hello i have returned on a very special day. today is my birthday. i am now officially 20. it is astounding. i feel old. anyway, happy birthday to me happy birthday to you here is an update.
your reviews are great and i want to reply to them all but once i get started i won't stop and i'd probably send you pictures of one direction and cry and then recount my concerts with you all - but! if you're going soon HAVE SO MUCH FUN I LOVED IT I LOVE ONE DIRECTION
(i bought their school supplies and i am using them. i am a junior in college. the COOLEST junior in college xo)
WELL here you go - this is the most exciting chapter yet.
.:. december 28th .:.
part II
Massie wrapped herself in a blanket cocoon, staring blankly at the TV across from her. She'd stomped her way home hours ago—literally stomped—but the time since then had done nothing to ease her disappointment. Read: pain.
It was getting easier for her to admit defeat, though. Skye was getting more and more elusive, her mother bitchier. They really didn't want to help her at all, so much so that they were treating her like a fan. Massie had no idea how they treated Skye's fans normally, but the fact that she slipped out the back of the restaurant only added insult to injury. They'd given those girls so much hope and then took it away from them—for what? Skye might have been going on hiatus for a while, but that didn't mean she had leave her fans high and dry.
And also Massie, who only wanted to save her job. She didn't even like Skye's music. It was very teeny-bopper.
She sighed. The program continued on in front of her without her knowledge until the credits were rolling and Massie was left confused. She wasn't even sure what happened and found herself upset she let herself become consumed with thoughts of her job, and Skye, and Skye ruining her life. And Skye's music. "Broken Crown" was stuck in her head, the bridge on a loop. It played over and over in Skye's falsetto. Massie wanted to die.
About to change Operation: Skye to Operation: Die, the buzzer rang, echoing through her apartment. Massie frowned, hopping up and hobbling over to keep her cocoon in tact and let whoever it was in. It was probably Alicia, or Dylan, or Claire, really. Any one of her friends. They had plans for dinner in about an hour.
She unlocked the door and waddled away, suddenly thirsty. Water would be nice. Or, like, eight shots of tequila so she could drop to the floor and stay there forever. Maybe that's what was happening right now. Maybe she blacked out two days ago and was having a very vivid nightmare, or a terrible reaction to the alcohol. Maybe she'd wake up and New Year's Eve had already passed… It was such a nice thought.
"Why do you look like you're headed to the Arctic?" Alicia demanded. The smell of her perfume surrounded Massie much like the blankets she was wrapped in, filling the room until all she could smell was the chocolate and vanilla notes.
"I'm hoping I suffocate soon," the brunette replied, turning in a circle to face her. "It's not working."
"You're not doing it right, that's why. You gotta cover your face," Alicia explained, as if this were totally normal.
Massie frowned. "Why are you dressed like that?"
"That" meaning skintight jeans, a sort of fancy, sort of slutty crop top, and some killer heels that brought Alicia to an even more towering—and imposing—height.
"I got a call from Kori that Kristen left a message about Skye making reservations for dinner at her club."
"Kristen owns a nightclub. Skye is eighteen."
"I know." Alicia nodded enthusiastically. "I think we've got our blackmail, Mass."
"How so?"
"She's going to Kristen's club. Probably without her mother. And if she wants to get in there, she either has a killer ID—which won't work because she's famous—or she's paying some serious money to get in."
"Won't Kristen get in trouble?"
"It's not like she's the one physically accepting the money, if that's what's happening. I'm sure it's the bouncer she's paying off."
Massie's lips pressed into a line. "And?"
"Aaaaand," Alicia started, "Kristen—I told her everything earlier—put us on the guest list. We're set for dinner in two hours and can follow Skye's every move."
The other, shorter girl freed her head from the blankets, feeling very, very hot. "So… you're saying we're literally going to spy on Skye Hamilton, famous singer, who currently hates me?"
Alicia clapped her hands together in excitement. "She'll be without her body guards, though, I'm sure of it. None of them will want to willingly go with her to do whatever this is because she's not allowed to. You can corner her, get her to sing, and save your job—and your sanity!"
"Does she have a history of sneaking off like this, though?" Massie scratched her nose. "Like, do you know anything about her going to nightclubs for dinner?"
