Off the Record

by Camryn Garrett

  “Union Square is shut down.”

  I don’t respond; I’m too busy typing. The structure I’d use for a regular article doesn’t really work with this. It looks like this is just going to be a brief. It’s 446 words. I can do that. I can get through 250 words before he asks me to leave.

  “Hello? Ma’am?”

  I glance up. I’m in the back of a taxi, en route to the award show. And he just said— Oh, shit.

  “Can you get me as close as possible?”

  The driver raises a brow but nods. Normally, I’d wonder what he’s thinking about me, but it’s not important right now. I email Marius, along with a text: Have something for you. Meet me outside the theater. Just five minutes. I promise.

  My phone says it’s already 6:30 p.m. I know Mom and Dad are probably going to kill me. I know I’m going to spend years paying back all the money I owe them for missing not one but two flights.

  But this is important.

  Marius was nice enough on the phone when I woke up from my nap, but he wasn’t the same person he was before. I want to get back to that person. If I don’t try, I’ll regret it forever. I know I will.

  I am anxious but still able to breathe. Maybe it’s because of the dress. I feel good in it. It feels like I could walk down the street and make people jealous with this dress, like one of those badass spies who hide knives in their garters.

  “This is the closest I can do,” the driver says. Down the street, there are lines of people, probably waiting to catch glimpses of the actors and other famous people going inside. I take a shaky breath. I wish Alice were here.

  I pay him before forcing myself to climb out of the cab. My phone is in my left hand. My lifeline.

  The flashing lights are blinding, and the crowd seems even larger the closer I get. Lots of teen girls. I don’t recognize the older couple on the red carpet. The little metal fences that security put out to keep people from getting too close block my path. I squeeze in among the fans, pushing my way to the front. Every time someone walks past, they scream loud enough to make me wince. I’m not so different from them, though. I’m just a fan in a fancy dress.

  I don’t see Marius. Did he go in already? My hand clenches around my phone. I could just wait here until he gets out. I wonder how long that will be. It’s freezing and I didn’t think to bring a jacket. But what choice do I have?

  I glance back to where the taxi was, but it’s long gone by now.

  “That’s a really pretty dress,” a girl behind me says. “It looks great on you.”

  “Oh,” I say, looking down, like there’s a chance she might be seeing something different. “Thank you.”

  It makes me smile, even as I jump the barrier. I’m taking the long way, staring up at the theater, lingering. Security makes it hard. They’re all over the place, and everyone is so much bigger than me. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

  I guess I could just send him what I wrote after the show. But it won’t be the same. Marius and I will never be together again the way we were before everything happened—just hanging out in his apartment, like the outside world didn’t exist. It was the only time I really felt fine with the world being small.

  “Wait, wait, wait. Josie!”

  I look over my shoulder, and there’s Marius, running out of the theater. I whirl around to fully face him, almost tripping on the bit of the dress that comes down to my ankles. A warm, familiar hand grabs my wrist, steadying me. I look up at Marius’s face. His eyes don’t move. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since Sunday. I could’ve looked at pictures, but every time he popped up on Twitter, my heart hurt. Distantly, I know that’s how it’ll feel when I go back home and all of this is over. I force the feeling down.

  “Hey,” I say. My voice is soft. “I thought I’d missed you.”

  “I just saw your message.” He lets go of my wrist. His eyes dart around my face, eyebrows creased together. There’s something reserved, pinched about his expression. It’s like he’s holding something back. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.” I try to laugh, but it sounds more like I’m choking. “I came to see you.”

  Ever since I set eyes on him, I can’t stop looking, like he’ll disappear if I blink. He looks more handsome than ever in a suit that fits him like a very expensive glove and a blue tie that sets off his eyes. The nose ring is gone. Maybe his mother made him take it out. I wonder if she’s around somewhere.

  “Really?” The corner of his mouth turns up. “Little ol’ me?”

  I bite my lip, glancing at the phone in my left hand. The idea of reading the entire thing out loud is much more daunting than it originally was. A woman comes over and touches Marius’s shoulder.

  “The ceremony is starting,” she says, side-eyeing me. “And you need to be inside.”

  “I know,” Marius says, not looking at her. “I just need five minutes.”

  She doesn’t look away until she gets inside. I wrap my arms around my middle, then think better of it, resting my hands at my sides.

