“You’ll have to tell Tim to forget it,” I said. “I can’t be a part of any buzz list.”
“Tina.” Kevin reached for me. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit?”
“No, I don’t.” I pulled back to avoid Kevin’s touch, just as my phone got a text.
“I’m really sorry you feel that way.” Kevin searched his pockets for his phone.
I immediately got another text, which apparently Kevin thought was his phone going off, because he was still searching for his phone, which made the same text sound as mine, neither of us willing to be the one to change what was obviously the most appropriate sound to indicate a text message.
“It’s fine,” I said, retrieving my phone from my pocket. “Just undo it.”
“No, I mean I’m really sorry Tina, but Tim already—”
Another text.
“Jesus, what the hell?” I looked at my phone. I had three messages from Emily, two from Wendi, and one from Ginger.
Kevin was thumbing furiously at his phone and then turned it around to show me its face. “You should read this,” he said.
“Twenty-Five Dog Selfies That Changed the World? Why are you showing this to me?”
“Oh wait, hang on.” Kevin thumbed at his phone some more and then turned it around again.
The headline read: Twenty-Five New Yorkers Who Are Doing Something About It.
Ohmygod.
Kevin kicked at a rotten apple at his feet. “I thought you’d be happy, once you saw it.”
Ohmygod. I frantically scrolled down the list to number twenty-five, “Tina Fontana’s New Nonprofit Will Take on Student Debt,” hardly able to believe what I was reading. The short paragraph referred to a “rumored, yet-to-launch website” and employed the terms inequality and consciousness raising, which tipped me off that Kevin must have had a hand in writing some of the content himself. It didn’t contain much detail because how could it? It was framed more like a leak—a sort of we heard about this cool thing before anyone else and even though we don’t know anything useful about it, here we are with the scoop! But it did state in no uncertain terms that my mission was to help underpaid women pay off their student-loan debt.
Mission. I bet Kevin chose that exact word. I remembered how over fondue he’d asked me that specifically, if we had a mission statement. And like an idiot I was all, oh yeah, totally, a mission statement.
“I don’t really understand why you’re so upset,” Kevin said, hands stuffed deep into his jeans pockets now.
I checked myself then. More than anything, I wanted to peg Kevin dodgeball style with an overripe McIntosh to the mouth, but I needed to chill the fuck out.
I forced myself to take a breath. “I’m just a little shocked, that’s all,” I said. “I wasn’t ready for this. This kind of exposure.”
Kevin blinked his big brown eyes at me. “I really thought I was doing a good thing. I thought it was just the little push you needed to take the site to the next level.”
Yeah. I’d say this was definitely a whole new level.
“I appreciate the sentiment.” I silenced my phone and forced an unnatural calm into my voice. “And you’re probably right.” I picked up my bag of apples. “Come on, it’s a beautiful day. Let’s enjoy it and forget about all this for now.”
“Are you sure?” Kevin picked up his satchel hesitantly, hopefully. “You’re not mad at me?”
Of course I was mad at him. He’d outed me! Now I understood how George Michael felt, how Queen Latifah felt, how Ryan Seacrest felt—he is out, right? Regardless, there is no going back in once you are out, so what the hell was I going to do?
“I’m not mad at you,” I said, taking Kevin by the hand.
With my free hand, I sent a text to Emily, Wendi, and Ginger: Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.
Now all I had to do was figure out how.
18