"No. Like I said before, she's clean. So fuckin' clean. Whoever does her image and PR stuff is insanely good at their job." Alicia flipped her silky hair over her shoulder, giving Massie one of those patented looks of hers, like the next words out of her mouth were about to be so legendary Massie needed to be ready. "If we catch her doing something she shouldn't be, and we document it…"
"We can use it against her," breathed Massie. "She won't have anyone to speak for her. She'll have to make the decision herself. If we all gang up on her… she won't be able to say no."
"This is so exciting," Alicia said, "and I love Kristen's club. We never have to pay for anything."
"Only sometimes. We pay half usually."
Alicia waved her off, muttering something about technicalities and Massie always ruining the fun. "You need to get ready. You need to not look like you're preparing to live in an igloo."
"Okay. Yeah."
Massie nodded, still overheating. She dropped the blankets to the floor, pressing her hands to her face. Her skin was so hot it was like she had a fever, not like she was giddy and actually hopeful, and that made sense; she had to be sick for this to sound like a perfect plan. Despite all of their stellar personalities and traits, the four of them were definitely not cut out for this level of stalking. Watching a boy's every move when they were in high school? Yeah. Memorizing that cute boy's schedule in college so one of them would bump into him at the perfect time? Definitely. Following a celebrity to see what weird, possibly illegal thing they might do? That was a job for the paparazzi, not any of them. Sure, Claire was a well-known photographer, but she got nervous under pressure. Dylan was a talk show host with excellent people skills, but she was too noticeable, and she was clumsy. Alicia could spot anything gossip-worthy happening in a ten mile radius, but most of the time she was on her phone or watching attractive men do something trivial; she was easily distracted. And Massie was Massie, good at organizing and bossing people around. She wasn't capable of keeping herself in check. She'd mess it up somehow.
Kristen was the level-headed one. She always knew what to do. If there was a plan, she'd stick to it and get results, but she was hardly around. Her nightclubs were popping up everywhere, a very exclusive chain in only the most important places in the United States. For now. It was a surprise she was even in New York to notice Skye's name on the guest list.
But this could be what she needed. Even though it had every chance to fail, it could work. The odds that it would were so small, but they were enough to have Massie believe in them. Something good had to happen to her eventually, right? Why not this?
She took a deep breath, let the optimism swim through her bloodstream and fill her until she was lightheaded, and asked, "What should I wear? What is everyone else wearing?"
.:.
The thing about the club being Kristen's was that the girls could be ushered in without having to wait on any sort of line. Reservations had to be made weeks, sometimes even months, in advance unless you were some sort of A-List celebrity, which Skye Hamilton was, and the four of them were not. But Kristen was an old friend going back years in the past when they would rate outfits and one-up everyone else to feel better about themselves, and that, in itself, was enough.
K, as it was named, was the place to see and be seen, which explained the number of paparazzi standing outside its doors. They all knew Dylan and also Alicia, as she was being interviewed left and right about her website these days, and the cameras went wild. Claire and Massie left them, hands linked, and slipped into the restaurant on the side. If Skye had made it in already (she did; her reservation, according to Kristen, was at 7:30 and it was now 8) she had to have gone through some sort of back door.
The pair was escorted to their seats, a table similar to that of the one they held court in during their old school days. It was in the very back, facing the front door and every other table so they would have a clear view of who was coming and going. And just like they planned, Massie took the seat with her back to the wall and Claire took the one opposite her. All the blonde would be able to see was Massie and her own reflection in the glimmering paint behind her.
"Is she here?" hissed Claire out of the corner of her mouth.
Massie rolled her eyes and lifted her menu. It was so loud in the place she had no idea why Claire was talking so low, but really, knowing her, she'd end up shouting instead and that was not what she wanted. "Yes."
"Where?"
"My left, your right," she spoke at a normal volume, switching between watching the pop star and reading the appetizers. "Farthest table next to the kitchens."
Waiting a beat, Claire craned her neck and peered about, like she was looking towards the front for Alicia and Dylan. It was easy enough for Massie to notice she was not. After she had confirmation that Skye was in fact there, Claire nodded and fixed herself in her seat once more.
"She's halfway through her dinner," Massie added. Then, quickly: "Do we want to start with an appetizer? Where are Leesh and Dyl?"
Claire coughed. "Nah, I always fill up on the appetizer and never eat the actual food."
