Page 137 of Catfish

She glances up. “Part of One Direction.”

“Part of what?”

"British boy band, but he left to go solo."

I wave one of my hands in the air. “Where is this—where is he now?”

Sadie shrugs, reaching for another box. “How would I know?”

I look heavenward. Patricia and her daughter, Ruby, along with this Sweet Sixteen party have been the bane of my existence. They’ve changed the colors twice, made me spend a week arguing with the rental hall owner about letting us release doves when Ruby made her entrance and was asked if I could add an extra fifty people to the guest list after I asked several times if they were done with it.

“Why don’t you ask the governor?” Sadie urges.

“He’s a governor,” I retort. “He probably listens to the cries of children. He won’t know.”

“But he could know people.” I’m already on my way back to my bedroom to tell Patricia and her snotty little daughter hell no. That all this extra shit has to stop.

“It’s worth a shot,” Sadie calls out after me. “And we can charge them more.”

I halt midstep.

More money.

That’s what it’s been this whole time. The continuing need to keep working with privileged assholes who spend over thirty grand on a sixteenth birthday party. That’s the kind of money that could feed a few blocks in Daphne for a month.

Shoving my pride aside, I dialing Emmy, who picks up on the first ring.

"Hey, girl," she greets. "How's it going?"

“Good, hey, weird question.”

“Shoot.”

I start to pace the floor. “Do you know where I can get Harry Styles?”

“You mean like tickets or something?”

“No, I mean like playing at this birthday party I’m planning.”

"I don't, but...Wade might. Hold on, I'll ask him."

Then my self-respect kicks back in as I reach for nothing but air. “Wait, don’t.”

She must not hear me because I hear her heels click purposefully on the hardwood floor of Wade’s office then a knock on a door. “Wade, do you know Harry Styles?”

“Who?” he drones.

Exactly what I said.

“Harry Styles, the kid from One Direction,” Emmy quips. “From England or something.”

“One Direction from where?”

“It’s a band,” Emmy proclaims. “A boy band.”

“Emmy, why in the hell would I know about a boy band?”

“Rea needs to get ahold of him for a birthday party she’s planning for—”

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