“What’s going on?”
He blinked. “Sorry. Just thinking about the app.”
“I thought you needed a break?”
“Have you ever had this with your own projects? You get stuck or frustrated and need a time-out. I think I just got unstuck.”
Great, he probably wanted to leave already. But I had to admit, I knew the feeling. “It’s like when you pace. That helps to loosen thoughts sometimes. Maybe it’s the physical movement.”
“Yes! Exactly.”
We grabbed drinks. Without discussing, both of us picked out cans of soda from the ice-filled buckets. I held up my can to Liam for a quick cheers.
He obeyed the call to clink. “What was that for?”
“We’ve been working hard. Now we get to have fun.”
Liam tipped back his soda but didn’t look as convinced at the fun part. Okay, so no surprise Liam wasn’t the partying type, but we could still make a night of this.
“Those girls over there look nice,” Liam said to me.
I followed his gaze. Three girls around our age huddled together looking at a phone screen, laughing. The girl holding the phone wore an asymmetric sundress and cute black-framed glasses. I nudged Liam with my elbow. “She seems your type—the one in the middle.”
“What? No, I meant for us to talk to. You know, to socialize, like my brother said. Not for me to, like, hit on.”
“I only meant she was cute.” Honestly, I had no idea why I even brought up this girl being his type. Or being cute, which she was. What did I know about Liam’s type? Liam didn’t need me arranging his social life.
Though, he was right about the socializing part. This was a party full of potential stylist clients and fashion-app users. I tugged at Liam’s arm and made my way across the room away from the three girls.
After a few misguided attempts to connect with partygoers about my stylist business, and one prickly young woman threatening to call security because I was “soliciting on private property,” Liam and I retreated to the outdoor patio. Low, angular seating framed the pool like a slightly more waterproof living room.
“I came on too strong,” I told Liam regarding me bombing at socializing. Ethan and Haylo made it look so easy. “I don’t even have business cards.”
“You put yourself out there. See? Bravery.”
“I failed! It was not brave.”
“Haylo can ‘dress herself,’” he threw up air quotes with his hands, “but she still asked for your help. You know it’s not you that’s the problem. You need to find the right match.”
The crowd outside grew. Guests were oddly spaced out, as if they’d been strategically placed. Across the pool, cameras pointed toward Haylo and her older sisters, who stood surrounded by partiers dancing absent of music.
“They add the music later,” a guy next to me said.
“That makes sense from a sound production standpoint,” Liam agreed. “But it looks really stupid.”
It was sort of like watching someone jam out while they wore headphones. The party was all in their head.
One of the women dancers got in Pru’s face. Pru shouted back at her.
“You better step back.” The woman did the head swivel and the eye roll and everything. Then Pru shoved her into the pool.
A second camera panned the crowd for reaction shots. The girls next to Haylo squealed and gasped and eventually started dancing again. Haylo kept glancing around, looking for whether the cameras were on her. She was probably so uncomfortable with this.
Ethan stood aside from the dancers, looking bored. I was about to go back for another soda when Haylo grabbed him by the collar and laid a major kiss on his lips. The kiss kept going. And going. The girls around her went, “Whoo-hoo!” and then they danced harder to no music until the whole thing turned my stomach over.
Haylo and Ethan broke apart. Haylo shifted until her gaze landed on mine. Shock crossed her features. Then equal parts apologetic and ashamed, but something else, too. Something that wasn’t any of those things, as if a piece of her was just fine with the experience.
She may as well have darted me in the gut. And Ethan, he wasn’t pushing her away. Their hands knotted together. Around them, the crew moved the lighting and cameras. They weren’t even filming.
I peeled back from the crowd, casting my eyes on the path ahead of me to keep from tripping.
Liam brushed my arm. “Hey.”
I didn’t have a right to be upset. I hadn’t the right back at the warehouse party, and not tonight. Ethan wasn’t my boyfriend. I was trying to get over him. Trying.
