by Lele Pons
When we show up, Alexei and Lila are already sitting in a booth. They’re not speaking to each other, or touching—instead they are scouring the menu as if on a treasure hunt, examining the contents intently with squinted eyes.
“I’ll save you the trouble,” I say. “You won’t find anything you actually want to eat.” I scan Lila from head to . . . where the table cuts her off: long blond hair, green eyes, edgy leather jacket. Okay, okay, so she’s a less cute version of me. If I started this year as Lele 1.0, she’s Lele 0.5 (but remember, by now I am basically Lele 10.0, especially with all the emotional growth I’ve done).
“What?” Alexei looks up. “Oh, ha-ha. Yeah,” Alexei says. “It’s not so bad.”
“I know, I’m kidding.” He stands up and so Lila stands up and I just keep thinking, What am I supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do now? in a loop over and over again.
“Lele, this is Lila. Lila, Lele.”
“Hi!” she says. She’s smiling hugely and idiotically, so I match it with a huge and idiotic smile of my own. “I’ve literally heard so much about you.” Literally? So much doesn’t need to be qualified with a literally. It’s too vague to even be a close estimate of an amount let alone a literal amount. Ugh. Then she opens her arms and I guess I’m supposed to hug her?
We wrap our arms around each other in an embrace that is more intimate and constricted than I would have ever wanted it to be. She hugs me tightly, as if to say, “I’m cool with you!,” so I hug her back even tighter, as if to say, “I’m even cooler with you!” How long has she been hugging me? Why won’t this girl let go? She’s so thin and fit and smells like Herbal Essences and Marc Jacobs perfume and the last thing I need is her pressing all of that perfection up against me—it’s like she’s literally rubbing it in. The combination of jealousy and irritation is too much for me to handle and suddenly I just snap: I squeeze my arms around her neck tighter and tighter until I hear a distinct snap and she falls to the floor, dead.
Okay, fine, that’s not what happened. But do I always have to tell it as it really happened? Sometimes the truth isn’t interesting enough . . . and that’s where Vine comes in. On Vine I can rewrite history to make it the way I want it to be, I can re-create reality to match the vision in my mind, the version of reality that transcends the mundane. It’s my playground, my laboratory, my escape, and my sanctuary.
“So, how did you two meet?” Unfortunately Alexei and I ask this at the exact same moment and have to spend a few seconds untangling and deliberating on who will answer first. I insist that he does.
“We met at a party. Well—that might be a little misleading. Our sisters are friends, and they were at a party. Lila was picking up her sister when I was picking up Aya.” Aya. I knew you’d be the death of me.
“That’s adorable,” says Bryce, ripping off a piece of bread with his teeth.
In my head I have smiled and said something charming, but apparently I haven’t because then Alexei goes, “Lele? You all right?”
“Yeah, why, what’s up?”
“You were just staring blankly past my head.”
“Oh was I? No, I’m fine. I’m great. I was just looking at that uh . . . erm . . . that painting back there. It’s . . . pretty.” They turn around to look at the painting, which is just a pixelated image of a wineglass.
“That one?” Alexei asks.
“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Anyway, so you met at a kiddie party, that’s awesome.”
“Yeah!” Lila chirps. “It was so funny because the last thing I would have expected was to meet a cute guy at a four-year-old’s birthday, right?”
“Riigghtt.”
“So how did you two meet?”
“Well,” Bryce volunteers. “I was a big fan of Lele’s videos and—”
“Oh yeah! You’re like really big on YouTube, right?” Lila says, turning to me.
“Vine, actually. But yeah, kinda big. Like over ten million followers. It’s no big deal though,” I tell her.
“It’s a huge deal, actually,” Alexei says. “It’s very impressive.”
“Well, yeah.” I feign modesty, but in an obvious way, so that it’s clear I actually do know how awesome I am, but just don’t like to brag about it.
“Okay, cool, so then what?” Alexei asks.
“Well, I knew someone who knew someone who knew her, so I was able to get her e-mail address, and so I e-mailed her telling her I thought she was cool and . . . the rest is history.” Agh, I could murder him. First of all he skipped the part where I ignored him for three months, second of all he made himself sound like the creepiest stalker of all time, and third of all, why does he have to start literally every sentence with “well”?!