"Okay," said Massie. "I want chicken."
"I'll probably get fish."
"The salmon's really good here."
"I've heard. I mean to get it but I never do."
The small cluster of people standing by them finally found their table or whatever they were looking for and dispersed about halfway through Massie and Claire's useless chatter. Once gone, Massie continued to keep an eye on Skye.
.:.
About twenty minutes later, Alicia and Dylan slid into their seats, fake smiles falling from their lips.
.:.
They ordered.
.:.
"Skye just got dessert," Massie announced.
Alicia dapped her mouth with a napkin.
Dylan fussed with her hair, chewing on a tomato.
Claire sat up straighter, dropping her fork to her plate.
A beat later, Dylan asked, "What is it?"
"Pie," Alicia answered instead of Massie.
.:.
Massie watched Skye get up, cheerfully thank the waiter for something. She asked a question, he pointed, and she smiled. She waited for him to disappear before she looked around and walked over to the nightclub entrance.
It was nine thirty. The bouncer took Skye's hand carefully, drew on it, and then, at the last second, winked.
"Man," Massie spoke, leaning back. "I am stuffed."
(Her meal was hardly touched.)
"Same," Alicia agreed. "Should we order anything else?"
"I don't want anything," Claire said, "and I've got to use the restroom, so—pay for me if the check comes?" She tossed a bunch of bills on the table and stood, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.
"Yeah, no prob." Dylan reached over and took the money.
"Thanks." Claire turned and left, walking right past the doors leading to the bathrooms, and following in Skye's footsteps.
Her friends pretended like they didn't notice, but they were watching out of the corner of their eyes. The bouncer did not treat Claire the exact same way he treated Skye, and he scrutinized her and her driver's license. This sort of thing happened all the time—she still didn't look old enough, but she was, and most people gave her shit for it. Two long minutes passed before she was allowed through, nothing drawn on her hand.
.:.
The check came. They paid.
.:.
Alicia popped two of the mints that came with their bill.
.:.
Claire [9:45]: SH just left bathroom. Scrubbed X off hand. Go time.
.:.
"Remember," Alicia said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. It caught the light as it did so. A boy they passed by seemed mesmerized by it. Or her. Both, probably. "A picture is worth a thousand words. Do your worst, chickadees."
.:.
"I'm gonna get a drink, do you want anything?"
"No, I'm good."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, do you see Skye anywhere?"
Dylan popped up on her tiptoes and surveyed the scene. "No… but I'm sure she'll be around. No one spends that much time getting rid of that 'X' to just split like that."
"All right." Massie sighed. "Go get your drink. I'll be right here."
.:.
Dylan did not come back.
Massie lost sight of Claire.
Alicia had disappeared earlier, claiming it would be easier and less sketchy if they weren't all together, searching the place.
She was alone, and Skye was nowhere to be found.
Fuck.
.:.
Some time had passed since she was completely abandoned and left utterly hopeless. How much she was not sure of, but Massie found herself once again succumbing to the devastation that was her life. It was fairly easy to do so. Probably because this day was full of negativity, as was the day before. The plan had been solid and well thought out, but it could have been better. Really. They were just going with the flow here and the tip from Kristen was nice. It really was. Besides, Massie knew going into this it wouldn't work. Too many factors were slotted against her. They were just twenty-somethings trying to make a good situation out of a bad one.
She shouldn't have let herself get her hopes up.
In reality, Friday would come. It was always coming, a daunting thought that created a ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. It was coming faster than need be, too, but only because she didn't want it to come at all. And when it did get here—at the speed of light—she'd have to face Griffin and tell him everything. He didn't want to hear it now, but when Skye Hamilton did not perform, he would know, and he would point the finger at her when it was time to fire someone. It was the ultimate humiliation, knowing she couldn't have saved herself even if she tried, and she was trying, my god, she was. It didn't matter that celebrities thought only of themselves. It didn't matter that she stood in the cold a number of times to try to get a peek of Skye. It didn't matter that she was currently dressed in the tiniest of tiny dresses in the back of her closet, trying to spot Skye doing something so out of character so she could use it as blackmail. It didn't matter that what she was doing was horrifying and disgusting and everything she hated about herself. It didn't matter that she was willing to go to these lengths to embarrass an eighteen year old girl—because that was still who Skye was, beneath the glamour and the sparkle and the screaming fans. It didn't matter that she was despicable. All that mattered was—
Skye.
