Jasmine gave her a knowing look. “Let’s see if that actually happens by the time fall rolls around.”
She was about to say something else when the sound of clicking heels echoed across the marble floors. The ions in the lobby rearranged as a new group stalked past. All faces turned to view the passing crowd—and who was at its center, a tall girl with glowing skin; bouncy, white-blond hair; and a curvy, flawless body. The dress she wore had cutouts just below the boobs and along her thighs, leaving little to the imagination.
The girl’s gaze flitted to Jasmine and Fiona. “Hey, guys,” she said in a blasé voice.
Jasmine’s and Fiona’s smiles didn’t reach their eyes. “Hi, Scarlet.”
Her identity came to Delilah like a bolt: Scarlet Leigh, aka @ScarletLetter. Delilah didn’t stalk Scarlet Leigh’s account religiously, but she was practically a Kardashian. She was on every Sexiest Girl Alive list, she’d received sponsorship deals for everything ranging from a small-batch whiskey maker to an airline that likely gave her free tickets to fly anywhere on their roster as long as she featured them in a post. Delilah even heard a rumor that Scarlet was auditioning for a comedy pilot.
Scarlet breezed into the ballroom. Jasmine turned to Fiona, making a face. “You okay, Fee?”
“I’m fine,” Fiona mumbled. “Scarlet and I aren’t, like, enemies or whatever.”
“In what universe?” Jasmine whispered. “That girl has it in for you! And it’s not even your fault!”
“What’s not your fault?” Delilah asked, feeling lost.
Fiona tapped her perfectly done acrylic nails on her phone three times. It seemed to be an unconscious habit. “Scarlet and I both went to Harvard-Westlake in tenth grade . . . and she claims I stole her boyfriend away.”
“That girl hates losing,” Jasmine muttered. Then her phone beeped. She glanced at it, then squeezed Delilah’s arm. “Listen, I have to run. I have a shoot in thirty minutes.”
“You’re . . . leaving?” Delilah hated the desperate tone of her voice.
“Yeah, but let’s hang out soon. And you should totally check out the stuff inside!” Jasmine gestured to the ballroom. “There’s awesome merch. And get your pictures with some other influencers! That’s the whole point of these things. Pics build your following.”
“It’s a lot of fun,” Fiona said—she had to leave, too. “Let me get your number. Let’s keep in touch. Any questions, please text me. Okay?” And the girls were gone.
Delilah was suddenly alone in the bustling Evensong lobby. The conversation she’d just had was overwhelming. Did she really just chat with Jasmine Walters-Diaz and Fiona Jacobs? Days ago, she was sitting on Busy’s carpet, making vision boards about being a famous influencer . . . and now she was in the middle of that world?
She peered into the big ballroom of famous people and felt massive stage fright. She couldn’t do this alone. She wanted to hide in a booth at the restaurant next to the lobby, order fries and a Coke, and scroll on her phone until an hour passed and she could find her mom.
Which was exactly what she did.
It felt like heaven to sink down into a booth. She gave the waiter a huge smile when he came around to take her order. “Would you like the wine list?” he asked, barely looking at her.
“Um, what?” Did he not notice how young she was? “I—I mean . . . no. I’ll have . . .”
“I think she needs a purple punch.”
Delilah turned sharply to the right. On the other side of the banquette, half-concealed in shadows, was a guy with pale green eyes and soft, floppy chestnut hair. He sat up and smiled. There was a dimple on his left cheek, and his front tooth was rakishly, almost intentionally crooked, like he had it fixed to slant that way.
Delilah shot to her feet. “Oh my gosh. I didn’t see you there. I-I’ll move.”
“It’s cool. I don’t mind sharing the booth.”
“Oh.” Was he an influencer? He was certainly cute enough. Or maybe an agent? She’d heard a lot of influencers had those.
She glanced toward the lobby. “I’m only here for a second. I just got . . . hungry.” It was a lame thing to say, considering the ballroom was likely full of snacks.
A new batch of screams rose up from the lobby; it seemed another internet celebrity had arrived. The guy broke his gaze for a beat, then turned back to her, his grin even wider. “Is this your first one of these?” he asked.
She ducked her head. “Is it that obvious?”
“That’s not a bad thing.” He leaned back. “What sort of world are we living in where random people are über-famous? People who just . . . make videos, or take photos, or are . . . a personality?” He gave her a baffled smile. “What’s happened to humanity?”
Delilah chuckled. “You sound like my mom.”
He pointed at her. “You’re lucky she’s like that. Most influencer parents are the ones steering the plane. Total Momagers.”
“So I guess you aren’t on social, then?”
“Oh no, I am.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Guilty as charged. YouTube.”
Delilah’s mouth dropped. She didn’t follow guys on YouTube in the same way she followed girls. Watching a guy online didn’t feel very intimate. She’d rather get to know one in person.
A drink appeared. She’d forgotten that this guy had ordered her a purple punch. She sniffed it, trying to determine whether it contained alcohol, but she only smelled blueberries.
The guy crossed his arms. “I’m probably supposed to know who you are, too, right?”
“Oh, I’m no one,” Delilah said quickly.
“I doubt that.” A coy look came over his features. “I know. How about you guess what my deal might be online. And I’ll guess yours.”
It felt like a trick question. Delilah worried she’d say something to offend him. Some sort of niche he absolutely, categorically hated. Or maybe she shouldn’t overthink it. Maybe she could just be silly, the way she used to be with guys back home.
The guy’s hair was carefully tousled. His T-shirt pulled against his chest and abs but wasn’t skintight. Someone might pass him on the street and think nothing of him, only to turn back and think, Wait, that guy was gorgeous.
She cleared her throat, going for silly. “Tide Pods. You’ve gotten famous by eating Tide Pods.” She smacked her forehead. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.”
He burst out laughing. “Hit the nail on the head! I love eat-ing Tide Pods, girl! Give me more of that toxic grittiness!” He pretended to pop one in his mouth, chew, and then gag and spit it out. Delilah applauded his acting skills—and maybe this was why she didn’t watch guys online, because they all seemed to do stupid things like eat laundry detergent or put their dogs’ shock collars on their necks.
He crossed his arms. “My turn.”
She felt his eyes wash over her, first looking at her hair and then her body. His gaze wasn’t predatory, but it was interested. Her heart thudded. Please don’t guess Puppy Girl. Delilah didn’t want to be thought of as just Puppy Girl. She posted about animal activism and safe pet ownership, and adopting pets versus buying from puppy mills. And she wanted to post about other issues, too. Body acceptance. Anti-bullying. Diabetes awareness. She wanted to inspire. It was a huge reason why the move to LA felt so exciting. Maybe she could break into this universe for real—and help people.