by Iris Blaire
I clear my throat. “I… uhh… I think I’m giving up the frump disguise.”
Delilah’s jaw drops and Dallas’s eyes brighten.
“Every girl should lavish in the fame of being a porn star once in her life.”
Dallas
Evan looks amazing.
Today, both of her personas are melded together. Her makeup is light but existent, and her dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders. She wears a modest t-shirt and not-so-modest miniskirt.
She’s said nothing on the ride to school. I’m hitching a ride with her, because my car’s still in the shop.
I wonder if she’s nervous.
“You look amazing,” I offer.
“Dallas,” she says my name weakly. “Do you think this is safe?”
“What do you mean?”
She pulls into a parking spot. “I mean, the entire campus has seen me naked. I feel—I don’t know—vulnerable.”
I lean toward her. “If anyone lays a finger on you, I’ll rip them in half. You know that, right?”
Her shoulders relax, and she smirks. “You big manly man, you.”
We get out of the car and I wrap my arm around her as we walk toward the science building. “First of all, you are kind of a terrifying person, so I’m pretty sure there aren’t many idiots who’d be willing to start something once you unleash that side of you.”
“Very funny.”
“Second of all, I’d bet that we’re both playing this out of proportion, and no one’s even going to recognize you today. I mean, this campus is huge. Not everyone can be familiar with the magazine.”
I’m wrong. So, so wrong.
Classes get out as we walk through the hall of the science building. Heads turn. Students cup their hands around their mouths as they whisper frantically to their friends. Her stage name bounces back and forth across the walls like a pin ball. “Holy shit, is that Rylan Willow?”
“I knew it,” someone hisses. It’s Brad, sporting two nasty black eyes. “I fucking knew it. Can’t fool me.”
To my surprise, Evan flashes him a huge smile. And then she lifts her hand and flips him off.
A group of boys near us chortle with laugher.
“See, this isn’t so bad.” I tell her.
“No, it’s not.”
A group of girls part their lips in surprise as they pass us. One even waves at Evan. She waves back.
“Actually, it’s kind of fun, she says.”
“Rylan,” some guy that I’ve never seen before in my life calls. “Nice to see you out and about today.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “You’re like a unicorn or something.”
Evan ignores me, flashing the stranger a smile. “I have some errands to run—transcripts to request. Professors to meet.”
“They order special services from you or something?” he winks at me.
My hands clench automatically. Several others have stopped to listen, and she has an audience now. They’ve all seen her on the page, but this is probably the first time they’ve ever heard her speak.
And, I should have guessed it, she handles herself like a fucking champ.
Evan laughs and flips back her hair. “Of course not, silly. I’m here to tell them the news. I just got into Harvard.”
As the group chews up the fact that their beloved pin-up girl is going to Harvard, her phone rings. She pulls it out of her pocket and presses it to her ear. “Hello?”
She listens for a bit, and then her eyes widen. She glances at me.
“Dallas,” she whispers excitedly. I can hear Britain’s frantic voice on the other end.
“What is it?”
“We did it. EPE is going national.”
Acknowledgments
To my husband, for putting up with this terrible addiction to writing that I have. I love you, baby.
To my girls, Sara and Eva, for being the best cheerleaders on the face of the planet.
And finally, to my readers. Thanks for making my job fun as hell. You guys are the best.
