I spent most of the night online, scouring for more photos of Jamie and reading the comments on Instagram. It’s a form of torture, like picking a scab, but I can’t stop myself.
Secretly, deep down, I believe that I deserve it, that every one of the terrible things people say about me is true, that it’s merely confirmation of what I already know: I’m a terrible singer, ugly, worthless, and that no one could ever love me. Jamie moving on with another girl only proves that. I know not all the comments are negative, but even if one out of a hundred is, I can only seem to focus on that negative one. The voice in my head takes it and amplifies it a million times.
Now I feel groggy and nauseous. The only thing to pass my lips in the last twenty-four hours was two bites of that burger. But it’s probably thanks to that I now have a greasy forehead. I need Natalie to come and fix things. I search for my phone and text her, noting that there are no texts or missed calls from Jamie.
I ended up leaving him two messages last night and now I regret it. It’s best to play it cool. I need to get out and show the world I don’t care. Retail therapy is the cure for all ills—isn’t that what they say? And at least shopping will give me something to do other than sit in my room alternating between staring at the walls and staring at my phone.
Natalie shows up thirty minutes after I text her and finds me knitting, which I do whenever I feel myself becoming anxious. It’s meant to make me feel calm—at least that’s what Carla said it would do when she first taught me—but I find myself more often than not getting stressed because I’m so bad at it that I have to constantly untangle knots and unpick stitches. Definitely not a zen-inducing activity.
“What are you knitting?” Natalie asks.
“It was a blanket. Now it’s a scarf. I think.”
She cocks her head to one side. “It’s awesome.”
I sigh at the blatant lie and toss the knitting down.
“Has Jamie called?” Natalie asks, sitting down at my dressing table and unzipping her carry-on suitcase filled with makeup.
I shake my head. She knows all the drama between Jamie and me because she’s witnessed it and is often the one I call on to help me cover up the damage caused by a night with no sleep or a day spent crying. I hate the fact that I have to bother with my appearance just to go shopping, but the truth is, the paparazzi will be out like hawks trying to get a shot of me, and Marty will yell at me if I go out looking less than perfect.
“Well, let’s make him regret what he’s missing out on,” she says, smiling at me. Natalie chatters away as she gets to work, applying foundation. “Is Will around?” she asks.
“How do I know?” I grunt.
She shrugs off my terse tone. “He’s nice. We were chatting last night. I’m going to see if he wants to go out one night when he’s got an evening off.”
I force a smile. “Cool,” I say. “I’m not sure when he’ll have a night off, but go for it.”
“What’s the plan for the rest of the day?” Natalie asks as she applies the last slick of lip gloss and then starts packing up the tools of her trade.
I glance in the mirror and smile at my reflection. She’s done a great job at hiding the dark circles under my eyes, and she’s even somehow managed to make my skin glow.
“Retail therapy,” I say.
“Oooh,” she coos, her eyes growing round. “Need a partner in crime?”
I think about saying yes, because it might be fun to go shopping with her, but then I think about the fact that I will need to take Will with me. “Next time,” I say to her.
Her face falls a little, and I wonder if I’m making a mistake. It’s been so long since I had a girlfriend or anyone to confide in, and why do I care if she and Will hook up? In the end, though, I decide I want to be on my own. I don’t take my phone with me because I don’t want the temptation of calling Jamie, and because I don’t want to turn into a version of Jamie, constantly checking my social media to make sure I’m still trending.
When I walk into the kitchen, I stop short at the sight of Matias, Carla, and Will sitting at the counter eating what looks like Spanish tortilla and chatting away like one big, happy family. Carla beams at me. “Good morning. Do you want something to eat?”
I shake my head even though I’m starving and turn to grab a Diet Coke out of the fridge. The sight of Will sitting there has riled me for some reason I can’t explain. My skin feels hot, and I relish the chilly refrigerated air against my face as I take my time rooting around for a cold can. I’m embarrassed about last night, I think, that Will saw me crying and witnessed one of my anxiety attacks. What if he’s said something to someone about it?
“Look what Will showed me!” Matias says, rushing over to me and waving something in his hand. “I can make this quarter disappear.”
I force a smile. “Oh, really?”
Matias nods and then proceeds to show me his magic trick, except he hasn’t quite mastered the sleight of hand required. I act like he has, though, and marvel at the trick. “That’s amazing!” I smile. “Wow.”
“I want to be a magician when I grow up,” he boasts proudly.
“I’ll show you another trick if you like,” Will says to him, and when Matias bounces over to him, grinning, I feel a pang of resentment.
“I’m going shopping,” I say, tossing my head and moving toward the door.
Will slides off his counter stool. For the first time I realize how tall he is. He’s probably six foot one or two, and I notice, too, that he moves with a kind of stiffness as well as an alertness, like he’s about to snap to attention at any moment.
“I guess I’ll show you that trick later,” he tells Matias, who immediately starts to melt down, his grin vanishing and a grimace replacing it.
I glare at Will. Matias doesn’t have much of a sense of time. You can’t tell him you’ll do something and then change the plan like that. I start to say something, wanting to calm Matias down before he loses his temper and starts to shout, but before I can, Will is in front of him.
“You need to work on that other trick,” he says, looking Matias straight in the eye. “Get it as good as can be. Then when I get back, I’ll test you on it, and if you pass, I’ll show you the next one.”
Matias pauses, his face bubbling on the verge of a volcanic eruption, but then he cocks his head to one side like a puppy being offered a treat, and nods. And like that, the whole crisis is averted and the volcano stops spewing. I stare at Will in shock. How the hell did he manage that? Carla and I share a bemused glance before Will looks over at me. It takes me a second to come back to the moment and realize he’s waiting on me. I fluster and walk out the door.
“I’ll drive,” I say as we head outside with Will behind me. “Seeing how you don’t know your way anywhere.”
“There’s this thing called Google Maps,” he says under his breath.
I turn to look at him. He’s not trying very hard to hide an amused smirk.
“I’m still driving,” I say, getting into the car. I’m determined to keep up the diva act, in order to make him quit.
He hesitates before getting in the passenger side. He looks uncomfortable squashed into the bucket-size passenger seat and unhappy, too, when I turn the radio on and crank it full volume. I put my foot to the floor, kicking up gravel, and notice his knuckles turning white as they grip the door handle, but he still doesn’t say anything.