Page 56 of How to Kiss a Movie Star
“You were groaning into your pillow like you got dumped the night before senior prom.”
“Terrible analogy,” Lucy says.
“Like you accidentally deleted all your white squirrel pictures,” Summer amends.
“Betteranalogy,” Lucy says.
“I think I’m just worried about how I’m supposed to gauge what’s real and what isn’t. He told me he had a lot of fun today. And even though he originally told me Joni was the one who would communicate with me about stuff, he’s the one who texted me the pictures.”
Summer takes a slow breath and closes her eyes. “I will not freak out that you have his number in your phone. I will not freak out that you have his number in your phone.”
Lucy nudges Summer, then shoots her ashut-uplook before she turns her attention back to me. “Audrey, I think you’re overthinking it. So you both had fun. That’s a good thing because you’re going to be spending a lot of time with the guy over the next couple of weeks. And so what if he’s the one who texted you? People text each other all the time.”
“She’s right,” Summer says. “But you still raise a valid question about discerning what’s real and what’s not. Have you guys talked about it at all? Set boundaries? Talked about expectations? About the rules?”
My mind drifts back to the sex conversation I had with Summer before Lucy showed up. “That all sounds very official.”
“You said yourself this was a professional arrangement,” Summer says. “It should be official.”
“Totally,” Lucy adds. “Like, you’re going to walk down the red carpet with him, right? But will he expect you to hold his hand? Kiss him?” Luckily, Lucy’s questioning doesn’t go quite as far as Summer’s did, but I’m still feeling like I need a break anyway.
I swallow against the tightness in my throat. “I’ll ask him,” I finally say. “I’ll make sure we talk about it.”
Summer squeezes my knee. “And otherwise, you’ll just try to have fun, right? You’ll stop overthinking.”
I stand and stretch, feigning a confidence I don’t really feel. “Me? Overthink? Never.”
“Did you say he sent you the pictures?” Lucy asks. “How did they turn out? Can I see?”
I grab my phone and take it over to my dresser, where I plug it in to charge. “You can see them once he posts them. Aren’t you cooking something right now? Do I smell something burning?”
“Oh, geez.” She jumps up and runs from the room, yelling as she goes. “Summer, make her show us the pictures!”
Summer lifts her hands in surrender. “I’m not making you show me anything. I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long, with all the talking we’ve made you do. I’m willing to cut my losses and see the photos with the rest of the world.”
“Thanks,” I say, feeling a surge of gratitude for my little sisters. There are a hundred things I don’t love about their nosy, bossy presence in my life—especially when they are so completely different from me. But I’ll be the first to admit it: the good definitely outweighs the bad.
The minute Summer is gone, I close and lock my door and grab my phone, returning to my bed.
I have some Flint Hawthorne interviews I need to Google, but I also need to respond to his text.
I look over the pictures one more time, then slowly key out a response.
Audrey:They look great. I’m fine with you posting these.
The message feels entirely too boring and bland, but what else can I possibly say? Before I can overthink it—you’re welcome, Summer—I send the message and collapse back onto my pillows like I just ran a marathon and finally get to rest.
I close my eyes, half-expecting Flint not to respond at all, but my phone buzzes before even a minute goes by.
Flint:Great. I’ll post them tonight. Can I give you a word of advice?
Audrey:Sure.
Flint:Don’t go looking for the pictures. If you have an Instagram account, don’t like the post. And most importantly, don’t read any of the comments. Lots of people have opinions, but I’ve learned that the ones I value will never be left in a public comments section.
Audrey:I don’t have an Instagram account, so this won’t be difficult, but I appreciate the tip. Do you mind if I ask you a question?
Flint:Anything.
