Page 8 of Tiebreaker

“But no-” she starts. And I hang up on her. Fuck that, I'm going to this thing.

There's no way she's keeping something else from me.

It's one final indignity that I just can't stand.

* * *

She’s glaring at me from the other side of the town car.

And she shifts her weight, inching along, moving further away from me on the seat.

So she didn't tell me that not only was this a private meet and greet with a show for Kai Brooks’ super fan club or whatever, but there was even adressallowance.

Like a shopping spree, like a $500 shopping spree. I was given a pre-loaded VISA gift card, and set loose in a mall.

I got to pick out a new dress, and some shoes. And we had a town car grab us from our apartments. I spent about three hours on my makeup, trying to make the perfect cat eye and failing while Toby groomed his tail on my bed.

In the end it required some tape and a prayer. My hands were shaking so much. I was never a big Kai Brooks fan or anything, but this… this is special. It was like we’d won a prize pack or something. I still couldn’t believe how generous he’d been with us when I’d been rude. Maybe the spunk impressed him. Maybe he had a kinked for getting yelled at by girls covered in coffee grinds. Who the hell am I to judge?

And now we're on our way to this meet and greet. I’m trying to stop my hands from trembling because my gut is churning over and over.

This kind of thing never happens to me. In fact, I don't think anything's really good to happen to me since I left home.

Since I had a home.

I mean the apartment’s my place but it's not a home. It's four walls, a bed, a bathroom, and a little kitchenette.

That's about it.

If Toby wasn't there it could be anyone's place.

It's not like I've had the money to decorate.

Mariah taps on her phone impatiently and huffs. I glance over at her, and she tilts her screen away from me, almost like she doesn’t want me to see whatever’s on it.

“Is that it,” I ask, leaning forward as we pull up to a big venue. There’s a milling crowd of people and I swallow. Why does it look so busy?

“Alright, normally I wouldn't say this because normally I don't spend any time with you socially, but don't fucking embarrass me,” she snaps. “Whatever happens, just… Don’t.” I open my mouth to reply, but I’m cut off as a town car rolls to a stop.

There's a red carpet. My heart thuds in my chest, ramping up my anxiety and excitement. There’s even some press. They're standing around, looking bored, like they don't expect anyone cool to come out of my car. Which is fair. There’s nothing cool about me.

“We're here ladies,” says the driver up front, his voice neutral. He gets out and walks around the car, opening it up.

Mariah slips out of the car, keeping her knees together as she exits and stands. A few photographers surge forward. She holds her breath, spine straight, arms held from her sides like she’s a dancer about to make her entrance on Christmas Eve.

But she's a nobody.

And they realize that, quickly turning away.

Just one or two flashes and that is it. Her fifteen seconds dying just like that.

Somehow I'm kind of grateful that her moment in the sun is nothing in the end. It makes the tiny, mean corner of my heart glad.

I scramble out after her and straighten my dress.

“Is that-“ I hear somebody say a few feet from me and I look over a photographer has his camera up to his eye, and he's taking a picture. The flash goes off, blinding me.

And I jerk backwards, and he frowns at me, realizing I’m a nobody.

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