was. My mom wanted to send me to rehab. She thought I’d been sneaking into their bar behind their backs for months. Gigi is the one who persuaded her not to go through with it.
Gigi, who I haven’t spoken to since the night before the video leaked.
She’s called, but I’ve been too ashamed to speak to her. I deleted all of her voice mails except for the last one from a few weeks ago. “I know what this is like, Evie Marie, I do,” she says. “If there was anything I could do to help you through this, baby, you know I would. I hope you know I would.” She heaves a sigh, and there’s a long silence before she hangs up. I’ve listened to it so many times that I have it memorized.
We communicate through my mom, mostly. Meaning my mom tells Gigi that I’m still alive, and Gigi tells my mom that she loves me and hopes to see me soon.
Well, I’m going to see her now, and she won’t like why I’m coming.
On my way to my room, I pass the guest room, where Simone used to sleep. It was once filled with her things, and now it’s empty, save for the neatly made bed and unused dresser.
The morning after we recorded the video, I woke up with a killer headache. I shuffled down to Simone’s room, and she was in the middle of packing her things.
“Just taking my winter and spring clothes home,” she said when I asked what she was doing. She turned around and flashed a bright smile. “I’ll come back with my summer things tomorrow.”
I said okay and even helped her finish packing. I should have paid attention to how she barely spoke to me. How she couldn’t get out of my house fast enough.
Later that morning, when the video leaked, my phone was buzzing like crazy with alerts. Texts from classmates (who never talked to me otherwise) and Instagram DMs and tags. I rewatched the video a dozen times in complete horror. I kept trying to get ahold of Simone, because I was convinced that there was some mistake. Did someone hack into her phone? Did she accidentally send it to someone else and then they leaked it? She couldn’t have done this on purpose. But I couldn’t get in touch with her. She’d blocked my number and blocked me on social media.
Paul Christopher’s fans flocked to my comments and said I was ungrateful and spoiled. How could I make fun of him after what he’d done for my career? They called me names that I don’t even want to repeat. All that love turned so easily to hate. It’s a little baffling when I think about it now.
I grab my suitcases out of my room as the doorbell rings downstairs. And then there’s the sound of Kerri’s bright and firm voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” she says to my dad.
I hustle to carry my luggage down the steps, eager to see her.
She walks into the living room, dressed in an all-black suit and pointy black pumps. She gives me a reassuring smile. “There’s our girl,” she says, sitting down on the couch. I quickly plop right beside her. I just saw her last week, but I’ve also been alone with my distant parents for days on end. Kerri is like a breath of fresh air.
“How are you?” she asks, quiet enough that only I can hear, as my parents sit down on the love seat across from us.
I shrug. “The same.” Meaning terrible.
Her smile is a mix of softness and sympathy. “Don’t worry. It’s going to change soon. That’s why we’re doing this. It’s going to work out.” She turns to face my parents. “Do either of you have questions before I take Evie to the airport?”
Mom’s full lips are set in a thin line. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you now?” she asks me.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I insist. “I want to spend some time with Gigi, just the two of us.”
She doesn’t look comfortable with this, but she doesn’t push it either. She’s never tried to put herself between Gigi and me.
I’m flying to New York tonight for two reasons. The first is that the FCC committee has asked me to present Gigi with her lifetime achievement award during Sunday’s ceremony. After everything that’s happened, I have no idea why they want me to be there. Before, the thought of getting up in front of