I knew it was true.
Fifteen more minutes, and we’re finally home free, heading for the four empty chairs at the table at the end of the runway. Our fashion industry co-hosts are already there, next to Henry and Vicky Locke. I go over and shake hands with Vicky, and then I clap a hand onto Henry’s shoulder. “So good to see you,” I say. And I mean it. Henry and I became friends while we worked together on rehabbing the studio complex. His foundation is involved in a big way with this night. In fact, the Lockes’ favorite animal shelter is this year’s charity.
Parker leans across the table and says something to Henry.
I feel something brush against my leg—once, then again, with more deliberation.
A wave of surprise comes over me; it can only be Vicky Locke, who’s seated directly on my right. Is she rubbing my leg by accident? It has to be by accident. She’s mad about Henry.
I angle away, but there it is again.
“I’m sorry, that must’ve been my leg,” I say to her.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I think…our legs.”
“Oh!” She ducks under the table, bringing up a little white dog wearing a bejeweled bow tie. “Smuckers! What are you doing?” She gives me an apologetic look. “I hope it’s okay that he’s here.”
“Of course!” I ruffle his furry little head.
“We’re raffling off his diamond bow tie collar,” she says. “He’ll be modeling it later on. He’s the spokes-dog for this charity.”
“Spokes-dog,” I say. “A vital role.” It’s a little bit silly, because, really? Spokes-dog? But Henry Locke beams at his wife.
She grins back over at him, and I’m blown away by the affection they have for each other. The sense of their mutual acceptance and support. Something dark ripples through my chest.
The music starts up and models come walking out. Everybody’s showing their playful collections—this isn’t a hugely serious show. A few rounds in, Lana has bicycle messengers riding around the catwalk with her purses.
I order another drink. The night is going to be interminable.
27
Go ahead and choose a hot one. If you work my system right, you can have her.
~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room
* * *
Mia
Kelsey lines up my Meow Squad co-workers and friends by height and hands out the squares. Jada adjusts our sequinned ears. Sienna complains about her letter. “Can’t I be the ‘L’?”
“You’re the ‘Y,’” Kelsey says. “The ‘Y’ is important.”
I give some last-minute instructions. The same ones I’ve given a dozen times already.
I’ve been in a lot of shows, done countless auditions, but I’ve never felt so nervous, never felt like so much was at stake.
“Flip over the squares when I give the signal,” I say.
“Breathe.” Jada loops an arm over my shoulder. “You got this.”
I’m not so sure. “What if he’s just…annoyed? There’s a good chance of it.”
“I promise you, he won’t be annoyed,” Kelsey says.
“Angry, then.”
“You don’t know until you try,” Kelsey says. “You’re scared right now, but you thought up this scheme when you weren’t scared. Your bravest self thought up this scheme. Trust that girl.”
“That girl wasn’t thinking about the downside. Max hating it. What have I done?” I wrap my arms around myself. “This could be the high school lunchroom all over again,” I say.
“We can still pull out,” Jada says.
“What?” Sienna complains. “Are you shitting me?”
“Nobody’s pulling out.” Kelsey claps three times. “Walk-out positions.”
“What if I created this just to punish myself?” I say to her.
“Then I’ll get you a year’s supply of Peanut Butter Kandy Kakes. Okay? And we’ll dance it all off when we land Anything Goes.”
I barely hear her. I’m back in that lunch room, flat on my face with spaghetti all over me. “I seriously think I might throw up,” I say. “I really think I’ve created my worst nightmare.”
28
Love ruins a man. Just walk away.
~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room
* * *
Max
The show really is interminable.
And then the strangest thing. A pair of women come down the runway, arms linked. They’re wearing cat suits. Matching sparkly ears. Aprons.
It takes a while for me to process that this is the Meow Squad uniform.
I turn to Parker. “What is Meow Squad doing up there?”
Parker shrugs.
Only businesses that donate get to do a turn, and they’re supposed to be modeling clothes.
“Meow Squad made a huge last-minute donation to the shelter,” Vicky says. “Well, it makes sense. Meow Squad, cats, right?”
Another pair of women walk out. And then another pair. They stop in a clump at the center of the catwalk. I recognize Kelsey and Jada there.
And then Mia strolls out, boldly owning the catwalk in the uniform she despises. Her cheek glow pink with high emotion, a fighter to the end.
“She hates that uniform,” I mumble to nobody in particular. “What is she doing? She hates being seen in it.”
As if that’s the issue.
The women have squares with letters on them. They run around and get into formation, spelling L-O-V-E Y-O-U.
“How sweet is that!” Vicky says. “Look, Smuckers! Meow Squad loves us.”
I stand, heart thundering.
Kelsey and Jada hoist Mia up above them, cheerleader style, holding her feet.
She holds up a lone letter— “I”—and gazes down at me. I can barely process it. Her up there, hanging her heart out. Opening herself up.
I love you.
Waiting.
And no way will I leave her standing there. I’m moving before I can even think about it. I jump up onto the stage.
I nearly have a heart attack as she begins to free-fall backwards, but her friends catch her neatly and bounce her to the floor in front of them.
Dancers.
I go to her. “Mia, what are you doing?”
“I wasn’t sure if you were getting the letters. Or my texts,” she says.
“So this is what you came up with?”