Page 5 of Make The Cut

I danced with him at Skye and Leo’s wedding, where he appeared as somebody’s plus-one. I see him sometimes at award shows for my brother, Ryder, though the two of them are less than friendly. I consider him a friend, though oddly enough, news of our friendship has never reached the media or my brother or even Skye. Gustav’s bald head must constantly refract light away from the flash of the paparazzi’s cameras.

Yet even then, there’sno reason I haven’t told my friends or family that I have more than a casual relationship with Naoya Sugawa. I don’t know why, but I want our friendship to be something I keep entirely to myself.

“I didn’t think you did your grocery shopping, Tats.” I pick up one of the wooden spoons and he guides me toward a small table in the corner where we won’t be seen from the windows. His bodyguard is still choosing a flavour from the menu.

“This is for a, uh, high school reunion party of sorts, but between you and me, I’d rather not go. My best friend was supposed to be there tonight too, but his wife went into labour and he had to cancel.”

I definitely wouldn’t want to go to a high school reunion, so I can sympathize. “Well, I’m glad you’re buying ice cream for a celebratory reason, at least. Though were you planning to poison everyone who has a nut allergy?”

“Yeah, then I could save all the ice cream for myself.” He chuckles. “Why are you here? Do you have a party?”

“No, I got fired today.” I raise the pint like a champagne glass at a wedding. “I’m surprised the news hasn’t splashed all over Twitter yet.”

“I don’t check social media much, so I wouldn’t know.” He pulls out his phone from the pocket of his ever-present denim jacket. At least, it’s always slung over his shoulders in paparazzi pictures or whenever I see him, famed for its numerous patches. There are BuzzFeed articles dedicated to every decal on his jacket. One is of a black and white flower, another is one that I gave him as a gag gift for his twenty-fifth birthday. It saysCat Haters of the Worldon it.

“Wow. I thought you’d be on there all the time, reading your fan mail.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens Twitter. “Oh, I see, yep.Muse Unmaskedcreator has been unmasked. Poppy Black, sister of Ryder Black, has been revealed as the writer behind the popular gossip blog… Wow.That’swhat got you fired?”

“That, and my ex-boyfriend.” I sigh. “He revealed to the whole world thatI’mthe one who wrote that blog because he was jealous about how I didn’t spend enough time with him. That, and I didn’t give him free Ryder Black concert tickets.”

“Being a Ryder Black fan should’ve been the first red flag,” he says, but the mockery in his tone doesn’t reach his brown eyes. They’re warm, and sympathetic under the blue strands of hair falling over them. I’ve never asked him why he always dyes his hair the same shade of blue. It’s been that colour since we met. “Do you want help finding a new job?”

“I don’t know…” My shoulders slump as I open the pint of ice cream. “She told me I’d never work in fashion again, and for all I know, she could be right.”

“You have your gossip blog.” He nudges me under the table, his foot brushing mine. It shouldn’t make me feel like a spark of electricity is jolting through my veins, reviving me from my sluggish state. But it does.

“I never wanted that to be my career… It just got out of control, you know? Like a giant, flesh-eating plant or something.” I shrug and take a bite of minty freshness mingled with the sweetness of chocolate and the faintly bitter aftertaste. “I’ve created Frankenstein’s Monster. In a blog.”

“Well, I’m sure a lot of celebrities would agree that it’s a monster,” he says.

I look up from my ice cream and gently punch him in the arm. “And here, I thought you liked it when I exposed the scandals of your arch-nemeses and wrote glowing news tidbits about your life.”

“I’m not sure if I’d call it news tidbits when you have a running column tracking all my temporary tattoos, but I won’t say I complained about that.” Naoya leans back in his chair. “You have always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“Thank you,” I say with a melodramatic bow. At least, as melodramatic as it gets when you’re sitting down. “But you’re the one who helped me with the blog.”

“And I’ll miss your weekly tally of how many temporary tattoos I’ve had and speculations on how many more I will have in the future. I’m the one who sent you anonymous hot tips about my tattoos, you know.” He grins, and my heart does a strange twist.

“Oh, it was pretty obvious when the email address wasNaoya Sugaawa’s Biggest Fan 479 at gmail.com,” I say with a giggle.

Overhead, the air conditioning hums as it kicks in, sending gusts of cold air down my spine. In my haste to get out of the office, I left my box of stuff in my truck and came directly to Scoops, but now I wish for my comfy UCLA hoodie.

Naoya sees me shivering and shrugs off his jacket. “Here.”

“Thanks.” I wrap it around my shoulders, silently revelling in the warmth and his aroma as the soft, worn denim wraps around me. Tracing my fingers along one patch on the sleeve, I touch the insignia of a black and white flower. “Who knows, maybe now that I’m infamous, the next news headlines are going to wonder who I am to you.”

“A friend,” he says, running a hand through his hair and revealing another tattoo, this one of a potted plant next to his right thumb. “That’s what I thought we’d been for the past seven years. Right?”

Chapter Two: Naoya Sugawa

A friend.

As I sit across from Poppy Black, waiting for her response while she digs her spoon into a cup of mint ice cream, I wonder if I’ve ever actuallyhada female friend. I’m not sure. Usually, something always goes awry. One of us gets attached and before I know it, I’m either fending off clingy, emotional girls or trying to get them to agree to my one-and-done terms.

“Right.” She nods, spooning ice cream into her mouth. “We’re friends.”

Friends. I am friends with Poppy because, with her, it’s different.Itbeing the usual hubbub about fame, celebrity, and the fear of my secrets being sold to the press (even if she was just exposed for having a celebrity gossip blog). Maybe because she’s half-in, half-out of my world, being the sister of an equally famous person (Ryder Black), or because the way we met was on equal footing when neither of us was famous enough to account for all sorts of strings. When I met her, I was a starving artist who bought clothes so I could wear them once and then return them so that I could pay my rent. Now, I have no trouble buying clothesorpaying rent.

---