression on my face, the tears rolling down my cheeks. He looks from me to Simone, who is now staring at us, openmouthed.

  “You’re in that band,” she says, pointing at him. “I’ve seen that video of you singing to the tourists in Times Square.”

  Milo smiles tightly, nodding. “That’s us.”

  “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” She stares at his hand on my shoulder. To me, she says, “I thought you had a rule about dating people in the entertainment industry.”

  Milo makes a little noise and looks down at me. While his face remains impassive, I can tell that he’s thinking, So that’s what it is.

  “We’re not dating,” I say, even though she doesn’t deserve an answer and has no right or place to bring up something I told her in confidence.

  I pull on Milo’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “But I don’t get it,” Simone continues, looking at Milo. “No one wants to work with her anymore. She’s basically a pariah. Why would you hang out with her?”

  Milo frowns hard at Simone, and his fingers spread and tighten on my shoulder.

  “It’s not worth it,” I say, continuing to pull him away, focused on getting to James’s VIP section.

  “What the hell is wrong with that girl?” Milo asks, glancing over his shoulder. “And why were you crying? What happened?”

  I don’t even have a chance to answer him before I hear Simone yell my name.

  “Evie, wait!” she shouts. “Let’s take a picture together! You and me and your new friend!”

  She’s shouting on purpose. She knows I don’t want to be recognized. Milo and I haven’t even made it out of the bathroom alcove when Simone grabs a nearby party photographer and points directly at me.

  Loudly, she says, “That’s Evie Jones, Evelyn Conaway’s granddaughter. Remember, from Mind Games, the one Paul Christopher fired? I want to get a picture with her. Come on, Evie, let’s take a picture together for old times’ sake!”

  The party photographer turns to me, confused. But just the mention of my name is enough bait. Slowly, he grins at me and lifts his camera.

  I turn to Milo and say one word: “Run!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We run to the exit, and the party photographer is right on us.

  “Wait, wait! Just one picture, Ms. Jones!”

  Milo bursts through the door, grabs my hand, and pulls me outside with him. A bunch of paparazzi are standing on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes and waiting for grand celebrity exits. They startle at the sight of us.

  “Who are they?” one confused photographer asks, but we keep running before they even have a chance to figure it out.

  Behind us, I hear the party photographer say, “Apparently, that’s Evie Jones, the one Paul Christopher fired.”

  Then all chaos breaks loose. And of course at the moment we need him, Adrian is nowhere to be found.

  “Ms. Jones! Ms. Jones! Evie, can you tell us where you’ve been all these months?! Who’s the guy?”

  I run faster than I’ve ever run in my entire life. But I’m no match for Milo and his long legs. Especially not while wearing these platform boots. The only reason I’m moving so quickly is that he’s basically pulling me down Forty-Sixth Street.

  We make a sharp right onto Seventh Avenue, and I’ve never been so thankful for Times Square tourists to help us blend in. Most paparazzi gave up after a block or two, but there are a few persistent ones who are still running after us.

  I tighten my grip on Milo’s hand as he quickly pushes his way through the crowd.

  “Evie!” I hear a photographer shout. “Just one picture!”

  Seriously, are they so desperate that they’d brave tourist central? I have to do something, and fast.

  I spot a diner called The Red Flame to my right, and I call Milo’s name, urging him along toward the diner. We’re panting as we rush inside, and the hostess backs away, holding up her hands in surprise. I spin around and glimpse one of the photographers who’s still searching for us in the crowd. Thinking quickly, I start pulling Milo’s jacket off his arms so that they won’t recognize him, and so that he’s blocking me.

  “What are you doing?” he asks as I continue tugging on his sleeves. I take his jacket and throw it over my shoulders. Behind him, a photographer is right in front of the door, looking in the opposite direction. When he starts to turn his head toward us, I pull Milo down so that his face is right in front of mine.

  And I sw
ear it wasn’t supposed to be a real kiss. We were just supposed to pretend to kiss so that the photographer wouldn’t see our faces and move on.

  But it’s like our mouths have ideas of their own, because once Milo’s face is level with mine, our lips come together like magnets. I wait a fraction of a second, giving him a chance to pull away if he wants to. But he doesn’t. He pulls me closer and deepens the kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist.

