Halfway Perfect

by Julie Cross

  He looks up from his phone. “Eve Castle!” Triumph fills his voice, like it’s fucking Final Jeopardy and he’s correctly answered the million-dollar question: This female model mysteriously left the industry at the brink of superstardom.

  Ding, ding! Who is Eve Castle?

  I should have faked food poisoning the second I arrived at Seventeen’s headquarters.

  “Please keep your voice down,” I bark at Alex. I lift my camera in front of his face. “Eve Nowakowski. Photography student. Columbia University. Not a model.”

  He ignores my response. “What happened to you, anyway?” he asks. “Must have been something big for you to take off like that.”

  “I’m sure you’ve already got ideas, right?” I can’t hide my frustration. There were hundreds of stories claiming to know why I left, but none of them were true. “Which story did you read? Drug rehab? Teen pregnancy? Psychotic episode? It’s not like I’m going to be able to pitch a new version to you.”

  He shrugs and lowers my camera so it’s waist high. “Whatever. I never believe that tabloid shit anyway.”

  And just like that, he walks away, leaving me stunned. A few moments later a voice startles me by saying my name. I turn around to face Janessa. I can’t tell how long she’s been standing there, but if she heard my conversation with Alex, there’s nothing I can do about it now.

  She holds out her hand. “Let’s see if these photos of yours are worth the shit I’m getting from the producer.”

  My heart is still racing as I hand over the camera. I don’t even stop myself from biting my nails as she looks over my work.

  Her eyebrows lift. “I can see why Professor Larson likes you so much. You’ve actually given him something worth criticizing, unlike most of the students he’s forced to pretend are talented.”

  Did Janessa Fields just call me talented? And wait…my photos are worthy of criticism from my professor—and that is a good thing?

  “Thanks,” I mumble, not sure how to handle this maybe compliment. “I’ll put my camera away now. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

  “If anyone asks, I just reprimanded you and forced you to delete every one of those photos.” She winks at me before returning to work.

  I walk back toward the makeup and hair area. My footsteps seem overly loud. Then I realize most of the crew and models are glaring at me. My face heats up again, but I’m sort of relieved, because I know it’s my taking photos that’s gotten everyone hot and bothered, not my identity.

  There’s space to lean against the wall several feet behind Janessa. I set my bag on the floor, holding up my empty hands as if to say, I’m done, no more pictures. Then the room is in motion again. Several of the models return to whatever it was they were doing. Janessa and the producer are looking over pictures on the monitor while the intern girl scribbles notes furiously.

  I close my eyes for a second, taking in a slow deep breath. Today’s emotional roller coaster has already exhausted me and it’s only 11:00 a.m.

  “So…?”

  My eyes fly open. “College Eve, right?” A blond-haired, blue-eyed model who’s practically the only person in the room not glaring at me is now in front of me, initiating conversation.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I say.

  “I’m Finley.” Her hair is curled perfectly, her makeup a mask over flawless skin. She’s shorter than me. Probably only five seven or five eight. Not a runway girl like Elana and me. “I’m not in the least bit concerned about having my picture taken without authorization, but I prefer Instagram. Tumblr tends to add ten pounds.”

  I laugh. “No tweeting or tumbling, I promise. But I might send them to an old professor who loves to study human subjects in photos for a living.”

  “Just so long as you split the profits with me.” She bends down to smooth the hem of her dress, which has flipped upward. “You’re here for a school paper, right?

  “Yeah, I’m writing about Janessa. She’s a former student of one of my professors.”

  “That’s awesome. I’ve never heard of Janessa before today, but everyone here has been going on and on about how famous and important she is,” Finley says. “I’m just loving the fact that she hasn’t yelled at me, made me take my top off, or told me to suck in my gut. It’s nice to get direction that I can actually follow.”

  Unfortunately, I know exactly what she means. “Are you in college? Or high school?”

  I shift from one foot to the other, regretting the question. Finley watches me and grins. “It’s hard to tell with us girls, isn’t it? I just graduated in June, but I’m saving up before college. Hopefully only a year. It’s been a little depressing though. All my friends are off at school and call me to tell me about their roommates and dorm food and all that. I wish that’s what I was doing too. But you, you’re living that life.”

  “Sure am,” I say. “Where do you want to go?”

  “I’ve always loved NYU. My parents met there. Can you imagine taking out four years of student loans for NYU tuition and with no high-paying corporate job planned?”

  Actually, I have calculated student loans for Columbia’s steep tuition, and I only got to adding five years of interest and payments before nearly passing out. “You’d have to be really passionate about your studies.

  She laughs really hard. “Exactly. Which is why I’m here. My dad says he’ll get a loan or figure out something, but I don’t want to put that burden on him. Not if I have a way to make my own money. What’s a year in the long run anyway, right?”

  Clearly we have very different families. Her dad wants to bend over backward for her, and my parents prefer to live on their daughter’s modeling checks.

  “Where’s the perky blond girl?” Frankie shouts, turning slowly around the room.

  “Finley,” Janessa says with her eyes still on the monitor.

  Finley nods toward Janessa, flashing me another smile. “See why I like her?”

