However, Union Square is a breath of fresh air. There are chess players sitting on top of crates, basking in the sun. One woman has the biggest smile on her face as she walks eight dogs. Two women are holding hands and coffees as they enter this little park. That could actually be a nice place for a cozy, autumnal photo shoot. I can already picture myself standing on a bench with the flaps of my gray wool coat thrown open, revealing a white tee and . . . I stop planning the outfit I won’t be able to wear this fall.
While waiting at the crosswalk, we stand at the curb and I stare at the sky and watch an airplane flying over us. I can’t wait until Scarlett gets here.
“Have you ever flown before?” I ask as we cross the street.
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
Then I stop in the middle of the street with my hands to my mouth. I’m asking Orion why he’s never flown after a hijacked plane killed his parents and uprooted his life. That was so stupid and careless. Orion looks over his shoulder to see I’m not following him at the very same time I remember I’m a Decker who can be run over at any moment. I don’t even look both ways, which is probably as foolish as stopping in the middle of the street in the first place. I would be terrible at playing Frogger, though I miraculously make it to the next block in one piece.
Orion grabs my shoulders. “You got to be careful!”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if cars have stopped, assume there’s an idiot behind the wheel.”
“I always do,” I say, thinking about the idiot who almost killed Scarlett. “But I’m sorry for forgetting about your parents. I won’t even blame it on being tired or because it’s my End Day. I just wasn’t thinking.”
Orion shrugs. “You’re not the first to slip. It’s all good.”
I shake my head. “No it’s not. But I’ll be better from here on out. However long that is.”
Orion’s hands are on my shoulders again, this time gentler. “If you really want to make it up to me, you won’t make it so easy for anyone to kill you.”
7:38 a.m.
We arrive at the Future Star Model Management offices.
This is a newer agency that promises to be behind the biggest faces in the modeling world. I’m really grateful they saw my potential after reviewing my online portfolio—their favorite photographs were taken by Scarlett—and after one fun Skype interview I signed with the team. Their company is currently located in some generic commercial building, and I like to think they will make good on their promise and turn people into superstars.
Even though Future Star is new, I still thought the office was going to be glossy with magazines laid out on a glass coffee table. Instead, it feels like this place hasn’t gone through any renovations from whatever business was here before; I’m going to go ahead and guess this was a dentist practice since it still has that tooth-dust smell that I remember well from having one of my own ground down before being restored to match its neighbor.
What really gets me is how I was so sure there would be a receptionist with a headset who would instantly recognize me. This man has no idea who I am. There are a dozen headshots taped to the wall under the company sign, and mine isn’t one of them. Was I supposed to bring one with me? No, I’m a client. They also have a massive printer right there in the corner. Even then, I booked a major campaign for this company. You’d think my face would be worth highlighting. It’s not, though.
I’m still a Nobody around these parts, and won’t become a Somebody until it’s too late to get the star treatment.
“Good morning. We’re only open today for private meetings,” the receptionist says.
“I’m Valentino Prince. I’m one of the agency’s models. Laverne told me to come straight here for a fitting.”