Page 87 of The Reunion
“Ransom! Liv!” Xan Jennings is suddenly right in front of us, a pair of clean champagne flutes in her hand. “We’re so glad you could make it. Welcome. And congratulations on your upcoming projects—Dan and I heard you’ll be working on a film together?”
She seems genuine as ever, but I can’t forget our conversation last time we were here, the uncomfortable way she insinuated the reboot should be my top priority.
“It’s true,” I say, unable to help the feeling of satisfaction that rushes over me. “Ransom will be playing opposite me in one of the films I signed on for, an adaptation of a sci-fi survival novel.”
“Oh, that’sright!” she exclaims, her voice tinged with the barest hint of envy and regret. “We read about it inDeadline, I believe.”
Deadline,Forbes,The Hollywood Reporter,Entertainment Weekly—basically anywhere with any interest in film news—there were countless articles, and the internet went into an absolute frenzy. As soon as the news broke that we’d both signed on to the project, the book shattered all sorts of preorder records.
“Liv’s doing the new Vienna Lawson project, too,” Ransom says, not even trying to hide the obvious pride in his voice. Whenever the subject of the Emily Quinn film comes up, this is his follow-up, every single time. He has yet to sound anything but thrilled for me.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Xan says, flustered, looking like she’d really rather move on to some other conversation. “Well, Dan and I are very proud to have worked with you both all these years, and we look forward to seeing how things turn out. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go find a server—” She holds the champagne flutes up as if to finish the sentence, then disappears inside the house.
“Think she’ll actually watch the Vienna film when it’s done?” I say, once she’s well out of earshot.
Very seriously, Ransom nods. “When the Academy sends her a screener, you know she’ll totally hate-watch it,” he says, in impressive deadpan before finally cracking a smile. “And then she’ll vote for you to win all the things because she knows you deserve them.”
I laugh, taking his hand in mine.
We mingle for the next half hour, plucking mini quiches and melon wrapped in prosciutto from the trays as they pass by, along with the most refreshing sauvignon blanc that’s ever graced my palate.
Everyone from the reunion show is here, minus one notable absence—Bob Renfro was terminated immediately after his affair came to light, and apparently he said some horrible things to Shine on his way out. Sasha-Kate came out tonight after lying low for a while, now that the gossip cycle has finally started to move on. She’s off chatting with one of the extras, not a silver fox in sight—the execs are clustered clear on the far side of the backyard. If I had to guess, they’re avoiding her every bit as much as she’s avoiding them.
Millie is surrounded by a group of interns and assistants just down the path. She looks radiant, and for good reason: her full album justdropped, and it’s already solidly at the top of the charts, which is truly saying something—Halo conveniently dropped her latest on the exact same night.
Ransom and I are in the middle of congratulating Millie when the squeal of microphone feedback cuts us off. “Sorry about that; sorry, everyone!” Bryan says, overcompensating by holding the mic way too far from his face. “If you’ll all find your seats, we’ll begin the show in ten minutes.”
Unlike the first garden party at Dan and Xan’s, a huge screen has been hung on the back side of the house, as if the house were designed with an outdoor theater in mind. Our pinkGirl on the Vergelogo is bright against a teal-blue background, projected from a machine that’s been expertly hidden somewhere in the landscaping; the bright blue water of the pool suddenly dims to dark navy, and the reflection it had cast on the screen disappears.
The backyard is filled with rows of long, straight tables covered in sleek black tablecloths. Servers are delivering charcuterie boards, bowls of popcorn, and baskets of baked pretzels at regular intervals, along with plates and silverware and chilled jugs of water. I take my seat, front and center, with Ransom on one side of me and Bre on the other. I’m just about to lean over to chat with her when someone taps my shoulder. I practically leap out of my seat, barely managing to avoid a wine-related disaster.
“Oh! I’m so sorry to startle you, I’m so sorry!” says a girl with a heart-shaped face and bright amber eyes. I recognize her immediately. Her picture has been everywhere these past few weeks, right beside mine, our names together in all the articles. “I’m Clarke, Clarke Hartley—and I was wondering if I could get a picture with you?”
She gives a grin that will win over a new generation of fans as soon as they see her on-screen.
“I’d be honored,” I say, accidentally breaking my own rule of never making a pun out of my character’s name.
Clarke doesn’t notice. “That would be— Ahhh! Sorry. I’m sorry I’m not more chill about all this. It’s just that I grew up watching you, and it’s just… all of this is really, really surreal.”
I want to tell her to stop apologizing: to enjoy it all, every minute, to relish this time where people don’t know all there is to know about her—where she still feels like a fan instead of being the very center of a fandom, where she’ll no doubt end up as soon as the reboot hits Fanline this fall. I want to tell her it’ll be the adventure of a lifetime and also the hardest thing she’ll ever do.
“You’re going to be amazing,” I say instead. I hear they cut off the casting call as soon as they saw her audition; I can see why.
She gives me a tight-lipped smile, and I know right away that she’ll be okay in this business: she’s confident, but not so much it will ruin her, and she accepts my compliment without seeming at all desperate for it.
Ransom offers to take the photo for us, but I wave him off—this is selfie material. Attica has taught me well.
“Here, lean in,” I tell her, centering our faces just below theGirllogo in the background. “Mind if I post it, too?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “That would be great,” she says. “Yes, please. And thanks.”
She AirDrops it to my phone, and I spend a few quick seconds uploading it to my feed.Original Girl meets new Girl, I caption it. I tag her, adding a quick #gotvreboot to the end. Two taps later, the post is live. My official stamp of approval will go a long way with the fandom.
Clarke thanks me again, then rushes to find her seat as the garden lights dim to nearly complete darkness. Ransom squeezes my hand under the table, bringing a sudden wave of emotion.
“Doing okay?” he asks.
This is the end of an era, bittersweet and surreal, to use Clarke’s word. But then I remember, whenever an era ends, it’s time for a new one to begin.
“More than okay,” I say, and I mean it.
Our theme song fills the speakers for the very last time, our logo fading as the episode begins. I know our logo by heart, the image indelibly carved into my entire existence in neon pink. But I don’t watch the screen: Honor and Duke, as much as I love them, are fiction—their story is over.
Now it’s time for real life.
