My brows furrow. “What—what are you talking about?”
He stands tall, chin up, and takes another sip. “I know you kissed him like that to make me jealous.”
My hands are shaking slightly.
“My God. Have you always been this infuriating?”
Trent laughs. “Your new boyfriend isn’t infuriating at all though, is he? He’s so weak…like his follower count. Embarrassing.” He snorts.
He doesn’t care about me. He doesn’t care about what I’ve been through. He never even asked me how I’m doing. You know who did, the first time we talked after the fiasco? William. William, who has been kind to me from day one.
Trent only wanted me because he thought it would boost his career.
Or maybe he never cared, because he’s not capable of caring.
It all boils up inside me, but then I see the photographer watching us from afar, far enough that it’s not too suspicious, but close enough that he’ll be there if I break down and do something dramatic.
I’ve learned my lesson in that department.
I take a deep breath, counting to ten in my head as I put into place my most plastic smile.
“I don’t want to hear from you again, okay?”
Also in place? Trent’s smirk. He seems to think that I’m joking, because he tilts his head to the side and says, “Ooookay.”
Does he think that’s charming? Was it ever?
I leave him standing there and head back to William.
I’m clutching my purse so hard that my knuckles hurt.
I suddenly hate these lo-fi beats. I want music I can scream to.
Aline isn’t there anymore, but Nina and William are still talking. When I approach them, William stops mid-sentence, eyes paused on me with a question that I can’t answer easily. I nod at Nina Kim.
She glances between us and excuses herself. “It was really nice to meet you both. I’ll be in touch.”
Once we’re alone, I want to fall into his arms and get the longest hug in the world. But when he turns to me, he doesn’t look very huggable. He looks pissed.
“I can’t believe you bailed on me,” he accuses.
My lips part, and I take a step back. “I what?”
William sighs, like this is so tiring. Like I’m so tiring. “First you drag me over here without any warning, and then you bail on me. You left me here to make conversation with strangers.”
I snort. “We were heading over here anyway. What are you talking about?”
But I know what he’s talking about. And he knows that I know it, too.
Is he upset that everyone saw me talking to my ex? Is he worried about how that will affect the way people perceive us? Does he genuinely care what Trent and I talked about?
“Everything about this is…” He trails off and shakes his head. “Everyone pretending to like one another…It’s so…”
I want to press: What. What. What?!
Instead, I let my anger rise up and step into his personal space. “Aw, no. You’re too good for celebrity culture? Valentina annoyed you, and having to make conversation with Nina annoyed you. Even though she’s brilliant. That’s what you wanted to say in the car anyway. That you’re too good for this.” And somehow, I make this sound like me.
William stares at me.
I hate that he looks hurt. He doesn’t have the right to look hurt.
I am hurt.
“I don’t think you need this, Natalie.”
He sounds soft. He sounds genuine. He sounds like he doesn’t want to fight.
But he’s got nothing on my anger and frustration.
“You don’t know what I need.” I scoff. “You’re the stage boyfriend, remember?” He grimaces, but I’m not done. She, the eight-year-old me, is not done. “And you’re doing it for the fame, too, so one hell of a hypocrite you are.”
He doesn’t move.
“I’m not doing it for fame. I’m doing it for the money.”
It’s like a sucker punch. I snort, shaking my head.
“That’s so much worse.”
With that, I walk away.
“You look gloomy,” Brenda says, pointing her ice cream spoon at me.
I raise my shoulders and steal the spoon from her, diving into the bowl of ice cream. It’s homemade. Brenda’s sister is the best. “The premiere didn’t exactly go the way I expected. Now I have Trent texting me that he wants me back, which is weird, since I know he’s still with Reese, and I haven’t talked to William in, like, a week.”
Brenda throws her feet on top of my lap. “I’m sorry the paparazzi caught you leaving in separate cars. Bobbi must’ve been angry.”
I stare at her feet on my lap. “She had questions. I hate that the tabloids are speculating about our rocky relationship. It’s not rocky. Everything is perfectly all right. We haven’t talked in a week, but that’s all right. Perfectly all right.”
Brenda steals the spoon back and hooks an arm around the bowl. “Well, you guys haven’t had any important events or anything this week. Why would you have talked to him?”
I start to respond, but I’m interrupted by an annoying sound of construction. “What’s happening upstairs?”
“Dad wants to prove that he’s a functional husband by being heteronormative and building Mom a closet or something? Being the man of the house?” She rolls her eyes, and takes another spoonful of ice cream. “You’re so lucky you live in a fancy apartment and not in a house.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Uh, my mom’s an architect. The fact that we live in an apartment doesn’t stop her from going wild with renovations every summer. Our home is the perfect pet project that she goes back to whenever she’s not challenged enough at work.” That makes Brenda laugh. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not.”
“C’mon. She’s great. Your apartment looks like it came out of one of those renovation TV shows.” I’m about to start arguing when she adds, “Any version of your apartment.”