I blew past Liam in search of a bathroom or a giant armoire with a portal to Narnia.
A line formed for the nearest bathroom, and I didn’t want to be nosy looking for another one upstairs, so I walked out the front door all the way to Liam’s SUV. I stared up at the street lamp where bugs spun in their own cyclone. It was beyond dumb being upset by Haylo kissing Ethan, but here I was, upset. If the show producers set them up as a couple, that didn’t explain their behavior after the cameras cut.
“Amelia.”
“Go away,” I told Liam without turning around. “I mean, eventually I’ll need a ride home, but for now I need a minute to myself.”
I heard shuffling but no going away. I turned.
“Hey.” He put up his hands. “I only wanted to see if you were okay.”
Liam blinked a few times, his eyes so much like Ethan’s. If I squinted, the resemblance surfaced. Their faces shared similar features, but Ethan’s cheeks were rounder, more boyish. Liam took after his father with a more defined chin, a slightly longer nose.
“You probably think I’m pathetic,” I said. “I know that you know I have—had—a crush on your brother. I guess seeing it played out is still hard to watch.”
Liam scuffed his shoe against the curb. “I know you told your New York friends that Ethan was your boyfriend. And how Amy still doesn’t know the truth.”
Cold realization pressed hard against my chest. Liam knew. He knew and he could hold it against me. He had Amy’s number. He could text her right now. I shut my eyes against the replay of humiliation.
“I’m not planning to tell her. I just think you should know—”
“Hey now, did the party move and no one told me?” Ethan trotted over, free from the cameras. “There are a ton of people I want to introduce you to. And they turned the music on for real. No more fake dancing.”
I had on the right clothes and knew the right people, but I didn’t feel like I fit here. I didn’t even know whose house this was, and I sure wasn’t going to push anybody into a pool. Meeting more people did not sound like anything I wanted a part of right now.
His voice lowered. “I know you saw us playing it up for the cameras. I swear, the Haylo thing is not going to happen.”
Not going to happen. Did happen. Kept happening. That kiss wasn’t fake. None of my daydreams involved sorting through Ethan’s made-for-the-cameras relationship. I had nothing to draw from.
Liam paced in a tight circle. “Amelia is too smart for your excuses. You can’t win over every girl by just, like, existing.”
Ethan looked at me. “You think I’m trying to play you?”
I was not at all ready to discuss my feelings for or about him in front of him or his brother. Nope. “I think I’d rather go. I’m tired.” I rubbed my arms against the early night’s chill. Suddenly, it was true. I was exhausted.
“Is that what you really want?” Ethan asked me. I nodded and got into the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Liam and I continued to work on the presentation the following week, when I wasn’t picking up catering jobs. Filming for the show had moved off the Laurenti estate with exception of the upcoming Welcome to Miami gala, for which Mami was now a full partner in planning. Vans arrived at all hours of the day with vendors scouting the grounds in preparation for a major bash.
I was officially back to avoiding Ethan. It was easier for me t
o focus on everything else that way. Haylo had texted me practically nonstop the day after the party where I’d seen her kiss Ethan. She apologized and explained how the producers wanted what she quoted as “relationship drama.” Objective delivered. I wrote her back that she and I were good—we were, sort of, for now—but I needed time for my other work. Ethan wasn’t mine to be upset over, and I had projects to work on.
I booted up my laptop for a chat with Desiree. She’d approved Liam’s slides with a few suggestions and notes. “Hey, Des.” I moved into view of my laptop’s camera. “Oh my gosh. What are you wearing?”
Des wore a peasant blouse, a long skirt, and a bunch of weird belts and scarves looped around her waist.
“Did you raid my closet? Hey, is that my skirt? I don’t remember trading you that skirt.”
“One of my friends is doing Shakespeare in the park and she needed someone to dress up and hand out programs.” She twirled. “And yes, I ganked your skirt.”
