Page 88 of The Publicity Stunt
I grab my phone from the seat to my left and reopen Instagram.
Every now and then, he looks over at me. I pretend not to notice.
ChapterTwenty
Nine Years Ago
HAYDEN
“Is everyone’s internet working?” April asks frantically, her alert gaze zeroed in on her laptop screen.
We’re all sitting in our living room: me, my crazy girlfriend, Logan, and Shara. They have their laptops open too, although their enthusiasm is not nearly as high as April’s. “It’s your Wi-Fi,” Shara tells her.
April shoots her a withering glare.
“Yes, April,” Logan replies on Shara’s behalf, “the internet is working.”
Most days, April Moore is nothing but a bucket of fucking sunshine. Smiles and hugs and laughing at all my lame jokes. But not today.
Today you do not want to mess with her.
“Time?” Her question is directed at me.
I check the stopwatch on the top corner of my screen. “T-minus thirty seconds.”
“OhGodohGodohGod …” she mutters, flexing her fingers, curling and uncurling them.
“It’s gonna be fine, Chere.” I rub her back. “We got this.”
“Hands on the keyboard!”
I flinch back. “Right. Sorry.” Look, it’s not like I’m any less of a Marvel geek. I love made-up superhuman beings just as much as the next guy. But if I don’t get these tickets to the San Diego Comic-Con, I’ll live. April won’t.
“Okay, guys, ten seconds!” She clasps her hands and takes deep, labored breaths.
“You need to calm down,” Shara says and Logan hurries to add a quick, “She didn’t mean that.”
“It’s live!” April screams in a mix of delight and dismay. “Go, go, go, go!”
The sound of vigorous clicking fills the air. “Fuck! My laptop crashed.” Goddammit. Every single time.
“Do not stop refreshing!” April reprimands. “Only one of us needs to get in!”
Across from us, Shara keeps hitting a single key. She couldn’t look more unenthusiastic if she tried. “I should’ve poured myself a second glass of wine,” she monotones.
“Less talking, more clicking.”
“I’m in!” Logan yells.
April flings her own laptop to the side and quite literally pounces on the guy—well, his laptop. “Ow! What the fuck?”
“OhmyGod,” she says. “He did it. He actually did it. He’s in. He’s in the queue!”
“Yippee,” Shara drones. “Can I stop refreshing now?”
I give her a nod and she perks up, making a direct beeline toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of red.
April goes on staring at the screen, her eyes doing that weird twitchy thing. It happens every time she’s stressed. She clutches the armrest. “I’m next in line!”
