Page 61 of Make The Cut

I pull her toward me with her own lasso. “You’ll be singing a different tune.”

Sasha appears at the door, dressed as a vampire in a long, flowing black cape, plastic fangs, and dramatic, ghost-white makeup. Done up like this, there’s something about her that tugs at my mind again, making me wonder why she seems so damn familiar to me. Why can’t I figure out what it is?

“Hey, Poppy!” Sasha embraces Poppy. “Thanks for coming. It’s Naoya, right?”

“That’s me.” I flash her a smile that I usually give to red-carpet cameras. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Of course. I’m so happy you guys could make it. Are you, ah, expecting to see anyone you know?”

What a weird question. I try not to think too closely about what she might mean by it. Maybe she’s just assuming I’ll know people since I’m a celebrity and this is L.A.

“I hope not,” Poppy says with a laugh.

We move deeper into the party, toward the drinks table. I open a new pack of Solo cups and turn on the tap. I wonder how Sasha afforded to throw this party if she is, from Poppy’s account, a mere fashion assistant atLa Mode.

Just as I’m about to ask Poppy if Sasha is secretly some kind of trust fund baby or the ringleader of an international drug cartel, someone sloshes beer all over my costume.

”Hey!” I spin around, glaring at someone dressed as a centaur and holding a Coors Lite can.

I’m about to confront them, but they’ve already wandered back into the crowd, dancing obliviously and unaware of the harm they’ve inflicted on my Spiderman costume.

I make a face, groaning internally at the thought of having to wear a sticky, skintight costume all night.

As if reading my mind, Poppy turns to me. “I have an idea.

“I hope this turns out better than the time I was ferociously clawed by your coworker’s demonic cat.”

“Hey, that’s how we met.” A grin curves her mouth. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Already trying to seduce me, I see.”

She laughs, leading me by the hand toward the staircase and past the throngs of people.

“As long as we don’t run into any Ryder Black fans, we should be safe,” I say as we squeeze past a group of girls dressed in feline outfits, with face paint whiskers and fluffy tails. “Or cats. I don’t know which is worse.”

“Hey! I used to be a Ryder Black fan,” she says as we march up the spiral staircase.

“Yes, well, I don’t know how his fans feel about you now.”

She’s silent, and I wonder if I’ve said something wrong. Beneath the painted-on freckles and the red wig, Poppy seems… withdrawn. Pensive.

“What is it?” I say, nudging her with my elbow.

“Nothing,” she says, almost automatically. “I’m fine.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Sure you are.”

“Fine. I’m… just wondering if I messed up this whole thing with my brother on purpose. Like, maybe there’s a part of me that believes we were never going to get along in the first place, so I made sure he’d have a reason to leave me behind instead of just ditching me for the high life.”

“What do you mean?” I try to take in her words. Poppy, the girl I’ve known for the past seven years, has always been, well, bold. Taking what she wants from life. Standing by her friends and not backing down.

But the person she’s describing is a new side of her. Someone I haven’t had the chance to get to know all that well. Someone I want to know, for all her flaws and insecurities and mistakes.

“I’m saying… Maybe I sabotaged my relationship with my brother on purpose. Maybe I always thought that he was just going to leave me behind when he got famous, so I made sure that if he did, it would be on my terms, and not his.”

I absorb her words as we stand in a quiet corridor, the sounds of the party muffled. The sticky dampness of my costume clings to my chest, but I ignore it as I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. “C’mere, Red.”

“You’re going to get beer on me,” she says, but I hear the smile in her voice as she accepts my embrace, interlacing her fingers behind the small of my back.

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