Page 26 of Concerted Chaos

Tanner arrives an hour later, laden down with camera equipment, a bag of tortilla chips and a covered bowl.

“You said not to bring margarita mix, but I couldn’t show up empty handed,” he says, giving the bowl to me.

“Salsa?” I ask, peeling back the lid to peer at the contents. “Is it homemade?”

“Van made, technically.” He flashes his cheeky grin. I hate when he does that. It makes me like him more, and I don’t want to like a paparazzo.

Out of habit, I take the bag of chips and read the ingredients.

“They’re organic.” There’s a defensiveness to his tone. “I figured someone like you would be picky about those sorts of things.”

“Someone like me?” Is this another rich people dig?

He seems to realize he came across as rude. “I meant because you’re super health conscious.”

“I was checking for peanuts,” I explain. “We can’t let anything into the house that was even processed in a factory that also processes peanuts.” Fortunately, the chips are clean. Otherwise, I would have sent them back out to his van. Even when my brother is out of town, we don’t take risks.

“You’re allergic?”

“Powell is.” Tanner must be the absolute worst paparazzo. After being in our home a couple of times and meeting my brother, he’s still done absolutely no research. Powell’s allergy is common knowledge. He’s appeared in multiple allergy awareness campaigns. He’s also been hospitalized twice, though not in the time I’ve known him. I’m militant about policing food products. There will be no anaphylaxis on my watch.

“Good to know. You ready to start shooting?” He’s starting to collapse under the weight of his equipment. He brought fancy lights and everything.

“Of course.” I’m kind of offended he asked. Has he not looked at me? I’m wearing a tasteful modest dress in a solid color that will photograph well. My hair is brushed smooth, and I’ve put on some light makeup. Not much, but enough to cover the zit on my forehead and make my eyes stand out. What more does he want me to do?

“You look nice,” He gives me a belated compliment and adjusts the load in his arms. “Did you decide what you want?” Oh, I can choose the pose, too? I’m not sure if this makes him good at his job, or bad at it.

“Follow me.” I lead him into the dining room. I’ve gotten every printed picture of Jace and me and fanned them out over the table. They go back years. Some are framed. Some just came off the printer in the past half hour. Some are cut out of magazines, like the full page spread from the time I went as Jace’s date to the Kid’s Vote Awards. That one conveys the illusion of couplehood, the way Jace is whispering in my ear, and I’m laughing. Our stance looks intimate and loving, though in truth he was telling me a long-winded story about some backstage shenanigans that ended in Devon covered in the contents of a shrimp platter.

Tanner lets out a low whistle upon seeing the layout. “So the rumors are true then? You are Jace’s long lost love?”

“You sound like you didn’t believe it before. What, you don’t think someone like him could fall for someone like me?” I’m bristling a little. I’ve heard all of those types of insinuations already, every time I ever went out in public with Jace. Yes, I know basic internet rules: never read the comments sections. But sometimes I can’t help myself, and then I’m reminded of how many hateful trolls there are in the world.

“I didn’t mean to imply that. It’s just you’re so ... so...” he hesitates and runs a hand through his messy hair. It’s not intentionally stylishly messy either, more like someone who’s been in a van all morning.

“So what? So not good enough?”

“That’s not it at all. You’re ... you are definitely good enough. I meant that even though you say you prefer hiding out in the background and avoiding attention, you’re not a wallflower. If you wanted Jace, you’d have had him. You wouldn’t let a chance like that pass you by.”

He’s right. If I’d ever thought Jace was serious, and if I’d felt the same way, I would have jumped on the opportunity. I didn’t love him like that though. But if I ever admit it, I’ll be destroyed, I’ll be the monster that coldly smashed Jace’s heart. I owe it to his memory to pretend. Better to be the pining lost love than the emotionless robot I fear I might be.

“Jace and I were close friends, and I did love him.”

“You did?” Tanner studies my face with those luminous green eyes. I’m beginning to suspect they’re his natural color.

“Jace left me his music. He said what he wanted to say. Can we leave it at that? I don’t owe anybody an explanation of our relationship. It was what it was, and we were both content with how things worked out.” Well, one of us was.

Tanner looks like he doesn’t agree with what I’m saying, but he doesn’t have to. He just needs to shut up and take the photo. Then we can finally jump in the pool, which is where I really want to be right now.

“Alright, I’ll take your word for it. Now, let’s see what we can do.” Tanner goes into portrait photographer mode. He adjusts the curtains to optimize the light coming in, he rearranges the chairs. He even gets some props from the living room to make the space appear softer—in his words—and homier. I have to sit at the table, staring into the distance, surrounded by pictures. I know whoever buys this from him is going to blow the image up and analyze everything visible in the scattered photos, so I make sure the best ones are closest to me. It’s not that I’m vain, but I do know what internet trolls target and want to minimize their criticisms.

Afterward, he loads the images onto his laptop and starts moving through them until he finds what he wants. I’m floored by how stunning it is. My expression appears haunted and sad, yet somehow hopeful. I’m not sure how he did it since I’m quite certain I don’t actually look like that. He’s a magician, I guess.

“Let me send this to my agent, and then we can relax,” he suggests. He’s been casting longing glances out the window toward the pool.

“I get a cut, right?”

He frowns. “I hadn’t thought about that, but it seems fair. You did a lot of the work.”

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