  I’ve been kissed before, during performances and in real life. But I’ve never been kissed like this. So slowly and deeply, as if it’s the only thing that matters. His lips are soft, and his mouth tastes like spearmint. I reach up, placing my hands on his firm shoulders. His skin is warm, radiating through his shirt.

  Our kiss feels like it lasts a century, when, in reality, only a few minutes pass. I finally pull away, lifting my fingers to my swollen mouth. Milo blinks at me, looking completely dazed. I glance behind him. No more paparazzi. The kiss worked. In more ways than one, if I’m being honest.

  “They’re gone,” I say breathlessly. Calmly. But on the inside, I’m thinking, Oh my God. We just kissed. We just kissed!

  “We just kissed,” Milo says, like he can’t believe it. “You just kissed me.”

  “It—it was for the paparazzi,” I stammer. “I didn’t want them to see our faces.”

  “You just kissed me,” he repeats, smiling this time. He has nice teeth. Nice lips. Nice everything.

  Ugh! What have I done?

  I shake my head. “It wasn’t even real! It was just for the paparazzi!”

  “Was it, though?” he says, shaking his head too. “I think you kissed me because you wanted to.”

  “No! Well … no. No.” I’m a broken record.

  “Um, excuse me, do you guys want a table, or what?” The hostess is staring at us impatiently. “I know we’re open twenty-four hours, but that doesn’t mean you get to stand by the door all night.”

  She raises an eyebrow. I imagine how we must look to her: a sweaty, winded couple who just ran through Times Square, holding hands, making out as soon as we got through the door. She probably thinks we’re tourists who are madly in love or something.

  “Table for two, please,” Milo says. When I look at him, he adds, “What? We’re here. We might as well eat.”

  I don’t agree with that logic, but I do think it’s best to hide out and lie low until we can trust that all the paparazzi have left the area.

  “Um, can we sit in the back, please?” I ask. “Like, as far from the door as possible?”

  The hostess frowns, clearly done with us. “Um, okay. Sure.”

  She seats us at a booth in the back, right near the loud kitchen, where we can hear the cooks and servers bustling on the other side of the swinging door.

  I focus on the menu in front of me, avoiding eye contact with Milo. I can’t believe I just kissed him. Fast thinking on my part, yes, but I did not bother to think about the repercussions! And my lips are still tingling.

  Okay, get it together, Evie. Fries, you like fries. Get some fries. And a milkshake. You love those, remember?

  But I can’t stop picturing the way our mouths melded together, the thrill I felt when his tongue bumped into mine.

  What is wrong with you? Stop it!

  When I glance up, I find that Milo is watching me. He starts to smile and opens his mouth, but I’m quick to cut him off.

  “Don’t say anything else about the kiss,” I warn.

  He laughs. “Okay, fine. It was a good kiss. That’s it. I’ve said my piece.”

  My stomach does a little flip, and my cheeks suddenly feel like they’re covered in lava. I take a sip of my water and clear my throat, turning my attention back to my menu.

  “We just ran from the paparazzi,” he says. “Like, straight-up just ran from them.”

  And then the hysteria from tonight finally catches up with me because I burst out laughing, and I can’t stop. “I’ve never done that before!”

  Milo sits forward, laughing too. “Me neither! That was nuts. I don’t know how anyone can live like that, being followed every day. Now I see why you have the wig.”

  “Well, the wig is pointless now,” I say once I stop laughing. “They might have gotten a few pictures of me like this, and who knows what Simone is going to tell people.” I shake my head, angry all over again. “I can’t believe she ruined my chance to talk to James. I have to figure out something else before Sunday.”

  A waitress comes over to take our orders, and I realize I never actually decided on a meal. Milo waits for me to order first, but when I stare at him blankly, he orders a burger and fries and a root beer. Then the waitress looks at me, smiling patiently, unlike our hostess. There’s so much food on this menu. I don’t even remember the last time I ate a meal at a public place. Sometime in early May, I guess. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how to order food.

  “Um,” I say. “Um…”

  “Pancakes?” Milo suggests, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes!” Pancakes sound amazing right now. “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes, please, with extra whipped cream.” I push the menu away but quickly pull it back. “I’ll also have a black-and-white shake and french fries.”

