Someone I Used to Know

Prologue


“So you remember the book?”

In the pitch black of my dorm room I was momentarily befuddled by the nervous question that echoed in my ear. It was seconds before I realized I’d answered my cell phone in my sleep. The offending object was lit up like a freaking Christmas tree, pressed right to my face, disorienting me. I yanked it back, squinting against the onslaught of light at the screen so I’d know what moron had dared to call me in the middle of the night. It couldn’t have been anyone who valued my friendship.

“FRIENDS DON’T LET FRIENDS DRINK AND SEXT” was the only name my caller ID displayed, but it was enough to identify my late night male caller.

“Adley?” His voice sounded again, muffled by the distance, but still ringing with uncertainty. “Are you there?”

“Yes, Cameron,” I answered, drawing out his name reluctantly, as I lowered the phone back to my ear. He wouldn’t be surprised by my irritation. If there was anyone who should have been aware of my self-diagnosed allergy to sunrise, it was Cam. He was perfectly acquainted with the wrath he’d just risked, and that meant he either really wanted to piss me off, or there was something pretty important he needed to share.

“Full names aren’t exactly how I wanted to start this conversation.” He sighed dramatically, but I could hear the familiar grin inflating his words.

I rarely called him Cameron. He might have been C.A. Peterson to the rest of the world, but he was just Cam to me.

“Then you probably shouldn’t have started it at –” I cut myself off with a groan, shoving my body deeper into the long, twin-sized bed at the sight of my alarm clock “– 3:45 in the morning!?”

Cam’s chuckle sounded far more at ease than the strained reluctance with which he’d started our conversation. “Aren’t you in college? Shouldn’t you be out at a keg party or making a toga or something?”

“I’d advise updating your research from Animal House if your next book is set in college,” I told him dryly.

My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I was unsurprised to find my dorm mate Hannah’s matching bed empty. She all but lived in the library during the month of finals. Not that I minded. I liked my space and sleep uninterrupted. I thrived in solitude.

A reluctant pause swelled in the silence, and I had a feeling it had nothing to do with my critique of his interpretation of college.

It was funny how all the useless knowledge you accumulated when you’re in love with someone could sit for years gathering dust in the back of your mind, only to spill out at the slightest reminder. For instance, at that moment, I knew exactly what his dragging muteness indicated. He was finally gearing up to explain the real reason for our little, late night chat. But just because I understood, didn’t mean I was going to be any more patient waiting for him to get around to the show and tell portion of our reunion.

As far as exes go, it was hard to imagine Cam and I having a better relationship, which was even more impressive considering our unique situation. But just because I hadn’t set his house on fire or gone to battle on Facebook over who wronged who the most, didn’t mean we didn’t still have closets full of unresolved issues. It definitely didn’t mean that phone calls of any kind were on the reg.

“It’s hard to work on any new books when all my time is consumed by the last one…”

And with that he brought us back to the question he’d greeted me with, “So you remember the book?”

Half asleep, I hadn’t processed what he’d said, but by bringing it up again, he’d left me with no choice but to accept the monumental, unspoken line he’d just crossed.

We never discussed his book, The Girl in the Yellow Dress. It was a critical success and commercial phenomena. Every day for the past two years, I’d listened to the world obsess over it. It was inescapable. The book followed me to coffee shops, classes, grocery stores, and even the doctor’s office. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone a full day without hearing something to do with Cam’s book.

And I was happy for him, which might have sounded contrite or bitter if I was talking about anyone else, but not Cam. He deserved all his success. My problem with the book lay elsewhere.

The main issue being that it was about me. And not just a character based on me with a carefully disguised name like Anna Andrews or Amelia Adams. No, the flawed character that filled the pages of The Girl in the Yellow Dress was named Adley Adair. You could pick it up in any book store in America and read about the most personal, life altering thing that had ever happened to me.

He cleared his throat, and I knew my silence made him uncomfortable. It offered him nothing to decipher or overanalyze. “You know I only agreed to a movie because they gave me full control over the screenplay and artistic vision of the film… All this makes me feel so weird. I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with me,” I insisted, placating him as I wished truth into my statement.

“Adley,” he breathed. The doubtful tone he soothed me with took me back to rushed kisses in the back of his car and sweltering days of summer with only each other as company. I knew exactly what Cam looked like when he said my name like that.

“It doesn’t,” I insisted stubbornly. “I might not have read The Girl in the Yellow Dress, but I know where to find it in Barnes and Noble. It’s fiction, Cam.”

“They want to meet you,” he blurted out, his words as quick as lightning. In such a typical, Cam-way he was dragging us closer and closer to the real point of all this. “The actress that’s playing Adley brought it up, and some of the other production staff jumped on board… Before you say no, please think about it, Addy. It feels like I haven’t seen a friendly face since all this mess started, and I know things are different between us now, but there was a time when we were each other’s family. Would it be so horrible getting paid to spend your summer bumming around California?”

“Paid?” There was no greater testament to the distance that had grown between us the past three years than the fact that Cam hadn’t led with the incentive.

I couldn’t blame him. The girl he’d fallen in love with had never worried about money a day in her life. I’d grown up pampered by my parents’ wealth, never noticing the three hundred dollar haircuts I painlessly charged onto their accounts, along with every other purchase made at my heart’s desire.

“Of course.” He sounded appropriately offended, shocked I would think otherwise. “You’d be on the studio’s payroll as, like, a research assistant or something. We can work out the details later… Come on, Ads. It’d take a lot of pressure off me. I’d have more time to work on the new book if I didn’t have to spend all my time stressing about them destroying The Girl in the Yellow Dress.”

It was amazing all the things he could do with my name when he wanted something: Addy, Ads, A. As nice as it was to hear him – the world-renowned author C.A. Peterson – beg a lowly, college sophomore for something, it wasn’t necessary. The days of credit cards, trust funds, and a never-ending cash flow were over. My pride wouldn’t let me accept the portion of Cam’s royalties that he’d offered me, but it couldn’t argue when a legitimate job was offered.

“You know I’ve never actually read The Girl in the Yellow Dress, right?” I refused to let defeat sneak into my words, happy to let him worry over my decision a little longer.

He snorted. “I think your real life experience will suffice.”

“Email me all the information, and I’ll think about it when I get a chance,” I lied. I didn’t have the luxury of rejecting any opportunity, much less a paid one.

The truth was that, up until Cam’s phone call, my summer had been a gaping hole of uncertainty. Without a dorm or food plan, I was homeless, jobless, and – thanks to my late start in college – without the necessary credits to get a decent, paying internship.

He whooped loudly in my ear. Apparently, he still knew well me enough to detect my fibs.

“I’ll see you in Cali, Adley Adair!”

I hung up on him, stopping myself from tossing my phone recklessly onto the bedside table Hannah and I shared. I definitely couldn’t afford a new one.

With a sigh, I placed it carefully back on the charger and yanked the covers over my head. Maybe I could just hide forever.