“I think I’d rather live in a house, but Mom likes the building because it’s so safe, so we don’t need to hire security people. She said the only way I was staying in a house alone while she was off at work would be with dozens of suited up people guarding the house, and I’m not up for that.”
I think Brenda misses the last of what I say, because her dad starts drilling the wall, and the second I stop talking, he seems to drop something heavy, and we both jump. We share a look, and I’m about to ask if he’s okay, when she announces, “I don’t ask about what’s going on up there, and they don’t ask me about college applications. It’s a perfect system.”
I narrow my eyes. “How’s that going, by the way? Have you started, or…?”
Brenda throws her head back against the arm of the couch and makes a whale noise. “Yes, Mom, I have. Anyway. Let’s go back to your terrible week.”
I shake my head. “No, let’s not. I know—well, I imagine how stressful college applications can be….Best thing about graduating high school on tour and not thinking about this again. But what’s going on, anyway? What’s really up?”
Brenda rolls her eyes, combing her thick brown hair through her fingers. She looks mad at me for even asking, but eventually I win our staring contest, and she shrugs. “It’s kind of bizarre, all right? Deciding on a four-year plan when neither my best friend nor my girlfriend can commit to anything long-term at the moment.”
I press my lips together, my mind racing for something to say. She shakes her head again, raising her index finger.
“Don’t. It’s fine. I knew what I was signing up for when I stuck around for you, and when I started dating an international DJ. Padma’s time is split between Los Angeles with her family and me and the rest of the world with her job. You’ve got your own things, too. It’s just…” She gestures dismissively.
But it matters to me. I pull her into a hug, and she hugs me back, sighing heavily. “I want to be brilliant like you two. But what if I can’t even get into college?”
“You’re brilliant,” I say, then kiss the top of her head. “You’re perfect because you’re you.”
Brenda squeezes the life out of me, then takes a deep breath. She smiles softly as she falls back on the couch. “Trent’s a loser for letting you go.” She rests her feet on my lap again, and I push them away, but when she insists, I relent. At least her feet are warm. “He’s always been a loser, actually. I told you that when I first met him.”
“You did make your opinion perfectly clear, yes.” I grimace, then laugh. “I know you’re right. I guess I thought…I guess I thought I needed him. And no, I don’t think I miss him. But I miss what he represented. I sort of felt…like I’d made it. Because I was dating the American knight in shining armor.”
Brenda makes a face. “The US isn’t doing very great, is it?”
I chuckle, playing with the ends of her jeans to distract myself. “He said that William is weak.” I raise my eyes to meet Brenda’s. “Like, how dare he? That’s such a ridiculous thing to say.”
“Yeah, no doubt. Like saying that William’s not hot and fierce, but soft, like that’s a bad thing to start with. That’s also pretty crappy.” She grins when I flip her off. “I said he was cute when I first saw his picture. And I know this thing is for show, but you guys seem to have become friends, so why not treat him like one?”
“Yeah, that’d be cool, but we’re not speaking. We had a fight.”
Brenda does something that resembles a growl. I can’t really tell.
All I know is she puts aside the bowl of ice cream and jumps on top of me, shaking me by the shoulders so hard that I have to slap her away from me. “Get off!”
She does get off—more like she falls to the side—but she seems to feel the need to show her annoyance in more ways than one, so she punches me in the shoulder. I grab my arm and scowl at her.
“You’re such a mess, Natalie.” She rolls her eyes. “You two had a fight, big deal! If you’d given up on me the first fight we had, I’d have haunted you for the rest of your life, because I’d see you become famous and get all that free stuff, and I’d know in my heart that I could have been your groupie.”
I bite back a smile. “You’d haunt me? Does that mean you’d be dead?”
“Possibly. Butterfly effect and all.” She picks up the bowl of ice cream again. “You don’t know what would happen. But I know that if you keep whining about how you two had a fight and don’t do anything to fix it, then you’re being weird.”
“Weird,” I repeat, looking at her.
“Weird. People fight. Boo-hoo. What’s with being so pressed about it?”
She doesn’t know the details, of course. She doesn’t know the words we said.
She doesn’t know that he’s doing it for the money.
She doesn’t know that he thinks he’s better than me.
I sink a little on the couch.
She tries to stick her toe into my mouth. I slap her away, screaming, “Merda!” If she takes the hint, she doesn’t seem to care. “Stop that, Jesus Christ!”
“Text him!” she commands.
I’m this close to punching her.
“Just a text. Ask him out to coffee or something so you guys can talk it out.”
“You know what? Screw this. I’m going to text him.”
Brenda cheers and does a ridiculous little dance on the couch. I’m not watching because my eyes are on my phone, sending him the stupid message:
NATALIE:
i know things are weird
i don’t want things to be weird
coffee later today?
i can buy you pie
you can eat it all by yourself
“Done, I did it, now get off me,” I tell her, but I’m still staring at the screen. She laughs and says something that I completely miss because I cut her off, saying, “Oh, he’s replying, he’s replying! The little dots!”