Great, so my old clothes were costume material. “Sounds fun. I have a night of public-speaking tutorials to go through.” I rolled my eyes, though I was secretly geeked. “I have my outfit ready for the presentation. Haylo and I picked this out.”
I held up a quarter-sleeved fitted red blazer and matching skirt. Super professional, a bold and powerful color, and paid for with stylist cash.
“Ooh, I love it,” Des said. “This stylist deal has turned lucrative, huh? I shouldn’t have doubted you being able to work around Ethan. You’ve proved yourself.”
“Thanks, Des.” I was pretty proud of myself, too. Party drama, notwithstanding.
She sat and pulled the camera closer. “So tell me more about working with Liam.”
“You read through the slides. You already know everything about the app.”
“Not the app, girl. Liam! I want to hear about all this time you’re spending together.”
“We’re working.” I told her about the Instagram attention. I’d released a few more teaser posts, being careful not to mention DeCoursey’s or anything specific, which could put the deal at risk.
“Okay, that’s all nice and good, but we’ve talked about the app and your stylist adventures. You’re all, Liam this and Liam that. What do you think about him?”
“Oh. Um, he’s great.” I glanced to the Gryffindor house badge on my sewing-scraps bag. “Actually, he’s different than I assumed.”
“Good different?”
“We have fun together.” The realization came to me as I spoke. “Liam’s … great.”
“You’re saying ‘great’ a lot. Do you like him?”
“My life doesn’t have to revolve around the Laurentis, you know.” A chat window popped up with Liam’s name. Ironic timing. I minimized it. “Liam and I are friends and that’s it.”
“Mm-hmm.” She examined her nails, her hand fanned out in front of her.
“We are. I like working with him. Anyway, how’s your boyfriend?”
“Interesting you made the conversational leap to boyfriend after I asked you about Liam.”
I smacked my palms against the desk. “I was changing the subject. New subject entirely!”
She laughed at me. Straight-up laughed.
“I heard from Amy,” she said once she contained her laughter. “She said she gave you some ideas for your stylist gig. So she knows about you and Ethan?”
“Me and Ethan what?” Oh. That Ethan and I never actually dated. “It’s kind of a misunderstanding. I think it’s too weird to bring up now. That was weeks ago. She probably doesn’t even remember.”
“She remembers.”
“Did you tell her?”
“No, but you should.”
“Come on, Des.” I stood and paced. “No offense, but you are on my case about a lot of stuff. I’m busy. The presentation needs to be awesome, and I have a lot of work to do. Thanks for your help, by the way.”
She gave me a look like she wasn’t buying my excuse no matter how sweetly I packaged it. Not that it was an excuse. I was busy.
After we ended our chat, I pulled up my e-mail. A recent message from Amy sat at the top with helpful notes about recent stylist questions I’d asked. I owed her the truth. If I wanted to keep being her friend, I needed to clear up the misunderstanding. My lie.
I clicked open a new message. My fingers struggled over each key. I sat back, my nerves tangled like threads caught in a sewing machine bobbin. It sounded so lame to admit I’d faked a relationship. But Des knew the truth. She’d forgiven me.
I typed the apology. I deleted and rewrote it three more times. Fine. Done.
I was having a hard time hitting Send.
Ethan showed actual interest in me now. I didn’t have to lie. My misunderstanding could become the truth. If I skipped telling Amy that Ethan and I never dated, I could get away with the lie. And Ethan showing interest now meant I wasn’t actually pathetic. My stories weren’t simply pretty images collected on a digital Pinboard. They weren’t lies, they were only embellishments of what was to come.
Only I’d spent all week hiding from Ethan. Why would I avoid him if this was what I’d wanted for so long?
You’re scared, my subconscious, in Tim Gunn’s voice, told me. Make it work!
Make it work how, internal Tim Gunn? And what was I scared of? I had no reason to be afraid of Ethan.
Liam’s chat window blinked in the corner. I clicked it open.
Was looking through my scanned items for the app. Came across a pashmina. Had to look up. Why not just a scarf?
