Page 18 of Ripped & Shipped
“Because I don’t come across all brainy.”
“Well, for the record, Rob and Jayme aren’t the only geniuses in town.”
Meg makes a noise that sounds like,humph. Her intelligence won’t ever be widely known because she’s not one of Bordeaux's favorites.
Our town has dividing lines worse thanMean Girls. We don’t wear pink on Wednesdays, but still, there are those who are in, and those who are not. The Capulets and Montegues have nothing on us. We’re likeWest Side Storymet Old MacDonald. And while no one’s drawing pitchforks to run me and Meg out of town, we aren’t included, welcomed, or appreciated. Opinions in this town are rigid. Friendships and romances stay on defined sides of an invisible barrier.
Of course, Meg dated a guy from the other side in high school—Trevor. But at the end of the day, he married his best friend, Lexi. I’ll be the first to admit, Meg was a bitextrawhen she came back here after her job tanked in Pennsylvania seven years ago. Maybe a better word isunmoored. The way she went after Trevor scared even me. She was like a piece of Saran wrap, the way she clung to him.
It’s for the best that didn’t work out. Meg spent much needed time getting herself on track, and now she has Joe. He didn’t grow up here, so he’s neutral when it comes to Meg and me. He doesn’t treat us like pariahs.
“I’d better run,” Meg says. “Good luck! Not that you’ll need it. You’re going to have so much fun and people will love you.”
She steps over toward me and pulls me into a much-needed hug.
Meg leans back, grabs my cheeks so I have no choice but to look her right in the eyes, and says, “Besides, who cares what the world thinks. Right?”
“Right.”
I say the word. I mean it. But a part of me is so conditioned to seek the approval of my followers and fans, I don’t know how deeply I believe that the world’s opinions don’t matter. Their judgments and reactions drive my popularity.
Without the approval of my fan base, I don’t really know what I am. Broke, for one thing. And a little aimless too. But that’s not going to happen. I’ve got a mission and a focus tonight. And I’m living a life where fifty million people care what I’m putting in my mouth at a family diner. Life’s good.
I hear the front door shut behind Meg.
I know I scheduled my affirmations for this afternoon, but as Journey always says, “It’s always the right time to kick things into the positive.”
I’m a bad boss babe.
I’m a stunning boss babe.
I’m a fierce. Boss. Babe.
I feel like Rocky in those old fighting movies. I throw a few punches in the air. Online kickboxing classes have given me some stellar moves. I look like a pro. Punching the air always feels gratifying and empowering. I punch while I recite affirmations with more oomph, starting with a modification of one of the lines from that movie.
I’m gonna eat lightning and crap thunder!
No. I’m not. I’m definitely not crapping thunder. Can you imagine? Back to my regular, non-digestive-related affirmations. I’m gonna drink green drink, and my bathroom habits will remain non-explosive and somewhat silent.
I take a deep breath and focus.
I built my empire from scratch.
I have what it takes.
People love my brand.
People love me.
Drake sought me out.
I will slay this day.
I inhale slowly and let the air out on a count of four. Squaring my shoulders, I walk upstairs to do thirty minutes of yoga. Then I finish my skincare routine, dress in a mauve velour tracksuit that looks like the ones Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton wear out and about when they’re going for a sexy-but-carefree vibe, and head to the Dippity Do, our local salon.
CHAPTER9
Ella Mae