SKYE.
All that mattered was Skye. And there she was. Suddenly, Massie's pity party came to a screeching halt.
She moved forward, obscuring her view by a plant. Despite the large, green leaves in her way—and, of course, the bar, bartender, various alcohols, and patrons—she could see it all. And boy, was it good.
Why had she been so down before? This plan was foolproof. She'd just snap a couple pictures, find out where Skye was staying for the night, rent a room if she had to, and attack her in the morning. She'd have to give in after this. Had to.
"Mystery Girl," came a voice to her left, conveniently hushed and not at all judgmental (except he was), "why are you hiding behind a fern?"
"Fern?" Massie did a double take. "I thought it was some tree."
"It's definitely a fern," he said. "And you're hiding behind it."
"You know a lot about plants."
"You have no idea my vast knowledge of plants," he countered. "All I did was tell you about a fern."
"Well," she began, eyes still trained on Skye. "That's more than I know."
"Here's the thing, though: I don't know why you're behind this fern."
"I'm spying, if you must know," Massie told him, though she wasn't sure why. "You're getting in my way."
Boyband Member She Bumped Into quirked an eyebrow, resting his head on his open palm. "I'd say that's the fern, actually."
"Why are you here?" she asked, sparing him a glance. Her stomach did this weird flipping thing and she felt her cheeks heat up when their eyes locked. Almost as quickly as she turned her head, she resumed her previous stance, taking slow, inconspicuous breaths to calm herself. Famous people were unnecessary. They were going to giving her a heart attack. Or a coronary. Or a conniption. Or make her unemployed. They were very unreliable. Get them away. "Do you have something else to steal from me?"
He snorted. "Yeah. I want your dress. Hand it over."
"Absolutely not."
"I don't actually want it," he retorted. "You're really into this whole spying thing, aren't you? What are you even looking at?"
"Skye," Massie answered, "now shut up and let me live."
Boyband Member She Bumped Into—Derrick, actually, she remembered his name being (though it wasn't as fun)—followed her gaze. "What is she doing?" He didn't sound too surprised, though. Maybe this was typical in Famous People Land.
"Um, getting drunk?" Massie said. She pressed her thumb down on her phone so many times she was sure she had the same shot of Skye about twenty thousand times. "Actually… that's her fifth shot in the past—how long have we been talking?"
"Three minutes. Give or take."
"Right, so I'd say seven minutes, then. Fifth shot in seven minutes. She's really planning on dying tonight, isn't she?"
"No, I think her plan is to get really drunk."
"It's a phrase. It means the same thing." Massie pursed her lips, looking over at him again. This time, she was prepared for the weird feeling that took over her body, but she refused to give in. Famous people made her so antsy these days. "Why are you here again?"
"Am I not allowed to go out and enjoy myself?" Derrick asked.
"Is the rest of the gang here?"
"Yeah. Lost most of them, though." He shrugged like it didn't really matter. "Saw you when I walked in. You're very interesting."
"I am not. Now, where is Alicia… I need to show her these and plan our next move…"
Derrick jutted his head over to the other side of the bar. "Right there. With Cam."
"Who the hell is—oh. The annoying smirky one."
"The annoying smirky one?" He sounded too amused for his own good.
"I didn't really know any of your names this morning, so." She watched Alicia and Cam interact for a moment before turning her attention back to Derrick. "I made them up."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"What's mine?" he asked.
"Boyband Member I Bumped Into, or BMIBI for short," said Massie, scratching her nose in a way to get him to stop staring so intensely at her face.
"That's a mouthful," he teased. "I think Derrick would suffice."
She smiled. "Nah, I don't think so."
"So… should I call you Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things?"
Massie deliberated for a moment, head tilting to the side. "Yes," she said presently, "that sounds about right."
"Your actual name would be easier…" he prompted.
"Would it?" She looked over to where Skye was, only to see she was gone. For some reason, Massie didn't feel too crazed about it. "What if Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things is my actual name?"
"Then I'd have to speak to your parents because that's gotta be some form of child abuse."
"Or they have the ability to see into the future and they knew I'd bump into you and you'd steal my things."
"I didn't steal any of your things. I picked up your phone when you dropped it."
"Tomayto, tomahto."