“Should we order now?” I say. “I feel like we should order.”
• • •
The meal goes by painlessly enough. Just kidding, it was excruciating—an unbearable combination of boring and emotionally straining. By the time it’s over my face and butt are sore from all the clenching. On our way out, Lila goes to the bathroom and Bryce gets a phone call, so it’s just Alexei and me standing outside Olive Garden, shifting back and forth on the soles of our shoes.
“She seems sweet,” I say, hoping it came out genuine and not as totally forced as it actually was.
“Yeah. She’s simple,” he says. “I mean, in a good way. It’s . . . pleasant.”
“Yikes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Pleasant isn’t a very exciting word.”
“Yeah, I think I need a break from exciting.”
“That’s fair.”
“Bryce seems cool.”
“He’s okay, it’s not a real thing though. Maybe we’ll go on a few dates. We’ll see.”
“Yep, there’s lots to be revealed. Are you all right? You seem sad.”
“I guess I am a little. When we broke up I knew you’d end up dating someone else, I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”
WAIT, was I just honest about my emotions? Without screaming or crying or causing a scene? What is this? Am I dying?
“I was worried you might feel weird about it.” He sighs. “But listen, if it’s too uncomfortable for you I can stay single for a little bit. You know, until us dating other people feels more natural.”
“Alexei, that is seriously so sweet, but you’re my best friend and I want you to be happy. If you’re not happy I won’t be happy.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, moron, shut up.”
“So, to get our friendship back to normal, do you think we should hang out less or more?”
“More,” I say, “Definitely more. More is more.”
• • •
Darcy comes over and we paint each other’s nails while watching vintage Beverly Hills, 90210 and laugh at the outfits. I start to complain about Lila but then quickly give up.
“You know what, never mind,” I say. “She’s a perfectly fine girl. Let them eat cake.”
“I don’t think that expression totally fits here but—”
“Ugh, Darcy, the point is I am growing up and learning to accept life for how it is. You should be really proud of me.”
“I am proud of you,” she says, glaring. “And I never tire of having a friend who tells me how I should feel.”
“That’s right. Because you accept me for who I am.”
“Sure.” More glaring.
“But really, though, I know I’ve put you through a lot this year, and to make up for it, you know what I’m gonna do?”
“Do I want to know?”
“I’m going to give you the prettiest fingernails anyone has ever seen in their whole lives.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes. Just watch.”
“I think I’m fine with this basic purple.”
“That basic purple is exactly that: basic. Please, please, please! Let me make them fabulous!”
“Fine.”
I spend the next hour working on her nails
like they’re a bomb I’m trying to defuse, like they’re the only thing that exists. On top of a purple base I paint thin pinstripes in gold, then cross them diagonally with silver. I glue tiny rhinestones and studs onto the empty diamond-shape spaces and then top it all off with a layer of clear polish.
The final product is sparkly and regal and dope and on fleek and everything you would want in a manicure—until I lose balance and fall into Darcy, knocking her to the floor where all the work on her entire right hand smudges on the carpet. For a moment we freeze, stunned, speechless. Then we burst into hysterics and I let myself fall to the floor and we lie on our backs giggling and gasping for breath, giving into life and the wacky twists and turns it takes.
“We have to turn this into a Vine,” I say. “ ‘When Your Best Friend Is the Clumsiest Human Alive.’ ”
“Dope,” she says. “Do you think we can get it in six seconds?”
“Let’s find out!”
• • •
Not a lot can happen in six seconds, there’s not much you can do. You can’t write a song or read a book or pass a test or complete a manicure or clean your room. You can’t cook a meal or make a plan or learn to drive or write a letter or save the world. But this year I’ve learned what you can do: You can wake up, become alive, send a text, take a shot, make a friend, fall in love, fall into place, save a life, make a change, make a first impression, get a second chance . . . and, most important, you can tell a story. I need only six seconds to tell a story, and as long as I have that, I know I’ll be just fine.
