“We do not.” If this lasts much longer, I’ll combust from the tension.
“I’ll tell Ms. Grant.” Based on his smile, it’s an empty threat.
“I wonder if eye-contact love works through video chat.” I think about Poppy and Brayden, and seize an opportunity to change the subject.
Rafael sits back in his chair and considers my words. “I doubt it. You have to really know someone to fall in love with them. I don’t believe in falling in love through the internet.”
“I’m pretty sure there are millions of people in happy relationships that would have a different opinion on the matter.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m not knocking internet dating. There’s nothing wrong with meeting someone online. But it can’t stop there. You have to get to know the other person in real life. You have to do this kind of stuff.” He gestures between us.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, and it takes me several seconds to get out a few strangled words. “This kind of stuff? You mean class assignments, or . . .”
Rafael laughs. “Eye contact. Sitting in the same room. Kissing. The physical stuff. It’s important.”
I nearly slip sideways out of my chair. I grip the hard edge of the desk to keep my composure and remind myself that Rafael finds amusement in knocking me off kilter. This is not about wanting to do physical stuff with me, it’s about saying something surprising and watching me squirm. But that doesn’t mean I have to.
I flash him a cool smile. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with internet dating or long-distance relationships or anything. If you find someone you like, and they like you, isn’t that all that matters?”
Ms. Grant cuts him off before he can respond. “Time’s up! Most of you did a fine job, although I doubt any of you were able to go the whole five minutes without breaking eye contact. It’s not an easy thing to do, but it’s an important skill to learn. Tonight. Go home. Practice. Have a conversation with someone. Look at them, not a screen.” The bell rings. “Have a good day.”
Rafael waits for me at the door. It’s nice, having someone to walk with again. I spent the last few months convincing myself I was fine without the swim team. Without my old friends. But as Rafael holds the door open for me and we fall into stride next to each other, I realize it was one of those lies you tell yourself when the truth is too painful to handle. Rafael is a rainy day at the end of an unbearable drought. Unexpected, refreshing, and enchanting.
Just like yesterday, he is completely at ease in his new surroundings, nodding to people he’s barely known twenty-four hours. If I wasn’t so baffled, I might be annoyed at how seamlessly he’s slipped into the part of Highland High School senior. He’s like Poppy, with the exception that his smile seems sincere.
“How do you do that?” I ask after he greets some guy whose name I can’t even begin to guess. “You’ve been here, what, a day? And you’re already best friends with everyone.” It’s half compliment, half accusation. It’s possible the enchantment is slipping.
“It’s a learned habit. When you move countries every twelve months, give or take, you get pretty good at meeting new people. I wasn’t always like this. I used to waste the first six months in a new place being shy, then spend three months slowly making small talk. Then another three months actually making friends. And then it was time to leave again. I eventually realized if I want real friends, I have to cut through those first nine months and get to the good stuff faster. It’s like that experiment I was telling you about.”
“So, you’ll just tell random strangers everything about your life?” Like the information about his grandpa, or the fact that his mom abandoned him.
He shoots me a sideways glance. “Not ‘random strangers.’ I talk to people who seem cool. People I want to be friends with.”
Right. He has more in common with Poppy than I thought. Both of them willing to talk to anyone, about anything. He’s the exact opposite of me, basically. And he’s probably done this same shtick with different girls across the globe. A new one every year.
“But that’s the general idea,” he continues. “I’ll honestly answer any question about myself. It’s the only way to let people know me. Since I’m always the new kid, I’m at the serious disadvantage when it comes to breaking into existing friend groups.”
“Any question?” My mind races with possibilities. I could ask him about those other girls, or his most embarrassing moment, or his biggest fear, and he’d tell me? Here in the school parking lot? Gratuitous oversharing is not uncommon among my generation (or my mother’s, let’s be honest), but the distance provided by our screens keep us from being truly vulnerable. Rafael is the only person I know who is willing to look me in the eye while he spills his deep, dark secrets. Hypothetically, of course.
“Any question.” He stops abruptly at the door of an old Honda Accord and waits a beat, maybe to see if I’m going to take him up on his offer. He watches me with dark eyes, and it startles me how much I’m dying to know about this globe-trotting boy with no secrets. But if I start asking questions, he’ll probably do the same, and it’s a game I could never play. A few clicks online, and he’d have the ultimate advantage.
He breaks several long seconds of silence. “See you tomorrow.”
“Oh. I . . . uh . . . won’t be here.” My mind frantically searches for a believable excuse for my absence.
He rests his arm on top of his open door. “Why not?”
I’m taking a red-eye flight to New York Fashion Week to hang out backstage at Allegra Esposito’s show. I smile to myself, realizing any excuse will sound more believable than the truth.
“It’s Take Your Daughter to Work Day.”
Email from Allegra Esposito’s Assistant
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: NYFW
Dear Poppy and Claire,
Ms. Esposito would once again like to extend an invitation to her runway show at New York Fashion Week in September. Please RSVP as soon as possible so we can reserve your seats in the tent. As per previous conversations with your mother, understand that this invitation is directed at both of you, and respond accordingly. If one of you is unable to attend, we will be unable to accommodate the other.
