So yeah, my sister and I are polar opposites. Where I have wild curly hair, she has straight, gorgeous, blonde locks that always look like she just left the salon. Where I was out drunk with a bunch of football players last night and tucked in by my best friend, she was probably rocking and singing one of my nephews to sleep before going downstairs to sit on the couch with Doug—her husband and the love of her life—to eat ice cream and watch TV. I’m sure he rubbed her feet.
Sometimes I’m tempted to be jealous of her, but a larger part of me also knows I’d never feel happy in her life. I love where I’m at. I also love that if you go look at that graffiti wall on the convenience store, you’ll find my name spelled out in a really cool font, because I watched the guy while he sprayed the original art on the wall and told him it was awesome. He added my name as a tattoo on the dragon that’s mauling the human. Really sweet stuff.
I don’t want Lily’s life; I mostly just want someone to love me like Doug loves her. That’s the part I’m really jealous of.
“Does someone have a hangover?” she asks gently with a smile in her voice.
“Yes,” I say on a groan. “It was Jamal’s birthday last night and Nathan wouldn’t let the guys have more than one drink—so let’s just say I did all the drinking for everyone.”
My sister laughs, and the sound is so sweet to my ears. I wish I was sitting with her and could lay my head on her puffy-pink-robed shoulder. “Poor B. That explains the video though.”
I sit up with a jolt, and my brain knocks against my skull. “What video? Did Nathan send you an embarrassing video of me? I swear, I will—”
“Calm down, drunky. Do you really not know yet?”
“Know what?” I frantically start looking around the room like I’ll find some sort of startling answer. An image of me on top of a table painted on the walls. A soundbite of my latest serenade playing through the overhead speakers. Nothing. Just the immaculate guest room and sprawling windows that overlook the lazy ocean.
“Oh gosh. Okay, I want you to take a deep breath.”
“Lily, just spit it out!” I stand and ignore the churning of my stomach as I barrel into the kitchen, hoping to find any other clues that will point to my epic fail. There’s nothing but an apple and a note in Nathan’s handwriting that says, Medicine. Drink. Eat. I’ll check in with you on break. And don’t worry, you didn’t sing any Adele last night. I smile to myself, feeling at least a little relieved.
That is, until my sister makes my stomach fall to my feet. “At some point last night, you sort of spilled your guts to a reporter in a bathroom.”
“NO,” I say on a long exhale, sinking my forearms down to the counter. “What do you mean I spilled my guts?”
“I think maybe you should just watch the video.”
I whimper. “Where do I find it?”
Her sharp laugh doubles my worry. “Where can you not find it is the real question. It’s viral, B. All over Instagram and Twitter. But the good news is, everyone loves you and thinks you’re adorable. You’ve even started a hashtag!” She says it like I started a world-renowned charity.
“Oh my gosh, it better not include the word boobs.”
“No, but I think after you watch the video, you’ll wish you had flashed someone.”
I haven’t even seen it yet and I’m already contemplating possible relocation. How does one enter a witness protection program? Maybe I can just move abroad? Spain? I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ll have to learn Spanish, and that could be a problem. DAMN MY YOUNGER SELF CHOOSING FRENCH INSTEAD OF SPANISH. Oh, wait, problem solved—I’ll go to France. Qui, I’ll have une French fry, please. Shoot, my French is rusty too.
“Just hang up and go to TMZ’s website. Call me back when you’re done.” TMZ! Are you kidding?!