Page 66 of Crew Princess
Tell us about the crew system.
What do you dislike about the crews?
What do you enjoy about the crews?
This was my worst nightmare.
I looked up at the name of the entire goddamn project:The Crew Gang World.
I felt dizzy, seeing spots. Air particles were swimming around, and my skin was too hot for me. I had to get out of there. I had to—
“Are you ready?”
Becca’s chirpy voice grated through my panic, and I lifted my head. My hands gripped her clipboard. My knuckles were white. I was going to break it if I didn’t get myself controlled.
What to do? What to do?
This was going to happen with or without me.
I had to stop it. I had to. They would get us wrong. We’d be crucified, vilified. I gulped, a lump forming in my throat. I saw the hate that came out against Channing’s celebrity friends. There was love and adoration, but so much hate too. We’d be worse. We weren’t a success story, an adoring couple that had beautiful children.Gang World. That’s the title they were going with.
“Okay.” Becca was so fucking calm and smooth. Why was she calm?
I swallowed, feeling myself starting to choke, and then I heard a murmur of voices and the lights went off. The spotlight flashed on and smack in the middle, on a tall chair perched in front of the camera, was Tabatha.
“It’s roll time.”
Becca leaned forward on her stool, and she was so warm, so soothing, almost seductive as she asked her first question. “Are you a little nervous?”
I shoved Tabatha up against the dryer in the bathroom. “What the hell was that?!”
I was in her face. I didn’t care.
I was the bully. I was threatening. I was fulfilling all the stereotypes, but I was livid, and underneath all of that…I was scared.
Terrified.
My hands shook—the aftermath of having to sit there the whole time as Becca took her time. She chatted with Tabatha. Made her laugh. Made her sigh. Little by little, Tabatha relaxed. She got comfortable. She felt sorry for Becca as she told her stories about her childhood. She felt connected to Becca, and I caught the gleam in the young producer’s eye. All that shit she was saying, I didn’t think any of it was true. It didn’t matter. It served its purpose, and after building rapport, Becca started in with the real questions.
Once they were done and Tabatha left, I announced a need for the bathroom. I was hot on her trail, and I’d grabbed her arm and shoved her into the bathroom as soon as I got a chance.
The third-period bell rang, and someone tried to open the door. I shoved it back, kicking the door stand underneath it.
“Hey!” came a voice from the other side.
“Use a different bathroom. This one is busy.”
“I’m going to be late.”
“You’re already late. Get lost!”
She did. I heard her bitching, but she left. The squeak of shoes faded, and I turned, feeling like a predator with my prey. But I didn’t want to eat Tabatha. I wanted to rip her to pieces.
I stepped back. “You have one minute to spill everything. One minute!”
Tears were already rolling down her face, but she wasn’t wiping them. She had balled her sleeves into her fists, and she raised them, then slid down the wall until she hit the floor with a thud. I didn’t think she even noticed.
“I—I had to, Bren! You weren’t arrested! They didn’t make you sign that paper! I had to sign it! I had to.” She was blabbering, just the way she had been for the last hour, spilling secret after secret of the crew system to those cameras. I’d grown nauseous as I listened, but also cold and hard. I was a murderous robot by the end, and my anger had found its target.