  Finley walks over to set, again pausing by Alex. The two of them chat for a few seconds and he pulls out his phone again and punches in a number. Her number.

  I let out a breath and then close my eyes, this time getting a full four minutes of calming solitude before being interrupted again.

  “They’re still talking about you and your paparazzi moves over there.” Alex laughs softly. “And I thought today would be boring as hell.”

  Alex is the only person in the room to recognize me, and he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to spread the gossip, so I decide it’s safe to talk to him. “Glad I could entertain you with my humiliation.”

  I smile to myself. It’s just like Janessa said, find something good to use as a focal point and leave the destruction in the background. Guess I don’t need to go too far to learn that lesson.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks me.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “Today is royally fucked up. And after a certain level of fucked-upism, it becomes funny.”

  “Fucked-upism,” Alex repeats. “Is that a real word?”

  “Yeah, they teach it at Columbia. It’s in the Ivy League dictionary.”

  Alex laughs and our eyes meet for a second before we shift our gaze toward Elana, who is getting a new outfit for the next set of photos.

  “You know, I bet Elana is pretty entertaining,” I say, just to test him. Maybe I’m flirting. I’m not sure, but it’s kind of nice, whatever it is. He’s nice and nice to look at too.

  He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, totally. I’m thinking about surprising her with One Direction tickets.”

  “Very age appropriate,” I say, surprised by his sarcasm. “It has been quite a day for you, hasn’t it? You’ve been the center of the gossip, got to aid in my humiliation, solved a crucial fashion industry mystery, and got digits from the hot blond model.”

  He scratches the back of his head, confused for a second, before gla
ncing toward set, then back at me. “You mean Finley? I didn’t get her number to ask her out or anything.”

  I have no idea why I even brought this up, but at least we’re not talking about Eve Castle. “Why not? She’s nice. She might be the only nice person here.”

  Alex’s eyebrows lift and he leans against the wall beside me, lowering his voice. “I know she’s nice. I’ve worked with her before. Plus we run into each other at the gym all the time. But that girl’s got a fortress around her. I guess because you’re a chick you can’t see it.”

  I look over at Finley, as if expecting to see an actual barrier surrounding her. Does that mean I don’t have a fortress? If Alex mentioned hers, then I must not have one. “A fortress, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he says like it’s common knowledge. He’s talking about another girl but his eyes are glued to mine. It’s the kind of stare that makes me blush. “My guess is she’s either Mormon or she’s one of those girls who’s happily in love. Probably had the same boyfriend since seventh grade or something.”

  “You’ve thought about this a lot?” I ask, teasing. Yes, teasing. Which is a type of flirting. My outgoing sophomore roommate, Stephanie, would be proud if she could see me right now. Actually, she’d probably be wedging herself between me and shirtless Alex. Can’t say I’d blame her.

  He shrugs, completely shameless. “It’s always good to analyze people’s potential motivations.”

  “If I were you, I’d be analyzing the reason why everyone here seems to think you and the One Direction lunch-box carrier over there are an item.” I wave my hands out in front of him, tracing an imaginary box. “I’m seeing a fortress around you when it comes to Elana.”

  Alex turns serious again and lowers his voice. “How did you know her age? I’m not even supposed to know.”

  “Honestly, just a lucky guess. I started modeling at fourteen, and I remember how it was to play it down or up. But she looks fourteen when she doesn’t think anyone is watching.”

  Alex’s gaze stays on mine. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  I’d rather be wrong. I’d rather Elana be eighteen or even sixteen, but honestly, I’m going to leave here in a couple of hours and, I hope, never see these people again.

  Though, now that I know he’s nice, I wouldn’t object to an occasional billboard sighting of Alex in boxer briefs.

  Chapter 4: Alex

  October 2, 11:20 a.m.

  Okay, so I got totally curious despite my noble declaration to Eve about not believing tabloid lies, and I gave myself sixty seconds to quickly scroll through the search results still open on my phone before I walked over to talk to her. The headlines alone provided a sea of information…

  Teen Model Sensation Disappears the Day Before Shooting Huge Gucci Campaign

  Design.com

  Sixteen-year-old star model Eve Castle must have taken a hard hit to the head or swallowed a handful of crazy pills. After beating veterans and newcomers alike to win over top Gucci designers and execs for a career-launching campaign, she’s vanished from New York, and the label is now scrambling to replace her and prep for their shoot tomorrow…

  Diva Model Leaves Designers Empty-Handed

  Vogueonline.com

  Eve Castle is nowhere to be found, and Vogue was unable to get a statement from her agency, One Model Management…

  Runaway Teen Model Suspected to Have Checked Herself Into Drug Rehab

  Fashionreporter.com

  Insiders are reporting that the young star who abandoned Gucci earlier this week is, in fact, suffering from addiction and is now residing in an unknown drug rehab facility…

  One Model Management Makes Statement on Teen Client’s Behalf: Is There Such a Thing as Too Young in the World of Fashion?

