I find a picture I took of Dad and me last month. A selfie of us on the beach in Malibu as the sun was setting over the ocean, casting a golden aura over us. My wet hair sticks to my cheeks and Dad’s million-dollar gaze is even more smoldering than usual. Ruben posted this sunset picture on Dad’s Instagram to remind the world that Everett Harding is a proud and loving family-man. But yet, he wasn’t exactly conflicted when it came to making the decision to send me here.
Then, suddenly, as everyone coos over the photo, my phone is plucked out of my hand.
“Hey!” I yell, jumping up from my chair.
But Barney has already made his getaway, barging others out of the way, and slipping through a gap in the trucks. He has my phone in his fist, eyes locked on it as he runs. I give chase – because he has my damn phone! And with my phone he has access to a lot of different things, like my social media accounts, and my contacts list, and my private photos of Dad and me that haven’t ever been made public but which plenty of gossip columnists would love to get their hands on. From the moment I first got a phone, Ruben has been one hundred percent clear that I’m never, ever to let even my best friends near it.
Savannah and Tori and the others follow behind me, a total ruckus as we all squeeze through the trucks to follow Barney. His hands move across my screen, scrolling, then he presses my phone to his ear. He’s laughing as he moves fast and agile across the concrete, one hand held out like a true football jock to keep me at a distance whenever I get near him.
“Give it back!” I beg, both arms outstretched to try and claw my phone from him. He’s calling someone and panicked, hot tears spring to my eyes. “Please, don’t! Please!”
“Oh, hi!” Barney says brightly into my phone. “How do you do? Is this Everett Harding?”
No!
“Give her the phone back, Barney!” Tori demands as she gets close enough to kick Barney hard in the shin.
“Hey!” he barks, lowering the phone from his ear to reach down to rub his leg, and I steal that chance to snatch my phone. “What the hell, Tori?”
I cup my phone tightly in my hands and then rush to safety with it, kneeling down between two trucks to shield myself from view. I’m panting, my heart’s beating fast. There’s an active call ongoing – a call with the contact saved as Dad. I was praying Barney was just kidding, but he wasn’t. He seriously called my father. Nerves rocking me, I force myself to press my phone to my ear.
“Dad?”
“Mila?” Dad snaps across the line. “What the hell is going on?” I can’t blame him for being angry, but his abrupt tone still makes me flinch.
“Someone took my phone and—”
“You’ve been home for five minutes and already you’re letting people mess around with your phone? Why aren’t you at the ranch? Goddammit, I thought there was an emergency.” I hear him groan and then exhale deeply. “Look, Mila, I’m at a business dinner. Please can you just behave?”
“Okay, I’m sorry! I—”
But he’s already hung up.
I shove my phone into the pocket of my jean shorts and press my hands over my face, trying to steady my breath. I’m still crouched down between two trucks, but a moment later I force myself to stand and walk back out into view, my whole body pulsing with adrenaline. Barney is arguing with Tori, and Savannah has stepped in as backup. The three of them go quiet when they spot me.
“Why the hell did you do that?” I demand, eyeballing Barney, my hands on my hips. A few others are still lingering nearby, while some people, like Blake, haven’t even bothered to get up from their seats back at the social circle.
“It was funny,” Barney says sheepishly, stifling a laugh when he makes eye contact with those who witnessed it. “You know – a joke?”
Before I flip out on this guy, I decide to remove myself from the situation. This party seemed like a cool idea, but it’s spun out into something that’s pushing the boundaries too much too soon. Blake has publicly taunted me, everyone here knows I’m the daughter of Everett Harding, and now Dad will be frustrated at me again . . . I can only hope Ruben doesn’t find out.
It was meant to be fun, a chilled evening . . . but I really don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be back at the ranch, tucked up in my new bedroom for the summer, doodling in my bullet journal. Which, ironically, is exactly what Ruben expects of me.
Turning away from everyone, I stride over to Blake’s truck and try the door, but it’s locked. He must notice me tugging on the handle, because he appears next to me, raising an eyebrow.
“Unlock your truck,” I demand. “Please.”
“Why?”
“So that I can hide inside until you take me home.”
Blake presses his lips together and fishes his keys out from his khaki shorts, then unlocks the truck. As soon as I hear the click, I wrench open the door to the backseat, climb in, then slam it shut again. He peers in at me through the window, studies me for a second, then saunters back to his friends. I’d like to think all of this is his fault, but the truth is it’s mine for agreeing to come here in the first place.
I sit back and bask in the silent privacy of the truck for a minute. Everyone seems to have calmed down, and have slowly congregated back inside the circle of trucks. I can hear music and voices, a muffled chorus through the glass. That was some finale to their game of Truth or Dare. Note to self: Be more careful with my phone in the future.
A moment later, the door on the opposite side of the truck swings open and Savannah clambers in to join me.
“I’m so sorry, Mila,” she says, eyes full of guilt even though she hasn’t done anything wrong. “That was so shitty of Barney to do that. Did he really call your dad?”
“Yes!” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “I’ll be in such deep shit with my parents, and now you’ll all just think of me as Everett Harding’s daughter—”
“That’s not such a bad thing, though,” Savannah interrupts in an effort to cheer me up. “Everyone thinks it’s super cool.”
“That’s not the point!” I snap.
Savannah looks a little hurt, like she’s not sure how to navigate me. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my temples. I don’t mean to take out my frustration on her. “I just need to keep a low profile while I’m here. I didn’t want anyone to connect me to my dad. It always makes life so freaking complicated.”
“But . . . Everyone would figure it out at some point, right? It’s a small town. Not many Milas. Not many Hardings.”
“I know, but I really, really need for it to not be a big deal. Between you and me, my dad’s control-freak manager doesn’t want the press finding out I’m here.”