Page 41 of Built to Fall
Silence settles over us, and I realize suddenly how rare it is to see Kara unsure of anything. She always has a plan. A pose. A punchline.
This version of her, unguarded and quiet, is jarring.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I offer gently.
“Very true!” Eden smiles brightly. “We can just eat ice cream and pretend the internet doesn’t exist.”
“Tempting, but my career kind of revolves around the internet. No privacy to be found.”
I’m not sure what to say. Anonymity is a luxury most people take for granted. Kara never had that. Not since the first Vogue feature. Not since people started knowing her name before sheeven introduced herself—despite her mother’s best efforts to stay as private as possible once she transitioned from walking runways to working for Vogue.
She reaches across the table and steals a bite of Eden’s cone without asking. Eden doesn’t flinch, which feels more like affection than anything either of them could say out loud.
“We’ll figure it out,” Kara says eventually, the statement so vague it could mean anything. Her tone says she’s not ready to go deeper. “Okay, that is delicious. I’m going to get my own.”
Eden and I both watch as Kara walks up to the counter and orders a bowl with three scoops of ice cream.
“How she can keep that body is truly a work of art,” Eden says dreamily.
We’re still gawking when Kara returns to the table, a spoonful of ice cream already in her mouth.
“Can you tell that I have about a pound of gel left in my hair?” she asks, smoothing a hand over her ponytail.
“It looks a bit… stiff,” Eden surveys. “What did they do to it?”
She squints, like even the memory is painful. “The producer wanted to make it look like I was underwater, which required nearly an entire bottle of gel being put in my hair. I’m seriously going to be in the shower for hours trying to get this out tonight.”
“I call dibs on showering first.” Even though we all have our own bathrooms, the hot water isn’t exactly plentiful.
“I might as well put some water over the stove and boil the gel out of my hair.”
“No, no,” Eden quickly rejects. “You can’t do that. Your hair is too pretty!”
Eden’s one of the rare redheads who treasures her hair, and in turn, she treats everyone else’s like it’s just as valuable.
“Don’t worry.” She holds up a hand. “I’m not insane.”
I tilt my head at her. “That’s questionable.”
“I’m asupermodel, of course you think I’m a little crazy. You’re supposed to.” She polishes off her ice cream quickly before asking, “Can we get takeout before we go back to the apartment?”
Eden and I both gawk at her but nod nonetheless.
Kara stretches her arms overhead with a yawn. “Okay. I have a biochem project due tonight, and I need to steam this out of my hair before it hardens permanently.”
We all stand, shuffling out of the booth. Eden tosses our napkins and spoons, and I hold the door open as Kara heads out first, yawning as I do.
There’s something so easy about this feeling. Despite everything else threatening to overshadow the happy moments in my head.
Being in our college town, getting ice cream and takeout before heading back to our apartment. We laugh as we walk down the road toward our favorite burger place.
We may not need burgers, but it’s clear that we need this.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRANT
Isee her before she sees me. The first thing I notice is long waves of hair cascading down the back of her sweatshirt—one that looks a few sizes too big. With that, she’s wearing low-rise sweatpants and some type of clog shoe.