Allegra will not have time to dress you in the tent this year. Your outfits will be shipped closer to the date of the show. If you find issues with the fit, alert me ASAP.
Ruby Costa
Personal Assistant to Allegra Esposito
New York Fashion Week.
For some people, it’s a lifelong dream. For me, it’s kind of an accident.
No, that’s not the right word. It’s more like an inevitability. Like this was always the plan, but no one stopped to ask if it was what I wanted. Until recently, I didn’t even bother to ask myself.
Poppy and I were fourteen the first year we were invited. Our YouTube channel was gaining hundreds of new followers every day, and people talked about us as actual, independent humans, separate from our fashion-blogging mom. We were no longer “Ashley Dixon’s twin daughters.” We were “Poppy and Claire. YouTube Famous.” Now, it doesn’t seem like such a distinction. At the time, it was everything.
We squealed over the invitation to Allegra Esposito’s runway show, where we would sit in the front row in custom dresses. She had us fill out a fashion profile with our measurements. But I was too lazy to double-check mine, copying the numbers on Poppy’s profile instead. We had been the same everything for so long, I didn’t think about it twice.
Until Allegra’s assistant tried to zip me into a dress that didn’t fit.
“Suck in your stomach.” Her Italian accent lengthened every vowel and consonant in the word ‘stomach,’ drawing attention from all eyes in the crowded room.
My stomach and hips and boobs were already sucked in a far as they would go, but I closed my eyes and willed myself to shrink as she tugged on the zipper. It didn’t budg
e. My armpits began to sweat all over Allegra’s custom gown.
At the time, all I could think was this was it. This was officially the most mortifying moment of my whole, overexposed life. This was how I would ruin the brand. By being too “fat” and too sweaty for high fashion, which I never cared all that much about anyway. I liked creating funny videos with Poppy and feeling like people valued my opinions. And I especially loved the way Mom smiled proudly as our numbers grew, but I was not on board with humiliating myself for the sake of one stupid dress.
Every inch of my skin burned with embarrassment as a flock of people gathered in a circle, discussing our options. In a last-ditch effort before scrapping the dress completely, a seamstress was able to let out the seams of the dress enough to zip it. By the end of the show, I was dizzy with lack of oxygen and desperate to get back into leggings and Converse. But first, Allegra’s social media intern insisted on pictures.
When we checked Allegra’s Instagram an hour later, a solo picture of Poppy graced her profile. My heart sank. Sure, I didn’t love the dress, or the experience of wearing it. But to come in second place to Poppy, in such a deliberate and public way, confirmed all my hidden fears. If I kept going down this path with her, I would never be good enough.
Poppy grasped her phone with both hands as she scanned the comments and likes. I could hear her thoughts as if she spoke them out loud. More exposure plus more engagement equaled more followers for us. For her. Her face fell as she continued to scroll. I peeked over her arm, trying to catch of glimpse of whatever nasty comment made her look so unhappy.
“Where’s your picture?” she demanded.
Well, Poppy, obviously Allegra didn’t think I was a good representation of her brand. Obviously, you looked better. Obviously, they like you more than me. I shrugged, hoping she wouldn’t make me say the words.
She stomped to the social media intern on the other side of the fashion tent and shoved the phone in her face. “Where’s Claire?”
“That was the best picture,” the too-tall intern said in a bored voice. She was at least a foot taller and five years older than either of us. But Poppy was undeterred.
“Allegra invited both of us. That’s our brand. If she doesn’t understand that, our entire family will find someone else to work with.”
They stared each other down for a full five seconds, but Poppy refused to flinch.
“Fine,” the intern sighed and clicked her long nails against the screen of her phone. Poppy returned and together we looked at the newly posted photo of me. My face was a little grimace-y, but it wasn’t terrible.
“Nice work,” a cameraman nodded at Poppy as he walked by. “You’ve got influence.”
“Influence.” Poppy repeated the word. Her small smile grew as she considered the concept. “That’s a synonym for power, right?”
I nodded.
“Good.”
Poppy’s photo raked in more likes than mine did. A lot more. But back in Arizona, away from the judgmental eyes of assistants and interns and photographers and seamstresses, it didn’t feel like such a big deal. It was easier to pretend we were still in this thing together, both of us pulling equal weight as we strived to climb the ranks of online influencers. Sometimes I regret not quitting that day in New York, when I had the chance. Before everything spiraled so far out of my control.
“You’re welcome.” Poppy flops into the seat next to me and flips the SkyMall magazine open to the first page.
I pull my gaze from the twinkly yellow grid outside my small airplane window, my thoughts returning to the present. “For what?”
“I knew if I ignored you for long enough in College Prep, you’d have to team up with Rafael. It’s not like you have any other friends. No offense.”
I adjust the air conditioning vent without looking at her. “Offense taken. Why’d you want me to partner with Rafael?”
