Page 18 of We Used To Be Magic

‘I mean – I havetried,’ I point out. ‘We’ve been here for hours. I’ve talked to so many people – people I don’t even know—’

‘That’s the point, yeah.’

‘But it’s embarrassing! They’re all famous or important or way older than us.’

‘You’re a pretty girl, Audrey. People are inclined to like you before you even open your mouth.’

I pull a face, embarrassed. Marika shuts her bag with a snap.

‘Forget it, ’ she says. ‘Have you had a drink? Like, adrinkdrink?’

‘I’m eighteen. Don’t you have to be twenty-one to drink over here?’

‘Allegedly. Do youwanta drink?’

‘Uh – sure.’

‘Right. Let’s go, then.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out. ‘You’re always looking out for me and you totally don’t have to—’

‘I know,’ Marika says curtly. ‘But I’m not sure why I bother, because you clearly don’t care about any of this.’

‘I care,’ I reply, startled. ‘I totally care.’

‘Not enough to guarantee that you’re on time. To wear the right things. Talk to the right people—’

‘I’ve only been modelling for a few months!’

‘And yet you’re here in New York already,’ she says dryly. ‘Congratulations.’

That shuts me up. I drop my gaze, chastened, and Marika sighs and puts her bag down.

‘Listen – I’ve been doing this for almost two years, and this is my first Fashion Week outside of London – I have a lot to prove.’

‘I know,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m trying to prove things too. I deferred university for this. I don’t – it’s all I have, right now.’

‘I can understand that,’ she says after a beat. ‘I used to dance, before this. Ballet.’

‘Wow,’ I say, surprised. ‘You gave it up to model?’

‘When I was sixteen my bike got clipped by a car,’ she replies smoothly. ‘I got thrown and broke three bones. Important ones.’

I wince at the mental image. Marika attempts a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.

‘Yeah, well – I was wearing a helmet, at least, which is why I’m stood here having this conversation with you. And people always told me that I should model, so I went down to bunch of agency offices as soon as I got the casts off. Seeing as I sacrificed everything for dance, I figured the only way through it was to throw myself into something else with the same level of commitment.’

‘And … are you happy?’ I venture. ‘Now, I mean? Modelling?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, after pausing for a moment. ‘There are a lot of similar aspects, actually. Good ones. Not just the racism and the body-shaming.’

She turns to look at me then, gaze intent.

‘You can see why I’m a little touchy about you treating this like some huge obligation, right?’

‘I can,’ I tell her seriously. ‘You’re right. It’s immature, and – and I’m sorry. For me and for – for all of it.’

‘Forget it,’ she says briskly, smoothing her hair. ‘Let’s go. Drinks.’

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