by Nikki Godwin
I scroll down to see if there is any text beneath the video. And of course, because my life completely freaking rocks right now, there is.
Check out photos from last night! Do you think Chloe and Milo are over? Has Chloe moved on with Sebastian’s Shadow rocker Isaac Torrey? Is heart-throb Benji Baccarini off the market? And what about that date swap? React below!
I know better than to read the comments. I know better than to check the results of the polls. But I need to know what I’m up against. To do that, I have to vote.
Do you think Chloe and Milo are over? I click no. The results load: 64% yes, 36% no. Wow, they really don’t give Chloe any credit at all. Was last night the final nail in their power couple coffin? Was I the one who sealed their fate?
Has Chloe moved on with Sebastian’s Shadow rocker Isaac Torrey? I wish there was a ‘hell no’ option, but I settle for ‘no’ instead. The results load: 43% yes, 57% no. At least they’re not entirely crucifying her for cheating.
Is heart-throb Benji Baccarini off the market? Do I even have to vote for that one? I’m still shipping Winterini over here, even if Benji isn’t into guys. 73% of voters agree with me. Benji is definitely not off the market.
I take a deep breath before I dive into the comment section. There are already 1,527 comments. I skim over them because I can’t sit through reading all of it. By the time I finished, there’d be another three thousand to go along with it.
Please don’t let Chloe and Milo be over! I love them. They’re my favorite couple. I want them to get married.
I knew Benji would end up dating some model. They always do. I’m disappointed that he’d do that to us.
Who is this girl? Does anyone know? She better not be Noah’s girlfriend. He deserves better than that hoebag!
I know, right? She hasn’t even been around or we’d know about her. Noah hasn’t updated his Twitter either. She doesn’t know anything about Chloe and Milo. I’m pissed that she’d even try to talk to reporters. What a bitch.
Chloe and Milo forever! Isaac should have just worked out his marriage and left them alone. Milo is a billion times cuter!
YOU GUYSSSS. Zoe found this girl online! MARISOL CRUZ. Is she famous or anything? We have to stop her! We can’t let her date Noah. HE DESERVES BETTERRRR!!!
Ohhhh my God. These crazy girls have my name. I want to call my parents and make sure they’re safe. I need to check on our house to make sure it hasn’t been vandalized. I don’t doubt the power of this fandom for a second. I grab my phone and set all of my social media accounts to private, but my followers have increased overnight. How in the hell am I supposed to clear my name? There’s video proof out there, but I have no idea where to find it.
After I’m dressed, I put on my biggest sunglasses and a Hurley cap that I bought for my dad. It’s not the best disguise, but I don’t want to step outside looking like me today. In fact, I don’t even want to be me today. I want to rewind to last night and be the girl who refused to talk to the cameras. I grab my bag and slip out the door, but a familiar face meets me in the middle of the hallway.
“Hey,” Nat says, approaching me much more calmly than his brother. “You got a second? I need to talk to you.”
I hesitate, but he’s not flipping out, so I swipe my key again and open the door of room 322. Even if he does flail like a pissed off drunken bird, I’d prefer he do it in my hotel room and not in the hallway where a camera can pick it up.
“What happened?” Nat asks, sitting on my bed. “I want to know your side of the story.”
I sit on the other bed and spill my guts about how my words were twisted and the questions were edited to make it sound like I’d insinuated something I hadn’t. Nat remains calm and listens.
Once I finish, he takes a deep breath. “I believe you,” he says. “It happens all the time with gossip sites. You’re not the first.”
I exhale with relief. “Thank God. Please tell your brother that,” I plead.
“I mentioned it,” Nat says sheepishly. “But the damage is done. Chloe’s being blasted on the internet. People are threatening her on Twitter. Milo’s still pissed about the date swap, and he’s too wrapped up in his jealousy to stand up for her. And Noah blames himself because you were his date.”
“So he won’t even listen to you? He can’t stop and think for two seconds that maybe I’m being misrepresented and that the media is full of scumbags looking for a story?” I ask.