She jumps over to my side.
BRITISH BOYFRIEND:
Sorry, I’m booked.
I turn to Brenda. “What does that mean, he’s booked? How could he possibly be booked? He’s only been in LA for a few weeks—has it even been a month? How could—?”
“Shut up and see what he texted next.” She pokes me.
I look down at the phone in my hands.
BRITISH BOYFRIEND:
Jk, jk.
(That means ‘just kidding’, in case you were wondering.)
(Not like, ‘jurassic kicks’, or something. Which would be an interesting movie concept.)
(Dinosaurs who are also into football?)
(Or should I say soccer?)
(Hint: the whole world says football. Get with the program, Americans.)
Anyway…sure. What time?
I look back at Brenda, biting the inside of my mouth.
She giggles. Like a schoolgirl. “He’s such a dork!”
“Completely, yes.”
She pokes my cheek and says, “Stop doing that. Everyone can tell you’re nervous, and you’re probably butchering the inside of your mouth.”
I stop biting my cheeks.
And flip her off, of course, in time for her mom to see as she passes by the room.
We both freeze.
But Brenda’s mom grins and comes closer to the couch. “Natalia, oi, bonita!” I grin, especially when she slaps Brenda’s feet so they’re back on the floor. “Have manners, Brenda!”
Brenda’s face contorts in the panic only known to a Brazilian daughter who desperately wants to talk back to a Brazilian mom but knows it’s not a good idea. Eventually, Brenda takes a deep breath and pointedly looks away, probably to avoid my knowing smirk.
“How’s your mother?” Brenda’s mom asks, like always, and then doesn’t let me answer. “Has Brenda offered you some water? Some food? Ice cream isn’t real food.” She grabs the bowl, shaking her head. “You need to treat your friend better,” she says.
Brenda relaxes. “You know she only gets like that with you, right? My girlfriend is just as famous as you but because she’s a DJ and not a pop star, Mom treats her like a commoner.”
I do my best not to laugh, because Brenda’s mom is glaring.
She points at Brenda. “You’re impossible. Have you told your sister Natalia is here?”
“Yeah. She already came to collect her selfie,” Brenda replies, then rests her head on my shoulder. “If I make my famous friend sleep over, am I off the hook with helping clean the mess Dad’s creating upstairs?”
Brenda’s mom looks from me to her, then shakes her head, walking to the kitchen and speaking so fast in Portuguese that I don’t catch any of it. I poke Brenda’s middle to communicate how unnecessary that was, and she yells like I’ve wounded her deeply.
We laugh, and when our laughter dies down, she announces, “You know Padma thinks that’s weird?”
I frown. “That your mom thinks I’m the queen?”
“That we play-fight all the time.” She shrugs. “I think it’s because she’s not Brazilian. She doesn’t get that we’re…touchy-feely about everything. So we get physical a lot.” She huffs, head back on my shoulder.
I consider this.
I remember playing with my cousins, both boys and girls, when we were little, but the girls were always told to be less aggressive when we were children. To be sweet. I think that’s why every Brazilian teenage girl I know has moments when they explode and just want to hit everything.
It’s not like I can be like this with anyone but Brenda. If the tabloids saw us play-fighting, there would probably be articles about how we have an abusive and toxic friendship.
The question catches me off guard, and I reply without a second thought, “Maybe a bit. Mostly nervous.”
She smiles at me, like she knows something I don’t, but she doesn’t broach the subject again.
William and I meet in the same café we met in the first time, but this time we sit inside in a reserved booth. I come in with a cap and sunglasses, and only take them off when William walks through the door, in blue jeans and a ripped orange shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I immediately look down to his feet: he’s wearing sneakers and black socks with pumpkins on them. Happy October.
I smile, setting my cap and sunglasses aside.
Will he think I look cute in this button-down dungaree maroon dress with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath? I run my hand over my hair, tilting my head to the side a little.
The first thing I say when he sits across from me on the booth is “There’s always something ripped.” I point at his shirt. When he looks down with a question mark on his face, I explain, “Because that day at the picnic you were wearing ripped jeans?”
William sighs softly and says, “Darling, I’m ripped.”
That actually makes me snort, and he laughs, too.
Some of the ice between us melts.
“I asked for some lemonade, if that’s okay.” Before he can call me out for remembering his order, I tell him, “I am sorry about being…I’m sorry about that night. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. I should’ve prepared you better for what the premiere would be like, and…I don’t know. I feel like I said some harsh things.” I start biting the insides of my cheeks, then stop. “You’re my friend. I don’t want you to think that I’m a self-obsessed, entitled diva.”
He blushes and nods. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have acted like I know what’s best for you. Only you know what’s best for you.”
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