#famous(39)

(To Kyle): Fine, you’ve convinced me. Make sure to use chzburger aftershave though otherwise I won’t know for sure who you are.



(From Kyle): Obvs.



I’d go to the party and tell him there.

After that, I probably wouldn’t have to worry about hearing from him much anymore.





chapter twenty-six


KYLE

FRIDAY, 7:42 P.M.

I could have offered to pick Rachel up to go to the party, but after the conversation with Emma—the half a conversation she let me have—it seemed like a bad idea, at least if I ever wanted Emma to speak to me again. Rachel being there was enough. Getting to know each other better didn’t have to mean being besties right away.

But I wasn’t gonna show up alone. Everyone else might not care about it, but I hadn’t forgotten that Lamont and his crew were not my fans. Being on TV today: probably not helping that any.

I threw myself onto one of the worn-out denim beanbags in the Xbox corner of my room and scrolled to Ollie’s number. He was always hit-or-miss with texts. If you didn’t catch him at the right moment, he wouldn’t respond. Which was fine usually, but I needed a wingman now, not tomorrow.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, Kyle,” he said. I could hear a sports announcer shouting in the background. Ollie always had ESPN on. Sometimes he even watched ESPN Classic. “How’s L.A.?”

“Actually I’m back already.”

“Really? That was fast.” The background noise got softer. “I saw the show. I thought they were going to have you back. Are you flying out again?”

“No, they did the follow-up here. That’s why we came back so fast.”

“Yeah?”

“They staged a homecoming invite.”

Ollie didn’t say anything for a second.

“Who’d they have you ask?”

He sounded suspicious. I should have known Ollie would cut right to the awkward part. Ollie: always able to smell when you weren’t telling him everything. It was part of why I liked him. Who wanted friends who never called you on your BS? You’d wind up . . . being Dave. Oof.

“Rachel.”

Ollie exhaled thoughtfully.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well it’s good for you, obviously, but what about Emma? Or Rachel. She’s already getting death threats now.”

Death threats? Jeez, what had people been saying to her? Sending a death threat to someone over a meme: legit crazy. Besides, Rachel hadn’t done anything wrong. And it took all of two seconds talking to her to realize how nice she was. My left hand clenched into a fist.

“Have you even told Emma?”

That brought me back to the moment. With a thud.

“Yeah.” I sighed.

“And?”

“She hung up on me.”

Ollie snorted.

“Dude.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s just . . . what did you expect?”

“It wasn’t my idea, it was the producer’s. Anyway, I told her to come to Anderson’s tonight. Rachel, I mean. I figured we should, like, get to know each other. Before we have to do more stuff for the show.”

“You want someone to roll up with?”

This. This was why Ollie was the best ever, even now.

“That would be awesome, dude. Thanks.”

“No worries. Leave your car here and we can walk. He only lives a half mile from me.”

Ollie and I headed over to the party early, like eight thirty, but there were already a few dozen people milling around the kitchen, the keg jammed into a laundry bucket full of ice. I looked around for Rachel, but I didn’t see her.

Good. I needed to talk to Emma in person before Rachel showed up.

“I thought I told you not to come to this,” a low voice said from over my left shoulder. I looked at Ollie, hoping he could somehow save me from Lamont’s wrath, but he just shrugged and mouthed, “Get it over with.”

“Hey, Lamont.” I turned to face him. Man, I always forgot how big he was. “Sorry for the other day, I was being a tool.”

“You were born a tool, Kyle,” Lamont said, raising an eyebrow. “But I never took you for stupid.”

“I know.” I could feel my palm sweating against the neck of the bottle I was gripping. “That’s why I brought a peace offering. To make up for it.”

I swung the bottle around so Lamont could see the more-than-half-full liter of rum I’d pulled out of the back of Carter’s closet. No one hated having backup liquor around.

“I thought you might want it for later.” Lamont was still staring at me like I was dog crap he hadn’t scraped off his shoe yet. What would make him change his mind? Or at least not punch me? “Plus, chicks love doing shots, right?”

He leaned closer, so close I could smell his aftershave, minty and sharp beneath the musky cologne he was wearing. His fingers were twitching at his sides, like he was getting ready to do something he didn’t want me to see coming.

Oh, jeez. Stomach muscles: clenched in preparation.

He swung his arm around suddenly. I forced myself not to flinch. If he was gonna punch me, it was gonna hurt as bad as it was gonna hurt, whether or not I acted like a wimp.