  “You’re wearing the dress,” he says, eyes widening. “And you look…”

  “Marius.” I grip my phone. If I don’t do this now, I’ll lose my nerve. “I wrote something. And I just—just let me finish it, okay?”

  He nods. I see his throat bob before I glance back down at my screen and take a deep breath.

  Local Girl Is Shitty

  A local girl’s ill-mannered antics have earned her the self-imposed label of “shitty.”

  Josie Wright, 17, spent more than two weeks interviewing Marius Canet, 19, an incredibly talented young actor, for a profile that will be published in Deep Focus magazine next week.

  Marius grins, momentarily blinding me. The noise of the crowd starts to subside; they’re craning to listen. I go back to reading.

  Before meeting him, she didn’t have much of an opinion, until she saw his performance in Incident on 57th Street. She couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. You see, Wright hadn’t even seen that much emotion from kids she went to school with in real life, let alone from a young actor in a film. He made her cry. She wanted (and still wants) him to win all of the awards.

  It’s too bad she messed it up. When Wright learned Canet would be working with Roy Lennox, she worried Canet would turn a blind eye to the abuse happening on set. He already didn’t want to talk about the allegations during his interview, and Wright felt this was because he didn’t care about anything but his career—a stark contrast to his otherwise kind and compassionate personality.

  By repeatedly pestering Canet, Wright felt she was doing what she had to do to advocate for the women who had been victimized. Canet did not agree. She pushed and pushed, even though Canet was uncomfortable, because she felt her plan was more important than what he wanted. For that, she’s incredibly sorry.

  Wright’s sister Alice Wright, 19, said Josie has a habit of being shitty.

  “It’s annoying,” she said via text. “Josie does this thing where she keeps bothering you about something for days, even if you don’t want to talk about it. I broke up with my boyfriend during junior year of high school and all she did was pester me about it for a week. So, yeah, shitty. It’s a little-sister thing.”

  It’s worth noting that Josie isn’t completely shitty. She’s smart and fun and makes cool jokes and has great taste in music. The idea of Canet having to face Lennox every day made her blood boil, and she figured writing was the only way to help. What she didn’t take note of was the fact that badgering him could’ve made things worse.

  “She’s annoying,” Alice added. “But she’s going through with this idea, even though I kept telling her not to and she’s definitely getting grounded, so I’m guessing she really cares.”

  Josie does, in fact, really care. She understands that Canet might not want to speak to her again, but she wants C
anet to know all of these things. She wouldn’t be able to go home without apologizing to him.

  The crowd coos. There’s the sound of cameras clicking. I look up to gauge Marius’s reaction.

  “Oh my God.” He has a hand pressed over his mouth. I’m getting conflicting emotions—his eyes are watering, but something like a laugh escapes his lips. “Josie. Josie, Josie, Josie.”

  “I wanted you to know,” I say. “Before I left. So that—so you’d remember me. I know you might not wanna hang out again—”

  “No.” His hand wraps around my fingers. I stare down at our linked hands, forcing myself to remember how to breathe. “I don’t want that. I—I missed you when you weren’t around.”

  “I missed you, too.” I glance up at him. He’s closer than before. “So much. Before I really knew you, even.”

  His lips press against mine. I melt into the kiss. I don’t know how to describe it. The only thing I can think of is when I used to go on my random diets and wouldn’t eat anything, no real food. Kissing Marius is like eating real food again.

  I tangle my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. I want him. All the time, even when he isn’t around, even when I’m trying to fool myself into thinking that I don’t want him. I want his soft pink lips and his hair and his eyes and the noises he makes into my mouth and the way his eyes are still closed for a second when I pull away, like he’s still lost in it, even though we only kissed for a minute.

  “And now you can work on whatever movie you want next.”

  “Yeah. I can.” His voice is soft. “But I want to go to this thing first. With you.”

  “Me?”

  The crowd breaks out in whistles and cheers, bringing me back to the moment.

  “You have to go,” I say, stroking his hair with my thumb. He smiles at me, easy and bright. Looking at him for too long feels like getting high. “Everyone is waiting for the future Oscar winner.”

  “No, no, no.” He shakes his head, but his smile is bigger. “That’d better not be in your profile.”

  “People were saying it before I did, so I make no promises.”

  Marius takes my hand. Then he speaks loudly, as if announcing my entrance: “The award-winning investigative journalist Josie Wright has arrived at the Independent Infinity Awards to grace us with her presence.”