Nat shrugs, and I realize that nothing I say will matter. Noah’s made up his mind, and I’m pissed because he’s not the guy I thought he was if he truly thinks I’d do such a thing to his band and his friends.
“Fine then,” I say through my teeth. “I’ll clear my name on my own.”
I have to cross my name off this suspect list before Spaceships Around Saturn and its fandom cross me off for good.
Chapter Nineteen
After Nat goes back up to the fourth floor, I head back to the elevator, a bit braver than I was fifteen minutes ago. I ignore everyone as I rush through the lobby. A few paparazzi sit outside the hotel, but they keep a specific distance, and I’m thankful that Crescent Inn forces them to maintain proper boundaries.
A police car sits by the curb. A young guy sits in the driver’s seat, but he has a serious grimace on his face. I think he’d take down a cameraman or reporter. He’s probably newer to the force and wants to prove himself. Maybe that means he’ll have my back if one of those scumbag reporters comes after me.
I walk over to Strings and Starlight. I’m relieved to see Jace behind the counter.
“What’s up?” he asks casually, as if the world isn’t crashing down around me. Then I realize, he probably doesn’t know about my predicament. Nor will he care. But I need help.
“I need a favor,” I tell him, trying to play it cool. “This may sound terrible, and I don’t mean it that way, but um, do any of your friends have, like, hacking skills? Or know how to steal video footage or anything?”
He eyes me strangely and tries to fight a smile. “Did you make an adult film with the boyband guy?” he asks.
“No,” I nearly shout. I can’t believe this guy just asked me this. Wait, yeah, I can. Nothing shocks me at this point. “Some bitchy reporter asked me a few questions last night, and then today she edited her film to make it look like I said something I didn’t actually say. Well, I did say it, but it’s out of context, and I’m in a serious jam. Like death threats on Twitter kind of jam.”
“Wow,” Jace says. He leans onto the counter. “We may drink too much and get in fights, but none of us are computer hackers. Someone had to have witnessed it, though. Everyone had cameras out, right? That’s what Emily said anyway.”
Emily! Cell-phone-holding, all-smiles, encouraging-me-with-thumbs-up Emily! She was filming last night on her phone. Miles was with her. She may have that footage. She may be my freaking salvation.
“I need Emily,” I say in a panic. “I need to see her right now. She can save me.”
“Well, she’s probably at the beach with Miles,” he says. “He’s always surfing at Horn Island, down by the collapsed pier. She should be with him. You want me to call her and see?”
I wait impatiently while he tries calling to see if he can find Emily, but as my luck would have it, her phone is going to voicemail. I desperately need to find this girl before she deletes any evidence off of her phone. She was too close by not to hear what I said.
“You can drive down to Horn Island if you want,” Jace says. “I can give you a few addresses to try out. I tried Miles too, but he’s not answering.”
Now I wish I had driven down here in my own car. I should’ve at least gotten a rental. I was dumb to think I could just hang out with Noah all week and have free rides whenever I needed one. I can’t get a rental this quickly, even with the best service. This is an emergency, and I can’t rely on a taxi driver to shuttle me around the Horn Island ghetto looking for someone who may not even be in Horn Island right now. As I ramble
on about my vehicular crisis, Jace nods and attempts to decipher my meltdown.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I have a friend who might be able to help you. His car is crap, but he can get you around Horn Island. Let me make a call.”
I dig through my purse to see if I can scrape up some cash to give Jace’s friend for gas money. I’m desperate. If my reputation wasn’t already shot, I’d offer to pay him in blowjobs – but being called a hoebag was bad enough. I don’t need to act upon that while the world watches.
“Okay. You’re set. He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Jace says, sitting on the stool behind the cash register. “Just remember to breathe. This will all work out.”
I hope on every star in the galaxy that he’s right.
