My heart raced when I saw how many notifications my personal profiles now had on Twitter and Instagram. We were trending. #Miclar Witty.
I was used to the band profile having tons of notifications, but this was worse. There were photos of us from different gigs everywhere that fans had taken, all of them of Micah cozying up to me on the stage. Basically, fans were saying they knew all along we were together, and how amazing it was.
It all seemed so infantile and stupid but they were going crazy for it.
My chest felt tight.
For the past year, we’d been in the public eye but it had only been about our music.
This felt . . . I didn’t like it. I wasn’t prepared for how invasive it felt. Like I was standing naked on stage.
“Honey, you okay?” Mom asked.
She couldn’t know. She’d sacrificed so much for me financially, and emotionally in her relationship with Bryan, to help make my dream come true. As far as she was concerned, everything was always better than okay.
I grinned, gesturing with my phone. “It’ll sell more records.”
She laughed, relieved. “True. Now grab your stuff—we’re going skating. And girl talk.”
“Sure.” I chuckled, shooting a look at Bryan before I left.
He was staring at me in a way I’d never seen before. Like I was suddenly a curiosity instead of a drain on his relationship with Mom. That’s what fame seemed to do. It made everyone see me differently— A loud clatter shook me out of the memory and I looked around, dazed, feeling my heart beating too hard in my chest.
I was in a salon, surrounded by strangers, as a woman called Charmaine blow-dried my hair.
Charmaine had chatted away to me from the moment I’d sat down but as soon as she began blow-drying my hair, she’d stopped talking and my mind had been allowed to wander. For some reason, it wandered to that memory from so long ago.
I frowned, remembering the day after. There had been paparazzi waiting at the band entrance to The Pub Station, trying to get past our security as they shouted at Micah and me, asking if we were a couple.
Why was this so fascinating?
It had freaked me out and Micah had tried to comfort me, but I was mad at him for making what was between us public.
He’d come to regret it too because from that moment on, the fans’ obsession with us as a couple, like we were a freaking epic love story playing out for their entertainment, compelled the tabloids to come after us. Suddenly, I found myself front page of a tabloid magazine in cut-off jeans, an old shirt, and sunglasses as I made a trip to the grocery store. But there was an unidentified guy with me so it was big news because who was he? Where was Micah? How did Micah feel about this unidentified guy?
From there, it escalated. If someone took an unflattering photo, I found myself on the front page with a red circle around my belly. Was I pregnant? Was it Micah’s? What did this mean for the band?
Or I’d be in an article for a teen magazine with a picture of me in the airport blown up with arrows pointing at my skin with the headline, “Even pop-rock sensation Skylar Finch has her bad skin days!”
Everyone had an opinion about everything. My music, my voice, my looks, my clothes, and the people I chose to spend time with. Every post on social media, every article in a magazine, and every tiring interview we had to give.
I started to feel like I didn’t own my life. After a while, ironically, I felt like I was disappearing.
“Can I get you more water?” A junior stylist appeared at my side as soon as Charmaine switched off the hair dryer.
I shook my head, thankful for the interruption from my gloomy thoughts. “I’m fine, thanks.”
The trip to the salon had been a little overwhelming. Like everything lately. But after Killian met Autumn and me at the grocery store, I’d said that I wanted more than a hair trim. He’d repeated that he didn’t think dying my hair rainbow colors and going back to my old look was a good direction for my solo launch; I said that I had no intention of doing that but I knew what I wanted, and it would take more than a quick house call from a hairstylist.
So he’d called Charmaine and she booked me into her salon. It was clear she’d put a lot of money into the business. The shiny, white-tiled floor sparkled with embedded silver crystals and the main walls were a soft gray, while partition walls were a deep, dark pinkish-red color. The chairs were modern, square white leather, and the mirrors were all floor to ceiling with chunky white frames. It was cool contemporary with a splash of drama. It also said “you’ll pay a small fortune to get your hair cut here but it’ll be worth it.”
Autumn drove, begging me to wonder what she used to do for a job.
“This was a great idea,” Charmaine said as she took her scissors to my hair. I watched as my new layered look came together, and I had to agree. “It really suits your face shape.”
When she was done, I marveled at the difference a haircut could make.
I’d boldly asked Charmaine to cut most of it off. Now my hair was cut short at the nape and fell in an A-line cut to just below my chin. It felt healthy and full, sharp and modern. She’d also added ash-blonde highlights to give it more dimension.
The sharpness of the cut served to soften the angles of my face.
“All done.” Charmaine held up a mirror so I could see how she’d cut it shorter at the back than at the front. I loved it.
“It’s great, thank you.” I gave her a genuine smile.
“Let’s show Autumn.”
She helped me out of the cape, brushing excess hair off my nape, and then I followed her out into the front where Autumn was drinking herbal tea and reading a magazine. She glanced up and immediately froze.
“Is that a good or bad deer-in-the-headlights look?” I asked.
Autumn promptly set her tea and magazine on the coffee table and got up to stride over to me for a better look. Her eyes brightened before she broke out into a huge smile. “It’s perfect! Absolutely perfect.”
I smiled, feeling a little shy about it. “I just . . . I wanted a big change.”
“It was the right move. God,” she assessed my face, “you’ve got great bone structure.”
“Doesn’t she? I love when someone is willing to take a risk like this. It usually pays off.”
“You did a great job,” Autumn acknowledged. “Thank you. Killian will be pleased.”
Charmaine gave her a wolfish grin. “Anything to please Killian.”
“Ugh.” Autumn made a face. “Charmaine, please.”
“Your brother is sexy. Deal with it.”
She rolled her eyes and looped her arm through mine to lead me out of the salon. “I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Please do!” she called after us.
I waved at her over my shoulder in thanks, wondering about payment. I wondered it out loud to Autumn as we got in her car.
“Oh, Killian will pay for it. Charmaine will send him an invoice.”
I nodded and sat listening to Autumn gush over my new hair and the outfits she could now see me in because of it. When she finally took a breath, I asked, “What did you do for a living before . . . this?”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “Well, I tried to set up a catering company with my ex-boyfriend. He was supposed to run the company, manage all the business stuff, and I would do the cooking and baking. But he stole my money and created an investment portfolio with it. Because I didn’t stipulate legally what the money was for when I authorized the transfer of funds to him, I have no proof that he stole the money. I could have taken him to court but it would have been lengthy and stressful. Killian was mad I didn’t do it.”
“No wonder. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay.” She smiled brightly. “I’m over it. I just started seeing someone new and he’s . . . different. A gentleman through and through. We’ve gone on three dates and he hasn’t even pushed for sex yet. And he has more money than me, so I know he’s not after that.”
“I’m glad.” And I was. Autumn was sweet. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She deserved someone who would be gentle with it.
“Plus, Killian took care of Barry. My ex,” she explained.