“Because he’s hot and you’re lonely.” She says this as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m not lonely.”
“You’re lonely and in denial. Lovely.” She pauses to examine something in the magazine and then holds it up for me to see. It’s a bra that can be filled with wine, complete with a nozzle for easy drinking access. “For Mom?”
“Filled with Diet Coke.”
“Of course.” She returns to perusing the magazine.
“Do you think that’s why Rafael teamed up with me?” The thought of him partnering with me because I’m the pathetic girl who has no friends is beyond depressing. Then again, is it any worse than randomly choosing me to be his new best friend like drawing a piece of paper from a hat?
“Please. No. I saw the way he was looking at you during that ridiculous ‘The-Eyes-Are-The-Window-To-The-Soul’ assignment. You’re lucky I love you. I had to partner with Parker Evans.” She shudders.
“How was he looking at me?” Unless the expression is friend zone, it’s not one I’m familiar with.
“Parker? He wasn’t. He kept throwing spit wads at his friends and laughing like a six year old.”
“Not Parker! How was Rafael looking at me?”
“Oh.” She smiles. “I was right. You’re into him.”
“I’m not. And you still didn’t answer my question.” I’ll never understand how Poppy gets good grades. Getting her to focus on one topic is like trying to get a puppy to sit still for a picture.
She rolls her eyes and smacks on her gum. “He was looking at you, like, you know.”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
“He was looking at you like he wished he was looking at you with no clothes on.”
My faces flushes as Poppy cackles. A woman across the aisle shoots us a dirty look.
“I sometimes wonder how we’re even related.”
“You and me both.”
I turn back to the window as she gets absorbed in the magazine. “Like I said, I’m not interested in him.”
“Mm-hmm. Okay.”
“I’m serious! He’s too . . . friendly.”
She bolts upright in her seat with a murderous expression. “Did he do something to you? Did he make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No!” I realize immediately how I’ve made him sound, and that’s not at all what I meant. I search for the right way to explain what I’m feeling. When Rafael and I are talking, he has a way of making me feel like I’m the only one in the room. But that doesn’t mean anything other than the fact that he has a master plan for making people like him and no cell phone to divide his attention. “He’s just so nice to everyone he meets, all the time.”
She stares at me blankly. “And?”
“And . . . I don’t know, it’s weird.”
“You’d rather him be one of those conceited, hot guys that’s a jerk to everyone but nice to you? Or do you want him to be a jerk to you, also?”
I sigh. Of course, she wouldn’t understand, because she and Rafael are too similar. So I change the subject. Sort of. “I haven’t told him about the vlog yet. Or about Mom.”
“He doesn’t know?” Her mouth gapes open.
“Not everyone knows about us, Poppy. We’re not that famous.”
She shakes her head. “He’s going to find out eventually. Wouldn’t it be better if you told him yourself?”
“Probably.”
“Then why don’t you?”
“I don’t know . . . Don’t you ever get tired of having your life on display?”
“No. It’s an important step in our plan.”
I groan and let my head drop against the window. I hate “the plan.”
“Step one, conquer the internet. Step two, earn a buttload of money. Step three, and this is the important part, do whatever the hell we want. Literally. It’ll be so much easier to be a Girl Boss with your own computer company, or whatever, when you have the power and money needed to get there. And if we get to wear free shoes on our climb to the top, all the bette
r.”
“It’s not all free shoes.”
“I know. It’s also free dresses and bags and makeup. I don’t know why you always act like this life is such a burden. You didn’t seem burdened two summers ago when we visited Europe. In fact, you said it was the best summer of your life. Where do you think Mom got the money to pay for that trip?”
“She could get another job.” So could we, for that matter.
“Not making the kind of money she is now. That trip was a tax write-off because of the outfit photos we took. That’s how the business works.”
“There’s bad stuff too. You always pretend like there’s not.”
“I know. We all remember the time some jerk at school found the pictures of you online with your braces and your acne and your stuffed bra. The way you go on about that, I swear. Mom deleted the pictures after you freaked out. You have to give her a break.” Poppy jams the magazine back in its pocket and redirects the air conditioning back at me.
“Just because she deleted it doesn’t mean it stopped existing. Parker Evans took screenshots and kept them on his phone for the entire semester. But that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
Poppy doesn’t respond.
“You can’t pretend like it never happened,” I say.
“Actually, I can.” She claps her headphones over her ears and turns to face the aisle.
By the time a taxi spits us out in the heart of Lincoln Center the next morning, all is forgiven. Thrilled to be here at last, Poppy grabs my hand and pulls me onto the curb. We wind our way through massive crowds of people as we head straight for the tents of New York Fashion Week. Agoraphobia grips my chest as we get closer to the heart of the action and people jostle around us. I squeeze Poppy’s hand, and remind myself to take slow, deep breaths.
Mom, who left the hotel bright and early this morning, flags us down outside one of the biggest tents in the middle of the chaos. She beams at us as, but her face falters as we get closer.
Just for Clicks Page 5
