Page 92 of Backhanded Compliments

Juliette sits up so fast her head spins. The room is permeated with the scent of hair spray, grapefruit, and lilac.

Claudia holds out her phone. “Apparently the Licky stans think they’re fighting.”

“The what?” Juliette snatches the phone out of Claudia’s hand and scrolls through the feed. There’s a video of Luca and Nicky arguingover something, but it’s cut off by him being rushed off to do his media interviews.

“Luca and Nicky? Their ‘ship’ name. Kinda cute, I think,” Claudia says, plopping down on the bed next to Juliette.

“They have a ship name?”

Claudia groans. “Of course they do. If a man and a woman are best friends, the internet will immediately think they’re secretly madly in love.”

“Leo and I have one,” Octavia says from the vanity. She’s straightening her silky dark hair into elegant flips. “Leoctopus.”

“Gross,” Juliette says, and Octavia flips her off.

Juliette stares at the posts, scrolling through them without really seeing them. She clicks on the #juluca and frowns at the flood of tweets about the pictures from the other day on the boardwalk. “But wait, if people think Luca and I are in a relationship, this speculation isn’t just going to go away.”

@RowlandGarros

wait! jules and luca not clawing each other’s throats out? we keep winning #juluca

@luckyclaycic

bitch if we dont get another juluca interaction during the hard court swing imma lose it fr #juluca

@nickyssmile

y’all are clowns for thinking #juluca has a chance. #licky is the friends-to-lovers arc we want

“What does half of this even mean?” Juliette asks, thrusting Claudia’s phone back at her. “This was meant to be over.” She drops her head into her hands.

“Miami is built for things not to blow over,” Claudia says, patting her shoulder.

Juliette groans. “That does not help.”

“Octo! Do you have a red lipstick? Mine ran out.” Juliette doesn’t look up as Livia’s footsteps tap down the hall.

“Yep, come in,” Octavia calls, and the door creaks open.

Claudia gasps, and Juliette looks up in surprise.

“What the hell are you wearing?” The words fall out of Juliette’s mouth before she can stop them.

Her little sister, who is rarely seen out of her favorite sweatpants and oversize T-shirts, her hair always stuffed into a floppy and frizzy bun, is wearing a dress.

“Where did you get this? Wow, I didn’t know you had curves,” Octavia says, swiveling around to look at her.

Livia is in a slinky black dress, dripping from her silhouette and revealing more than Juliette ever expected to see. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, her usual frizzy mess tamed into bouncy ringlets.

“What? I’m going to the party.” She rubs her palms down her thighs, and Juliette blinks at the double slit that reveals her thigh on both sides.

“Not in that. No fucking way.” Juliette will not have her baby sister harassed by drunken tennis players all night.

Livia’s eyes narrow. “Yes, I am. Red lipstick, Octo.”

Octavia stares at her.

“I am an adult. I was invited to this party, and this is what I’m wearing. If you have a problem with it, too bad,” Livia says, her hand still open and expecting.

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