Page 9 of Aftershock

“Oh my god. You’re an idiot.”

“So more negative friendship points, then?”

“No. You're an idiot in the best way possible,” she smiled.

I felt like my heart was about to burst out of my chest, it was beating so fast. The butterflies fluttered around like crazy in my stomach. I was really having a conversation with Lexi Harlow—the talented, fearless, inspirational, award-winning singer who I had been listening to since I was a kid. I’d like to believe that a lot of what helped me get through some of my struggles was the fact that she was so open about her experiences as well. Her voice is what initially captivated me and caused me to become a fan, but I stayed because of the way she carried herself.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening right now,” I mumbled. “Can you pinch me? Is this real?” I asked. “Can I pinch you? Are you real?” I added.

Lexi rolled her eyes. “Do you actually listen to my music, or are you just trying to be nice?”

I gasped with a look of hurt written across my face. “How dare you accuse me of being a fake fan? I would never!” I whipped my head to the side, causing my hair to fly wildly.

“Okay, okay,” she played along. “Sorry to suggest you weren’t my number-one fan.”

I pushed my hands down against the tile to sit up in a straighter position and said, “No, seriously, you have no idea how much I used to adore you. Go on, quiz me. I probably know you better than you know yourself.”

“Used to adore?”

“Seriously,” I rolled my eyes. “Quiz me.”

“Fine, we'll start off easy. What’s my full name?”

“Alexandra Michelle Harlow,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Next?”

Lexi shook her head slightly. “No.”

What the hell did she mean, no? Had she lied about her legal name? There was no way I got that question wrong.

“No, you have to answer these questions, too. I have been stuck in this bathroom with you for fifteen minutes, and I don't even know your name. You may know everything about me, but I still know nothing about you. So, new rule: for every question I ask about me, you have to answer it too,” she bargained, hoping I would agree to her terms.

“Sounds fair, but what if the question doesn’t apply to me, like the name of your second album?” I challenged.

Biting her bottom lip, Lexi pondered the thought for a while, then spoke, “Then I just ask you any question that I see fit.”

“I could always just lie about the answers,” I joked back.

“We are trapped alone in a bathroom together with no one to record us or invade our privacy,” she noted. “Might as well speak your truth.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“How do I know I can trust you?” She countered with a smile on her face. “At least you have an idea of who I am and what my life has been like. Can't say the same about you.”

Why was I so goddam worried about telling my secrets to her? Lexi Harlow is a millionaire singer-songwriter with dozens of awards, and yet here I was, worried about me. I was nobody compared to her. Who would she tell my secrets to? My boss? My mom? My dead dad?

“Well, you’ll be the one asking me the questions anyway, so you don't have to trust me because I won’t be asking a thing,” I pointed out. “And if there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that you can trust me. Besides, what could I even say to make people believe me? ‘Oh, hey everyone, I was trapped in an airport bathroom with Lexi Harlow, and she spilled all her secrets to me—a total stranger.’”

“Okay,” she nodded. “That does sound a little insane.”

“Exactly.”

“But to be fair, I am Lexi Harlow. People already think I’m insane, so it’s not that far of a stretch.”

“Aren't we all just a little insane, though?”

“What are you, the cat from Alice in Wonderland?” She snorted.

Lexi Harlow snorts? Oh, this was the best thing I could ever ask for.

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