If This Gets Out(18)

Another chime.

RUBEN

OH HI YOU’RE UP.

ME

I am!

RUBEN

That means now is a perfect time …

I find myself grinning.

ME

A perfect time for what?

RUBEN

For you to tell me what you thought of In This House. IN DETAIL, Zach.

I laugh. So maybe he isn’t blown away by seeing me shirtless, but this? I like this.

ME

I already told you I loved it?

I hit send, then let my head fall back against my pillow while I wait for a response. I open Instagram and scroll for a second, then I navigate back to Ruben’s messages. There’s no typing bubble yet.

I bring his photo back up. He’s shirtless, but I can only see the top of his bare shoulders, and they’re making my stomach twist. A face flashes into my mind. Lee, from middle school, with the dimple. I used to pull up his profile picture, a photo of him staring intensely at the camera, and study it, searching for the spot where the dimple would be if he smiled. I’d mostly forgotten this feeling, but now, it’s so familiar. Like, scarily familiar.

I exit Ruben’s photo.

My heart’s thudding just a little too fast.

Lee and his dimple didn’t mean anything. Neither does Ruben, at least not like that. Looking at a photo doesn’t mean anything. It’s okay to like looking at a photo of someone you care about. Why do I always have to overthink stuff? Plus, I’m tired, it makes sense that my emotions are off-kilter.

I get a notification, which gives me a jolt, so I go back to my messages.

RUBEN

In what world is ‘loved it’ detailed? What did the songs make you feel? Which were your favorites? What did you think?? GIVE ME SOMETHING.

I smile to myself and start composing my reply. I know I’m supposed to be sleeping, but sleep can wait.

If I’m a little tired tomorrow, is it the end of the world?





FIVE





RUBEN


I’m in Paris, the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen in my life, and all I can focus on is how hungry I am.

We left London at the crack of dawn this morning after shoveling down some toast from the continental buffet, and hopped across to Paris. By the time the signage switched from English to French, I was already dreaming of coffee, and baguettes, and delicate pastries.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be. There was no nipping into a café, and not one sightseeing stop to soak in the fact that we’re in Paris. Paris! The only taste we’ve had of the city on foot was when we were unloaded into an admittedly pretty one-way street full of neutral, balcony-covered buildings. There, we were ushered into one—distinguishable from the others only by the sleek black revolving doors at its entrance—where we participated in an interview, followed by a front-page photo shoot.

It’s already past lunchtime, and we haven’t had a thing to eat since this morning’s toast. We’re in the minibus—separate from the tour buses and more conducive to inner-city travel—with Erin, Penny (who has to fix our hair every time a camera is in the same room as us), and our guards for the day. The company Chorus contracts, Tungsten Security, has multiple international branches. Keegan and Pauline, our primary bodyguards, traveled with us from the US, so one could be with us at all times, directing whichever guards Tungsten assigns to us in any given country. It gives us the consistency of continually working with guards who know us, while also letting us reap the benefits of security personnel who know the city, its dangers, and its escape routes, inside and out. Today, we’re riding with Keegan and three French Tungsten guards, as Pauline is taking the night shift all week.

We’re heading to the Eiffel Tower. Not for our personal enjoyment, but so we can pose for a promotional photo to post on the band’s Instagram. I’m pressed against the window at the back of the bus, staring out at what will be our few snatches of Parisian sightseeing on this stop.

Angel unbuckles and peeks back at us over the head of his seat. “So,” he whispers, “I’m gonna have a few people around my room later tonight.”

“A few people?” Zach and I echo in unison.

“Mm-hmm. Kellin’s in town, and he wants to bring Ella and Ted to hang.”

He means Kellin White, Ella Plummet, and Ted Mason, three of the biggest singers in the UK. Ella and Ted are also notoriously messy, and both have been the center of more than one scandal in the last year. The British tabloids love them, because they’re such good fodder. Ella in royal-wedding brawl with Nadia Ayoub. Ted Mason arrested for cocaine possession. Ella and Ted: are the dating rumors true?

“The tabloids would love that,” I say dryly.

“I can be friends with whoever I want,” Angel says. “That’s not proof I’m doing anything wrong.”

“Then why are you whispering?” I ask, and Zach smirks, his knee bumping against mine as we go over a pothole.

“Ruben, just…” Angel circles a hand in midair. “Just be cool, okay?”

Suddenly, Zach climbs onto his knees with his phone brandished. “Hold on, let me get a picture of this,” he says. He places a firm hand on my thigh to steady himself as he takes a picture of the scenery, because he wants me to spontaneously combust, apparently. I do my best to think about anything except for the pressure and weight of him. In the end, all I can do is stare out the window and try to distract myself.