EPILOGUE
Beware of the Psycho Girlfriends (“Blank Space”–style)
(10,100,000 Followers)
“Nice to meet you, where you been? / I could show you incredible things.” “Blank Space” by Taylor Swift starts to play as I make my way down the stairs in an elegant, strapless black dress. And there he is waiting for me, my knight in shining armor—a handsome man with stunning eyes ready to take me out for a night on the town. Taylor sings, “You look like my next mistake” as Alexei pops up behind me. I can see his reflection in the window above the front door trying to warn “my knight in shining armor.” He makes an X with his arms, he raises a finger to his ear and spirals it around, the universal pantomime for “she’s crazy!”
He thinks he’s being discreet, that I can’t see him, but I can. Trying to scare off new suitors? I don’t think so. With one swift motion I swing my arm back and punch him in the face. He falls to the ground, and I continue to float effortlessly down the stairs.
• • •
Zoom out: Alexei and me IRL watching our latest Vine “Beware the Psycho Ex-Girlfriend,” laughing our asses off on his bedroom floor. As it turns out, Alexei has a thing for drama queens: Lila quickly went from innocent sweet pea to phone-snooping, revenge-wanting psycho. Just like me! I’m not saying all girls are like this, but Lila and I definitely aren’t alone.
So, once again he’s single, and things are starting to feel stable between us. In the course of a year we went from strangers to secret admirers to friends to “lovers” and back to friends again, and it’s been awkward every step of the way. Maybe it will always be awkward, but that’s just who we are, and maybe we’re just building a new type of relationship, something that you haven’t seen before. We do tend to be quite innovative.
At the end of the day this year wasn’t a total epic fail. I made friends, fell in love, got famous, found myself, lost myself, and found myself again.
Best of all, I survived.
See you next year, Miami High. I’ll be back.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Lele:
I would like to thank everyone who has been a part of this amazing opportunity. I would like to thank Melissa for her dedication and patience in collaborating with me on this incredible book; without her this could not have been possible. I would like to thank Mark Schulman and Richard Abate for believing in this project and making it happen, and Natasha Simons for her amazing job as our editor. I would also like to thank Natalie Novak and Jordan Berkus for their support, and Luke and Logan for always being there for me, and of course my parents for their unconditional love and support. Thank you all for helping me fulfill one of my biggest dreams!! It has been an honor working together with all of you.
Melissa:
I would like to thank my team: Richard Abate, Rachel Kim, Zahra Lipson, and everyone at 3 Arts and Spilled Ink; Natasha Simons, our genius editor at Simon & Schuster; my friends Margie Stohl and Rafi Simon, for every mental-health day; my family—my ever-patient and tireless husband, Mike Johnston, and especially my daughter, Mattie, who watched Lele’s Vines with me over and over again and became Lele’s biggest fan and was the reason I was so glad I did this project. Thanks especially to Team Lele: Luis Pons and Anna Maronese, Mark Schulman, and Lele herself for being so much fun to work with!
Lele Pons was born in Caracas and moved with her family to Miami when she was five years old. Her following grew from five thousand local followers to more than ten million by November 2015, and she is the creator of the popular “Do it for the Vine!” tagline.
She has been nominated for three Teen Choice Awards, a People’s Choice Award, and a Streamy Award, and has been featured in Vanity Fair, the New York Times, Teen Vogue, Time, and more. In 2015, she was invited to the White House to create Vines to support the First Lady’s campaign for disadvantaged kids to go to college. Lele graduated from high school in 2015 and moved from Miami to L.A.
Melissa de la Cruz is the #1 bestselling author of books for readers of all ages, including the Witches of East End, Blue Bloods, and Descendants series.
FOR MORE ON THISES AUTHORS:
authors.simonandschuster.com/Lele-Pons
authors.simonandschuster.com/Melissa-de-la-Cruz
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Gallery Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Lele Pons LLC
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First Gallery Books hardcover edition April 2016
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Crying emoji created by Pham Thi Dieu Linh from Noun Project
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Jacket design by Chelsea McGuckin
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hy by Koury Angelo; Hairstyling by Jesse Montana
Coauthor photograph by Denise Bovee
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-5011-2053-4
ISBN 978-1-5011-2055-8 (ebook)