Page 26 of If My Wishes Came True
I never in a million years imagined I would go viral.
The moment I’m done watching the video, my phone ringsagain.
It’s Katie. When I answer the call, she’s crying.
“Oh my gosh, Katie, are you okay?” I wonder if she’s upset because it’s hervideo, yet I’m the one getting all the attention. I wouldn’t blame her. It would be like middle school birthday parties all over again, where the guys hovered around me, instead of the girl blowing out the candles.
“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, Jenna,” she says in between sobs. “Lola…Piper…tweeted…the link…to…my…video!”
Then she screams.
“Wait, are you kidding?” I ask, although I have a distinct feeling she’s not.
Katie sniffles. “No, it’s true! Lola said, and I quote, ‘Love theNightfalltheme, Katie and Jenna! Xoxo.’ Can you believe it? This is the best day of my entire life!”
Oh. My. God.
The rest of the week is chaos. My phone’s ringing off the hook, I’m getting text messages from guys I haven’t seen or spoken to in years, wanting to “meet up for coffee.” I have dozens and dozens of requests from potential clients who want to book me. The designer of the bodycon dress I wore wants me to model for them at New York Fashion Week. And BuzzFeed calls me to get quotes for an article they’re writing: “Bombshell Interior Designer is More Than Just Her Looks.”
I should be happy. I’m being applauded for my talent for once (although it never would have happened if Katie’s younger brother hadn’t forwarded the video to every horny nineteen-year-old guy he knew). But instead, I feel more confused thanever. I have enough interest in my business to book myself through the end of the year and beyond, but the thought makes my stomach churn.
As a designer, I’m bound by my clients’ preferences. I can be creative, butonly within the confines of whattheywant. That’s why painting feels so freeing to me. I guess it’s no wonder I crave that freedom so much, since my dad took it away from me when I was little.
Thank goodness I have painting class today. I’m sure a few hours with a brush in my hand will help take my mind off this madness. While I do have all the art supplies I need at home now, I haven’t started painting there yet, because I’ve been so distracted by my pinging phone—and thoughts of Charlie Sutton. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s the one person I haven’t heard from this week.
“Hey, superstar!” Vanessa says with a beaming smile when she walks into class fifteen minutes late, after a busy day at work. We’ve talked and texted plenty since I blew up the Internet on Wednesday, but the last time I saw her was nearly a week ago, at Tati Marie’s party.
I chuckle but roll my eyes. “I still can’t believe this is happening.”
“You know what?” Vanessa says as she pulls back her long braids and twists them into a bun. “I was so distracted by your sudden celebrity that I forgot to ask how your coffee date went last weekend.”
I sigh—heavily.
Vanessa cringes. “That bad, huh?”
“Not bad at all.” I shake my head. “It was amazing, actually.”
“So, why the sad face?”
“Because…I freaked out.” I put down my paintbrush and turn toward her. “Charlie’s the type of guy I could see myself in a serious relationship with. But, that’s not what I’m looking for.” When Vanessa gives me a disbelieving look, I add, “Right now,” to appease her.
“Evenifthat were true, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, Jenna. I mean, you just met this man, and you’ve only been on one date. Is it possible you’re projecting?”
I laugh as I pick up my paintbrush again. “Spoken like a true therapist.” Vanessa has a master’s in social work, and provided therapy at a counseling center in New York before she took on her role at the refugee resettlement agency.
Vanessa chuckles. “It’s hard to turn off, sometimes. All I’m saying is, maybe you’ve built this guy up in your head, without getting to really know him first. You said he’s hot, right?”
If I hadn’t already finished my self-portrait, I’d need a lot of pink for my cheeks right now. “He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.”
She nods. “Well, that explains it. You’re blinded by his looks. You see this guy who’s perfect on the outside, and you assume he must be perfect on the inside, too.”
I perk up and have to fight off a giddy grin. “So you think I should go out with him again? Get to know him better?”
Maybe my friend is right. If Charlie isn’t as perfect as I imagine, I might be able to keep things casual with him after all.
Vanessa shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt, could it?”
The following morning, I jump out of bed as soon as my eyes blink open. I shower, get dressed, and make myself some eggs with multigrain toast. And coffee, of course.