"That's definitely not how it works."
"It is in my world."
"In what world do you live in?"
"This one."
Derrick rolled his eyes—something Massie found he did a lot in her presence—and leaned forward. He was much too close now, so much in fact that she could smell his cologne and count the freckles on the bridge of his nose. This was not ideal. Where were the security guards when you needed them? "Just tell me your name, Crazy Girl."
"You already know it. Cra—" She broke off at the look he gave her. She matched it as best she could despite the clammy feeling clinging to her palms. He smirked at her, something he probably did to get his way more often than not, but it didn't work on her. It didn't. Really. She was immune to it. It did not make his already attractive face even more attractive. It did not interest her in the slightest. She did not wipe her hands on her thighs. She told him her name only because she felt he deserved to know. He did. Yes. "It's Massie."
"Massie," he said, testing it out. Surprisingly enough, he pronounced it right; everyone always called her Maisie the first time. "You know what? I think I'm gonna call you Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into Me And Thinks I Want To Steal Her Things—it suits you better."
She swatted his shoulder, which made him laugh, and retorted, "Well, I'm gonna call you Derrick. Emphasis on the ick."
"Wow, that hurts, Massie."
"It should. I thought long and hard about that insult."
"I'd applaud you, but I only like applause when it's directed towards me."
"Oh my god."
He grinned real big then, his nose wrinkling in the process. "I can buy you a drink though. That's kind of the same thing, right?"
"I have to remain vigilant."
"Skye's gone," Derrick said. "She's been gone. You noticed that before."
Massie frowned at him. How did he know that?
"Besides you have your scary blackmail. I think you could spare five minutes, yeah?"
She wanted to say no. She wanted to leave now and get back to her apartment and her pajamas and prepare herself for the next day. She wasn't here to have a good time, she was here to save her job. She couldn't accept a drink from him. Who knew what would happen after that one? She was the only one who was taking this seriously, the only one with a level head. Her friends were missing even though they promised to help her out.
She should say no, but she didn't. "I guess" came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop herself. It wasn't exactly yes, but it was definitely not no, and she plopped herself down next to Derrick, phone locked in front of her.
If he was surprised she agreed, he didn't show it. "Are you one of those girls who swears by cranberry vodkas?"
"Do I look like I swear by cranberry vodkas?"
Derrick appraised her thoughtfully, as if there were some sort of sign or trait that could be seen on a person who did so. Maybe there was.
"No," he said, "what would you like then?"
"Sex on the Beach."
"Well, we all want that," Derrick countered, waving the bartender down all the same, "but I'm afraid there is no beach here and I like to be wined and dined before I am bedded, Massie."
"I'm ten seconds away from punching you in the face," she remarked.
"Why not four?" another voice piped in. "Or, better yet, one? You should punch him now. Time is of the essence."
"Josh," Derrick warned. "My face is the moneymaker."
"It's actually my vocals. I sound like an angel."
"Yeah, after auto tune."
Josh gasped theatrically. "Punch him! Punch him or I will!"
"Can I get my drink first?"
.:.
No fighting occurred, but one drink soon turned into two, then three, then four—and then Massie lost count. Famous Derrick Harrington would not let her pay for any of them, which was annoying, and also a little endearing, and she liked to pretend she didn't find him sweet and good-looking.
And find him good-looking she did. The more drinks she had the easier it was for her to admit it. Not to him, of course, because that was embarrassing and he already knew. There were tons of girls throwing themselves at him on a daily basis and it totally wasn't because they wanted him to sing them to sleep. Or maybe they did. It could be a nice thing, maybe. Massie never really paid attention to who sang what in that song that was always on the radio, but if he was really good—
Now she was getting off-topic in her own head and that only meant one thing: She was getting drunk. That was never the plan.
"…okay, so listen," Derrick was saying when she came back to reality. He was telling her all about the weird things that happened to him and the rest of the band in the past, but only because she flat out asked what it was like to be as famous as he was. "I was with Cam—you know, the smirky one—and we can normally get away with doing things if we're not all together, so we thought we'd go, like, shopping for shoes or something and the next thing I know we're trapped in a store for three hours. I had zero idea Cam and I were the fan favorites at the time."
Massie wrinkled her nose. "Aren't you the fan favorite always?" she asked.
"I guess. I always thought they liked us equally."