Fifteen minutes later, Jace’s friend arrives, and he’s no stranger. He’s the guy who busted Noah’s mouth at the abandoned carnival. We were supposed to hang out with him some at Miles’s surf competition so the Hooligans could prove their friend wasn’t so bad, but he wasn’t there that I can recall.
“A.J., this is Marisol,” Jace says. “She’s a friend of Emily’s and seriously needs to find her.”
A.J. folds his arms over his chest and stands like Tank does, all serious and hardcore. Except A.J. is five-foot-sixish and might be one-hundred-ten pounds when he’s wet. But he looks scary, and I saw him land Noah the other night. He’s the kind of guy you envision when you think of Mexican gangs and drug lords. He’s tattooed with blood-shot eyes and is basically ugly in a piranha kind of way. If I’m a French angelfish, he’s definitely a piranha.
“I know you,” A.J. says. “I hit your boyfriend because he trespassed on my property.”
“Um, yeah,” I say. I decide not to correct him. I feel safer if he thinks I have a boyfriend. “Sorry about that.”
He shrugs. “We’re cool. You ready?”
“Uhh, yeah, I think so,” I stammer. I thank Jace for his help and follow A.J. outside onto the sidewalk. I keep my sunglasses on, and I stand a few feet away from him, just in case someone wants to snap my photo in the morning-after-disaster phase.
“You gotta drive,” A.J. says, tossing me his keys. He walks over to the junkiest car in Crescent Cove and gets into the passenger seat.
Really? This is how I have to spend my day after being butchered online? I get to drive some gang member’s busted up car around the ghetto looking for a guy with dreadlocks and his fairy-like girlfriend? Oh, what I’d give to be able to say ‘screw it’ and abandon ship right now.
But I can’t. So I walk around the car and get into A.J.’s driver’s seat. The fabric on the ceiling hangs, but for the most part, the car is surprisingly clean. A stitched up voodoo doll hangs from his rearview mirror.
“Your friend made that,” he says, reaching for the doll. “Emily,” he clarifies. “She’s kinda weird, but I like her.”
Can I add a number twenty-one to the bucket list? Meet a girl who makes voodoo dolls? That’s something I know my friends won’t be able to pull off. I shouldn’t even be thinking of that stupid list right now. That’s the least of my problems.
“Why am I driving?” I ask, cranking the car. It roars – and not in the Katy Perry kind of way – and I pray we actually make it to Horn Island.
“You see that cop?” A.J. asks, nodding toward the car I spotted earlier. “That jackass has it out for me. He’ll arrest me for blinking. He’s a jackass, and I hate him with every ounce of my being. So you’re driving because he’ll pull me over. Fucking asshole Pittman.”
I make sure I abide by every rule of the road as I leave Crescent Cove and head into Horn Island. A.J. doesn’t make much conversation, and I wish I knew what to say aside from asking which exit to take and where to turn.
“You ain’t gotta be scared, you know,” A.J. finally says. “I don’t do drugs. You won’t get busted for being with me. I’m not whatever you think I am.”
I force a smile. “I’m not thinking anything,” I lie.
“Fuck that,” A.J. says, catching me off guard.
I slam the brake at the stop sign I was about to run through. I fight the urge to jump out of the car and run for my life. I’m probably safer with A.J. than I would be on my own since Saturnites have a bounty on my head.
“You know, I expect this from some people,” A.J. says. “But you? You’re judging me like I’m some Hispanic gang member? What the fuck? What’s your last name?”
“Cruz,” I admit, feeling ashamed.
“Gonzalez,” A.J. says. “Your parents both Hispanic?”
I shake my head and admit that only my dad is. My mom’s incredibly white and incredibly fake blonde. She’s beautiful and keeps herself in perfect condition. She’s one of those women who often has noses curled at her upon entering a room. She owns it, though. She says ‘trophy wife’ is her job title, and she does it better than anyone else. She doesn’t let anyone else’s opinion of her affect how she sees herself. I wish I was more like her.
