Page 25 of Beyond the Fame

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Right now? Nothing.”

“You’re being creepy with your sunglasses on, floating like a dead body. People are staring.”

“I don’t care.”

“What are you even doing, anyway?”

“Haven’t you ever just floated in the water before? It’s relaxing.”

She says nothing at first, so I lift my head to look at her. She wants to try it, but she’s glancing around the water, at the beach, worried people will judge her or something.

“Stop thinking about it and just do it, Becky.”

She sighs dramatically and I laugh out loud. I find myself laughing around her a lot lately. I close my eyes again and hear her splash around before finally settling on her back.

“I feel silly,” she says after about a minute of silence.

“Who cares?”

She scoffs.

“Seriously, though. Why do you care? Everyone here is a stranger. We’ll never see them again.”

“Unless they take our picture and sell it to the tabloids.”

“You’re famous enough to get recognized?” I tease.

“For your information, yes. I do get recognized. In fact, my publicist texted me this morning saying there were already pictures posted online from dinner last night.”

Clearly, she didn’t look at those pictures or read the articles or she would have commented about the speculation of bad blood between us. She was giving me a murder glare the moment someone snapped the shot.

I wave my arms in the water like I'm making a snow angel. “Yeah, well, that’s expected. Especially since Mylan is here. The paparazzi always find him.”

“What about you? Don’t the paparazzi scramble to get shots of you too?”

“I’m like the Robin to his Batman. He will always be the one they want. I’m just a bonus. It’s always been like that, though.”

“Jealous?” Rebecca teases.

A laugh bursts from my throat. “Not at all. Most of the time when I’m in the press, it’s about my weight. It used to bother me. I mean, it still does. But... I don’t know... I’ve been working on this part of my life with my therapist for a while now, and I’m over it. I just want to live my life without worrying about the world’s warped opinion of what the perfect body should be.”

It took me far too long to reach this level of body acceptance. It’s a work in progress, but I’m trying.

“What I’m saying is... life is too short to let other people’s opinion dictate the way we live.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

My eyes shoot open, and I turn my head to her.

“What? Surprised I'm in therapy too?”

I don’t answer. How can I answer that? Her seeking help for her mental health is none of my business. I have no room to judge. Not that I would. No one should.

“I started going after the first director dropped out,” she says quietly.

“You don’t have to—”

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