  New York Times

  Wes Danes, the agent who’s responsible for launching teen model Eve Castle’s career, says he was just as astonished by the sixteen-year-old’s disappearance as we all were. “If she was having problems, I wish she would have come to me first,” Danes says. The agency’s head, Josh Valentine, was not as kind as Danes. “Yes, I’ll admit, there were early signs of a breakdown…she’d become unstable and an emotional train wreck but we saw no evidence of drug use or eating disorders…if we had, of course we would have contacted her parents and gotten her help,” Valentine says. “None of us want to see a young girl fall like that…the agency takes every precaution to protect these girls.”

  A One-On-One With Teen Model Sensation Eve Castle

  Seventeen.com

  She’s only fifteen years old, but already she’s managed to snag the attention of designers like Prada, Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren…Seventeen editor Jillian Martin sat down to talk to the young star about how she got started and what she’s experienced so far in the world of fashion…Jillian even talked her into sharing some of her photos from her summer in Europe, and Seventeen was so impressed we’ve included them in this issue along with Eve Castle’s candid and enlightening responses…

  The last headline I’ve actually seen before, and it’s the reason Eve looked familiar to me today. A couple of months ago, I was at a cocktail party at Seventeen’s office, and I didn’t know anyone there except Wes, so when he walked away to talk to someone, I got bored and scanned the cover photos plastered all over the hallways, one of which featured a younger me. Some girl walked up beside me and pointed to the issue next to mine and started rambling on and on about a girl who bailed on Gucci and hasn’t been seen since. But I couldn’t remember the name of the girl. Plus, the picture I saw of Eve on that cover was a much younger version of the girl at the shoot today, which is why it didn’t click instantly.

  So, of course, I had to talk to her and see if I could fill in the missing gaps. Now I’m in the middle of a conversation with Eve Castle—correction—Eve Nowakowski. Who I now can label as the last female model Wes Danes ever represented. I bet he lost a bunch of contacts when she bailed, burned some bridges and couldn’t make up for it on the girl front and had to switch to repping guys. Good for me, I guess. But they were talking earlier. That must have been tense.

  “What exactly are you doing here?” I ask Eve, still deciding if I’m going to turn this conversation into flirting. She’s given me tiny hints of it, but nothing obvious and over the top. But solving the mystery is throwing a cloak over any other objectives. “If you’re trying to hide, this isn’t exactly the best place.”

  “No shit.” She closes her eyes and lets out a breath before opening them again. “It’s just the way my life goes, I guess. The second I think I’ve got everything figured out, I’m at a photo shoot for Seventeen. Janessa is a former student of one of my professors, and he thought I might like to observe her for this artist profile paper I’m writing.”

  “And you had no idea where that observation would take place,” I finish for her.

  “If I had known, I would have made up a really good excuse.”

  The conversation is halted when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Even though I don’t usually do phone calls on a job, I glance at it quickly and see the name: Katie.

  My little sister.

  “Hey,” I say to Eve. “Can you cover for me for a minute? Just say I’m in the bathroom.” I figure she’ll go along with it, considering what I know about her.

  I dive behind the wall Eve and I had just been leaning against and answer my sister’s phone call, though I don’t know why she didn’t just text me like she usually does. At least five times a day.

  “Katie, what’s up?”

  “I need a favor,” she says, almost whispering.

  I’m immediately suspicious. “Are you calling from school?”

  “Yeah. I need you to get me out of advanced algebra,” she says, sounding a little louder and a little more desperate. “It’s social suicide, and you know Mom won’t listen to me. All you have to do is call my counselor and say
you’re Dad—”

  “No.”

  “Please, Alex…please…I’ll write and mail all your birthday and Mother’s Day cards for the next four years…please.”

  I feel the tiniest bit of sympathy for her because she must really not want to be in that class, but I’m still not doing it. “Why don’t you ask Brad? He’s the expert on cheating and forgery.”

  “Because he’s not my favorite brother,” Katie says. Manipulative little suck-up. “Like Brad and Jared know anything about social suicide. They’ve never even been in the general vicinity of it.”

  True. But I’m slightly offended that I don’t get the same label. “I’m not even sure you deserve to be in advanced math. You obviously haven’t thought this through. All the school phones have caller ID, and don’t you think your counselor will be suspicious of your dad calling from a New York City area code? Plus, what are you going to tell Mom and Dad when it’s report card time and your grade is for the wrong class?”

  “You suck,” she says with a groan.

  “Sorry.” I smile down at the floor, trying to keep it out of my voice. “Go back to your nerd math class. I promise you, in four years the threat of social suicide will be completely dissipated.”

  “I hate you.”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “I know. But can we talk about how much I suck later? I’m working right now. I thought someone died. That’s the only reason I answered the phone.”

  “You’re working? Where? For who?”

  “It’s just a shoot for Seventeen.”

  “Oh my God, that’s awesome. What issue?” She’s temporarily forgotten to hate me for not lying and cheating for her. Honestly, if I actually thought it would have worked, I’d have considered it. It’s not like she’s dropping out. And in our high school, smart math is kind of social suicide. At least for someone like Katie who’s already on the cusp of dork status due to being a bit of a shrimp, plus glasses and braces.

  “I’m not sure which issue. I’ll let you know when I find out. Now go to class and learn something—like how to do my taxes. That would be useful.”