"Nah, never works that way," the girl replied, taking the last sip of her drink and frowning when it was gone. It was replaced with another fairly quickly. "Like. You must do something that gets everyone crazy. I don't know. You probably have the attitude."
"What's my attitude?"
"I don't know, I just met you."
"True." He leaned back and stretched, long arms pulled taut. Massie didn't like the amount of time she spent staring.
Thankfully he didn't seem to notice nor did they start another conversation, for Alicia moseyed on by, taking a seat on his left. "Hello, friends!"
"Hello," Massie said apprehensively. Alicia looked ten times better than her—that was always the case—though she didn't know why she acknowledged this. Or why it bothered her.
"I just came by to tell you that I didn't completely forget our plan," she continued on. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, indicating alcohol consumption, but she still talked like she was a hundred percent sober. She only acted friendlier than usual. "And I have some marvelous shots of Skye puking the bathroom. Would you like to see?"
"Ew, no, get outta here." Derrick shoved his palm over her iPhone—his hand was so big, oh my god—to keep her from accessing those pictures. "You guys are literally insane."
"Uh, yeah," Massie agreed. "Crazy Girl Who Bumped Into You And Thinks—"
"Yes, yes, I know." Derrick tilted his head back, downing the rather large remainder of his drink. "I just don't understand why you haven't asked yet," he added, licking his lips.
Massie looked from Alicia to him. "Asked what?"
"For us to do it."
"…Do what?"
"Perform." He sent her an odd look. "Y'know. On Friday. Instead of Skye."
Alicia's lips puckered into a perfect circle. "Progress!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up. "You talk about that, 'kay? 'Kay. I gotta go beat Cam in pool."
"Send me those pictures!" Massie called at her retreating back. Alicia gave a half-assed sort of wave.
She watched for a second or two as Annoying Smirky One tossed Alicia a stick and she prepared herself. It looked like he was going to break instead of her. Massie wasn't even sure if Alicia knew how to play this game and she wasn't about to find out, so she turned away.
Derrick was staring at her in that way of his that made her uncomfortable. Massie wished she hadn't turned her attention away from the game across the room; she felt itchy underneath this gaze. It was burning. It was revealing.
"So," he said, though, his voice light, "why haven't you?"
"It never crossed my mind actually," she responded. "Was it supposed to?"
"I dunno. Maybe." Derrick lifted his shoulders. "I've seen a lot of you in the past two days. It could be fate or something."
Massie fought the urge to laugh but failed drastically. In between her giggles, she asked, "You believe in that?"
"Maybe not fate," Derrick said. "But I believe in something."
"Yeah, well… we booked Skye and Skye's what Griffin wants. What everyone wants. And I'm not going to ask you to go out of your way for a person you just met."
"Okay. Fair enough." Derrick beckoned for the girl behind the counter to come back—Allie-Rose, her name was—and this time he ordered shots with this charming smile on his face. She blushed, but did as she was asked. Derrick handed one to Massie, gestured for her to wait, and said, "We'd do it, I think. If you wanted us to."
He took the shot. Massie held hers between her thumb and index finger, skin sticky.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I think you're interesting," he said again, like those four words explained it all. He scooted closer to her, his legs opening so her knees were pressing into his inner thighs. "Like, you don't care about me—us—at all. No starry-eyed thing going on whenever we're around. Your job means a lot to you and you're literally stalking a pop star to make sure you keep it, which is hysterical, and you're really pretty."
Massie frowned, throat dry and lips chapped. "You and your band would play Times Square because you think I'm pretty?"
"Really pretty," he corrected. "Are you going to drink that?"
"I…" She stared at the shot glass, still full of whatever it was he ordered. "I don't know."
"Okay." He wriggled it from her grasp and placed it on the counter. "Maybe later."
The next thing happened really fast, or maybe it happened really slowly; Massie was unsure. Everything was fogging up in her mind. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. This famous boy offered to fix her problem and called her really pretty and interesting and all that—and she had no time to register this properly, no time at all, because soon, she was tasting his mouth, and his hands were hot against her face, and she was half out of her seat, knees really digging into his legs now.
.:.
The next morning found Massie in an unfamiliar (but very comfortable) bed, in an unfamiliar hotel room, with Derrick Harrington's naked back as her only company. She wanted to scream.