  “Coming right up,” the waitress says. Once she walks away, I finally take off my sunglasses and lean back against the booth cushion. I let out a deep breath.

  Milo gulps down his water and then steeples his fingers. He has the look of someone who is about to ask A Question.

  “So … that girl,” he says carefully, “is she the reason you aren’t big on friends?”

  I stare at him, trying to decide if this is something I even want to talk about. When he found Simone and me, I was crying and angry. I don’t have to explain myself, but I don’t want to keep everything bottled up either.

  “Yes,” I finally answer.

  “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  I look down and start folding my napkin into squares because I need something to do with my hands. “Her name is Simone. We went to the same performing arts school in LA. She used to be my best friend.”

  Milo waits as if he knows that there’s more to the story.

  “She was my only friend, actually,” I continue. “For our senior showcase, everyone performs monologues, and it’s a big deal because lots of directors and producers in the industry come looking for new talent. Paul Christopher came to see us my junior year, and that’s how I got the role in Mind Games. When we found out he was coming back for our senior year, we all freaked out, of course. And after the showcase, he invited a few of us to audition for his new movie. Simone and I both auditioned for the lead. I got the role, and she didn’t.”

  “That must have been awkward,” he says.

  I nod. “It was, but after a while, I thought everything was fine.” I sigh and finally look up at him. “You know the video of me speaking in a British accent like Paul Christopher, the one that got me fired?”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Well, I was with Simone that night, and she was the one who leaked it. I thought she was recording me as a joke, something we could rewatch and laugh about later. But the next morning, she sent it to media outlets. And then I was fired, and she was hired in my place. And now she’s the face of Beautiful You. I almost had that campaign.”

  “That’s so fucked up,” Milo says, his voice low. “Damn, Evie. I’m sorry.”

  I look away, because the last thing I want is for him to feel sorry for me. “It’s partially my fault too. I should have seen it coming.”

  He blinks and shakes his head. “Why would anyone expect a friend to turn on them like that?”

  I laugh bitterly. “You are going to be in for a rude awakening once your band makes it big. You guys have something really special. You need to stick together and watch out for people who try to break into your circle.”

  “Don’t you have any childhood friends you can trust like that?”

  “No. I never had any clos
e friends before Simone.” I place my hands flat on the table and stare at my fingers. Talking about this is embarrassing. “I used to travel a lot with my parents while they filmed their documentaries, so I was never in one place long enough to make friendships that lasted. I guess Gigi has always been my real best friend.”

  I glance up, expecting pity. Instead, he smiles. “Yeah, she feels like a best friend to me too.”

  For the first time, Milo talking about his closeness to Gigi doesn’t annoy me. Maybe it’s because he says this with such genuine affection. Still, I can’t return his bright smile. Gigi is my best friend, and for the first time ever, she doesn’t want to talk to me. She doesn’t even want to see me. What if she never speaks to me again?

  Our food arrives, and once our server walks away, Milo asks, “What’s next for you as far as projects go? I mean, only if you’re willing to talk about them.”

  I take a long slurp of my milkshake before I answer. “Nothing right now.” I’m definitely not telling him about the possible Every Time We Meet remake. “I guess you could say that my current project is getting everyone to stop hating me.”

  “I don’t think everyone hates you,” he says, taking a big bite of his burger.

  “Have you seen what people have said about me online? You saw the way the paparazzi chased me. They can’t wait to print my picture and write a caption about how I’m a horrible person who has no respect for Paul Christopher or for real cinema.”

  Milo shrugs. “I don’t know. I think that’s a stretch. I didn’t even know who Simone was until you told me just now. All that stuff happened months ago. I bet a lot of people have moved on and would be happy to see you in something else.”

  “Really?” I say, surprised. Suddenly, I do have the urge to tell him about the remake, just to see what he might think. But I know better than to do that.

  He nods. “Sure. If ‘the legendary’ Paul Christopher made the decision to cast you in one of his movies, it’s obvious that you can act. You’ve already got the beauty part down.”

  He says it so easily I’m not sure if he’s flirting or speaking matter-of-factly. Our kiss has changed things.