“We’re the same,” A.J. says. “My dad was some gang thug, but my mom was white trash. Never knew my dad. Mom wasn’t around much. Filthy whore. Funny how we have the same genetic coding but you’re upper class and I’m street trash, you know?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You know, for judging you. I was wrong.”
A.J. nods, making me feel even worse than I already do. Then he tells me to go up a block and take the next right, so I follow his instructions.
“My best friend is an upper class white girl,” he tells me. “She’s moving out here this summer. She’s a badass.”
I laugh. “Is her name Chloe Branson?”
“Who the fuck is Chloe Branson?” A.J. asks. “No. Never mind. I don’t even care. My friend’s name is Haley, and I can promise you she’s more badass than this Chloe chick.”
I’m not sure if he’s offended or disgusted, but his oblivion to the world of Chloe Branson makes me happy. He may be the only person I talk to today who won’t have a clue in hell what’s really going on with me.
“Up here,” A.J. says, pointing to a parking lot. It’s the one I came to with Noah when we played volleyball and jumped off the pier with Theo. Miles’s truck is parked on the sand.
I kill the engine and jump out, rushing toward the shoreline as quickly as I can over this clumpy, gross sand. A.J. is a few steps behind me, taking his sweet time.
Emily pops around the side of the truck and waves. “Hey! You looked amazing last night. Did you have fun?” she asks, all of her words rushing together.
“Hey. Thank you. Not exactly. I need your help,” I say, answering her question equally as fast. “Do you still have the video you took last night while I was being interviewed?”
“Yep,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “What’s going on?”
I fill her in on the details of how that bitch reporter edited my answers, how the Saturnites want me dead, and how she’s the only one who can possibly bail me out of this mess. She’s on her phone immediately, sending me videos and e-mailing them to herself and me for backup.
“Hell, send me that shit too,” A.J. says. “I didn’t know you were famous. I got your back, even if I did hit that dude you were with.”
For this moment in time, I’m going to pretend that A.J. is my long-lost cousin somewhere down the line. Maybe my dad and his dad were cousins – one destined for a job in computer software and the other hauling cocaine and marijuana across the border. And maybe for a brief moment in time, our paths were supposed to cross for the greater good.
As I download Emily’s video to my phone, A.J. does the same. Then he asks the burning question. “What do we do now that we have it?”
I take a deep breath. “We go viral,” I reply.
Chapter Twenty
The problem with going viral is that you can’t exactly go viral without someone of power helping you along. Even after uploading the video across all of our social media accounts, we don’t exactly have the power to make miracles happen. Emily suggests
I change my accounts back to public status, but I’m absolutely terrified that by doing so, I’ll just open the door for more drama and madness.
“You need Darby to post it on her channel,” Emily says. “That’s the number one way to reach the Saturnites.”
I groan because I’d already thought the same thing, and her suggesting it only proves that Darby is my gateway to the Saturnites. I wish there was another way. I haven’t really spoken to the girl one-on-one, and I highly doubt she’ll be up for doing me any favors. Between her parents and Saturn security, there’s no way I can get to her anyway.
“Do you want me to try and infiltrate the fourth floor?” Emily asks, staring at me from Erin’s former hotel bed.
I simply shake my head in response. If we hadn’t parted ways with A.J. back in Horn Island, I’d debate an infiltration, but I’m not welcome on the fourth floor, and there’s no way I’m sending Emily alone up there. She doesn’t deserve to be fed to the wolves after all she’s done to help me.
“Well, we can’t just sit here hiding from whoever you’re afraid is going to launch some evil fangirl attack on you,” she says. “What do you have left on your spring break list?”
I really don’t want to think about the list right now, but it’s not like I have anything better to do with my last days in Crescent Cove.
I reach into my bag and rummage for the pink paper. Then I unfold it to see which daunting tasks remain.
“Okay. Here’s what I’m lacking,” I say. “Get a tattoo. Send a message in a bottle. Put a crazy color in your hair. Get wings. And visit a far, far away place.”
“Get wings?” Emily asks, just like every other person who has seen this list. “Like wings to fly? Chicken wings?”