#famous(61)

Once I could breathe normally, I drove home, checking my phone at every stop sign to see if he’d texted.

He hadn’t.

Mom was waiting inside the door, like a froed-out lion ready to pounce.

“Honey, you were fantastic!” Behind her glasses, her eyes looked about a foot wide. She pulled me into a big hug. Good, this way she couldn’t see my face. “You were so funny. And you looked adorable! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “It could have been worse.”

“I don’t think it could have been better.” She pushed me to arm’s length. “I really feel much more confident about this decision. Don’t you?”

She was squinting at me like she’d be able to see any lingering mental issues if she just found the right level of focus.

“No, I’m happy, definitely.” I forced a smile. “It’s just weird seeing yourself on TV, you know?”

Mom leaned back, apparently satisfied. “Of course.”

“I’m gonna head upstairs and do some homework,” I lied. I couldn’t stand talking about this any longer.

“Good girl. Dinner will be in an hour or so—I made homemade split pea soup for the TV star.” Mom grinned widely, like she was so proud of remembering what I liked to eat. I smiled back.

“Thanks, Mom. Yell at me when it’s dinner.”

She nodded, and I ran upstairs.

I didn’t even wait to get into my room to check my phone again.

No new texts.

He must think it was a mistake. Why else wouldn’t he say anything? It made more sense than the alternative—that he actually liked me—but it made my lungs feel like a nature video of flower petals folding shut. It hurt now in a way it hadn’t yesterday. Or even a couple of hours ago.

Oh Jesus, maybe he was radio silent because he was still with Emma. How had that not occurred to me until now?

I did have a few hundred Flit notifications, though. Bored, and too antsy to focus on anything real, I opened them. I already felt like a tangle of frayed nerve endings; now was as good a time as any to get destroyed by the internet.

@PugLifeNYC: I can already tell

@attackoftherach_face will keep

@YourBoyKyle_B on his toes. Pass the popcorn.

#FriesWithHomecoming

@BunheadJoJo: Wish @YourBoyKyle_B had

shown up at my door. @attackoftherach_face is

soooo lucky. :(

@LindyBoBindy2: @attackoftherach_face

kinda makes the Bozo hair look hot. #hairenvy

#FriesWithHomecoming

Laura had been right in our interview; a lot of people were weirdly into my hair.

I kept going. There were questions about my outfit, screenshots of me frowning at him down on one knee that people were turning into memes, even a few that said we made a “really cute couple.” Like people believed we were on the same level.

No one seemed to think I was a waste of valuable oxygen. Nobody thought I was pathetic—if anything, people were openly jealous. No one even called me fat. One girl said I was curvy, but that’s good fat.

Kyle was right. There wasn’t a single mean thought in the bunch. Even if there had been, I felt like I could have handled it. It felt less important.

It was dumb that I still cared so much; it’s not like I didn’t know the people last week were trolls. But it still felt good that people were saying I was good enough—to be seen, and with Kyle no less.

I thought back to the kiss. The way he’d looked at me right before, like I was something really special, something beautiful even. And the feel of his lips pressing into mine, insistent, almost hungry. His arms snaking around my back, pulling me closer . . .

It made me start to wonder if maybe it hadn’t been a mistake at all.





chapter forty-two


KYLE

MONDAY, 6:15 P.M.

I picked up the phone for, like, the fifth time, and opened a text to Rachel.

But I couldn’t figure out what to say. Probably because I wasn’t sure how I felt. On the one hand, I wanted her here now. I wanted the smell of her and her crazy hair tangling through my fingers and her lips against mine. I wanted things to go further . . . though probably not in the living room, now that Mom was home.

But I also felt guilty, and just . . . confused. I wasn’t with Emma. If we’d been almost together after the picture dropped, Beau’s party and her texts since meant we definitely weren’t now. Still, didn’t I owe her something?

The whole thing made me feel like punching Mom’s stupid throw pillows.

Rachel didn’t text all through dinner.

I went on Flit. She’d finally posted something new. It didn’t even have my name in it.

@attackoftherach_face: For everyone looking

for the secret to my hair, let me suggest

standing too close to strong electrical currents.

It was funny, but the idea that she was talking to all these strangers made my stomach muscles clench. Why hadn’t she texted me? Had I screwed something up with her already? None of those Flit randos even cared about her.

Then I remembered I was sitting here worrying about Emma and tried to stop being such a jealous tool. My brain today: apparently locked in caveman mode.

By the time I’d finished nodding at my parents through dinner, I couldn’t take it anymore. Before I could think too hard, I pressed send.