  “Shut up.” I nudge his shoulder. “Everyone is going to be paying attention to you. And I’m fine with that. That’s how it should be.”

  “That’s okay.” He leans down, pressing a kiss into my neck. “They can all look at me. Just remember je suis à toi.”

  He touches a hand to his chest before placing it on mine. I grin so hard my eyes sting. I take Marius’s hand and let him lead me toward the theater. I’m not worried about how I look or what anyone thinks. Not tonight.

  While writing this book, I leaned heavily on my own experiences, but also on the experiences of others. I’m so grateful for every survivor who has spoken out and gone on the record with their stories. I’m in awe of your strength and bravery.

  I also want to thank the journalists who have reported diligently through the #MeToo movement, especially Jodi Kantor and Megan Twohey, who first broke the Harvey Weinstein story in the New York Times. Their work—especially their book, She Said—helped me nail down so many of the details of this story.

  Without writers like Sarah Hollowell, Julie Murphy, Becky Albertalli, and Renée Watson, I wouldn’t know anything about fat positivity, how to love myself as I am, or how to write a character like Josie at all. Thank you for your writing and your presence. I’m so glad that I read your books and heard you speak when I was in high school. I would not be the person I am today without you.

  Thank you to Katherine Harrison for your vision and your dedication when it came to this project. I also have to thank everyone at Knopf and Penguin Random House who worked on this book, including Melanie Nolan, Gianna Lakenauth, Artie Bennett, Alison Kolani, Renée Cafiero, Amy Schroeder, Lisa Leventer, Jake Eldred, Nathan Kinney, Ken Crossland, Lili Feinberg, Mary McCue, Caitlin Whalen, Emily DuVal, Jenn Inzetta, and Mark Patti. Thank you especially to Erick Dávila and Casey Moses for the completely gorgeous cover. I feel so lucky every time I see it.

  Thank you to the entire UK team, including Naomi Colthurst, Amanda Punter, Simon Armstrong, Ruth Knowles, Ben Horslen, Amy Wilkerson, Francesca Dow, and Michael Bedo. Once again, I’ll highlight Emma Jones, my UK editor extraordinaire. Thank you for letting me slide into your DMs about things that have nothing to do with books!

  Thank you to Allie Levick and Bri Johnson for your early excitement, notes, and work on this book, especially in the preliminary stages, where it was more fanfiction than anything else.

  I have to thank my agent, Beth Phelan, who has answered far too many questions via Twitter DM than she should have to. You’ve been such a support during this entire process, and I’m so, so proud to call you my agent.

  Thank you always to my family, especially my sister. Off the Record is about many things, but one of the main threads is about the messy, often difficult relationship between two sisters. I didn’t want to write something simple, but something real, like what we have. I love you, and I hope you know this wouldn’t be possible without you.

  Tons of love to Nell Kalter for introducing me to Almost Famous and planting the seed for this book. Knowing you is such a joy.

  Thank you to my incredible friends—you were all shouted out in my first acknowledgments, so I’ll only name-check a few. Faridah, thank you for all of the texts and DMs and advice, but also for pushing me to try new things, to think, and to be better. Christina, we’re both authors now! I’m so happy that we’re on this journey together. Parmida, you’re one of the warmest, most lovely people I’ve ever met, and I’m so proud to be your friend.

  Michael Waters specifically gets a paragraph here because I neglected to give him one in the first book. I don’t actually know what to say, though! Go read the mushy essay I wrote about you in the eleventh grade, nerd.

  I have to thank every single person who picked up Full Disclosure. I don’t know how to describe how much your positive feedback fortifies me. When I feel insecure or down, doubting my writing and my books, being able to go back to your kind words (and photos on Instagram!) absolutely makes all the difference. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  LOUISA WELLS

  CAMRYN GARRETT grew up in New York and began her writing career at thirteen, when she was selected as a Time for Kids reporter, interviewing celebrities like Warren Buffett and Kristen Bell. When she's not writing, she studies film at NYU, and she's a proud advocate for diverse stories and storytellers in any medium. Her first novel, Full Disclosure, received rave reviews from outlets such as Entertainment Weekly, Today, and Shondaland. Off the Record is her second novel.

  CAMRYNGARRETT.COM

  @dancingofpens

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