Realized: I am a 17-year-old hetero male who now knows the difference between a pashmina and a scarf.
I typed a response. Is there a difference?
Well, pashmina is a type of scarf, a type of wool.
Hey! I see what you did there.
He clicked over an animated gif of a cat leaping out a window and missing its target. I laughed despite my crummy mood. I watched the video four more times and laughed harder. Again. The cat never stopped being funny.
I did a quick search for Harry Potter memes and sent the link. He responded with a Dumbledore image mismatched with a Star Wars quote. We continued exchanging links and guessing each other’s movie quotes.
You’ve seen Lord of the Rings? I didn’t figure you for a fantasy fan.
It’s on cable every other major holiday.
Abuelita is in love with Aragorn.
No! Hahaha.
Something serious. My dad offered to call in during the presentation. He finally realized I’m meeting with actual executives and is suddenly interested.
Wow, that was news.
How do you feel about that?
A little weird. I don’t want him to take over. Not after all the work we’ve done.
I almost typed he could tell his father he didn’t want him there, but if it were me, I’d want Mami or Abuelita standing by with support.
I’m glad he’s interested.
I didn’t tell you this, but the storeroom we accessed, I gave the manager my dad’s business card. That’s why she let us in.
Lame, huh? Turns out I did need the family name, after all. I got freaked the other day, thinking of the presentation, and tried one more time telling my dad about it. I don’t want to lose this. If connections matter, I want to be smart.
I pulled my hands away from the keyboard. Liam’s project could stand on its own. Maybe having his father join the presentation would prove to Mr. Laurenti how much potential the app had. How much potential Liam had.
The next chat line was a website link. I clicked. The iPhone lifestyle-apps page.
I can see UFit right here. Can you?
Yeah, I can. For real.
You’re awesome, btw. Not sure if I’ve told you that.
Aw! That’s sweet. Thnx [emoji of a spastic dog]
You told me not many people can do what I’m doing. I think it’s the opposite. Not many would do what you are. Helping me like this.
… loading
The
image blinked onto the screen. I stared. The words RunwayGirl Stylist & Co. was typed in black font over my sky-and-palm-leaves image. Filters were used and set to high contrast black and white. The effect was professional and artistic. I loved the dark-edged palm tree in the corner showing a hint of Miami.
This was ridiculous, but my eyes were watering. My throat tightened.
I had the designer I contracted with for the UFit logo create this. You don’t have to use it or anything. It was just something extra.
It’s gorgeous. It’s wonderful.
It was my name as a logo, using the image I’d snapped with my phone on a whim. It was me, but shaped up a little. I’d spent countless hours going through runway photos online to post for my account, a fantasy I’d built up for so long. But this, simple and spare and to the point, this was me.
I love it. You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.
I wanted to do something for you.
I wiped my stupid, leaking eyes. Sitting back, I admired the logo. Liam had done this for me, with all the other things going on in his life. A thoughtful and unexpected gesture. I couldn’t believe I was tearing up over a logo.
My logo.
The message indicator blinked on again. I scrolled down to view it.
I wanted to make you happy.
Two days later, Liam’s SUV idled in the driveway. I jumped in, setting a leather portfolio on my lap with our handouts tucked inside. I adjusted my jacket and locked my seat belt. Presentation Day: Go.
“I know this means nothing to you,” I told him, “but I’m wearing heels. I never wear heels. These are the shoes I have displayed on my shelf.”
“Is that going to be okay? I want you to be comfortable. I never understood why girls wore shoes that hurt.”
“These fit, so they don’t hurt. It’s more that I’m bad at walking in them. But I’ve been practicing.” I figured if I had to practice public speaking and sewing skills, that idea translated to walking in unstable pointy high heels, too.
I angled in my seat to get the full view of Liam. His new suit was tailored with a sheen indicating a soft, rich fabric. I couldn’t resist touching the sleeve. So not off-the-rack. The deep navy blue looked amazing against his skin tone.
Alterations Page 20