“Or we can wait until we figure it out so we’re not,” she said. “The answer will come to us eventually.”
With her hands in mine, she smiled at me, and I guess it put me at ease. I’d always trusted Erin before; why shouldn’t I trust her now?
“Wait, did you just leave Rupert P. up there?” I said. “With Apple?”
“Don’t worry, Isabel’s there to make sure she doesn’t molest him.”
“Did you at least warn them not to get him wet or feed him after midnight?”
I smiled at my Gremlins joke, but Erin just stared at me blankly. Honestly, I know all of Tumblr is obsessed with the ’90s right now, but if you just go back a little further to the ’80s, you’ll find a treasure trove of retro awesomeness. The movies are super vintage, and the fashions are a trip: I’d take big hair over chokers any day.
“And you trust Isabel?” I said, getting back on topic. “She’s probably too busy stoking the fanwank in her site’s comments section to care what Apple does.”
“Quite frankly. I trust Isabel. She’s chill.”
“She’s chill? I didn’t realize you guys had gotten so chummy.” I tried to sound casual, bring up the topic in a nonchalant way, but I really was curious: Where was I when Erin and Isabel decided to become BFFs?
Erin cocked her head to the side and smiled, a look on her face like she could read my mind, which made me slightly happy and slightly scared. “Aww.” She pinched my cheek. “You’re still my best girl.”
I averted my gaze, but smiled too, reassured. Maybe I’d been making too much of in-jokes and bed sharing. And then I saw her, sitting alone at a small round table in the corner. “Holy shit. Michelle Hornsbury.”
Michelle Hornsbury was gorgeous, even from this distance. Impeccable waves of brown hair cascading down her shoulders and back. Posh Brit. Dewy skin. Permanent rosy blush. Eyes that sparkled. Rupert Pierpont’s girlfriend, in the flesh.
Erin whipped out her phone. I thought she was going to citizen pap her, take a discreet pic, but when she showed me the screen, it was only Michelle Hornsbury’s Twitter. “Michelle Hornsbury just posted this five minutes ago.”
Rupie is showing me the sites in NYC. Love him. #bestboyfriendever #lovinlife #NooYawk #fuggedaboutit #xoxo #blessed #bae #baegoals #bagels
Michelle Hornsbury was a gorgeous girl. And she was a liar.
“We should go talk to her.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I think we’ve proven today that we’re all a little crazy,” Erin said. She hopped off her stool. “I’m doing it. And if you don’t come after me, I might say something really stupid, like that we accidentally kidnapped her boyfriend.”
She left her rum and cherry Coke barely touched on the bar. Of course, I followed her. I always followed her.
“Hi!” Erin said when we got to Michelle Hornsbury’s table.
She looked up from her phone, all doe eyes and sparkly pink lip gloss. “Hello,” she said. Doe eyes, lip gloss, and wariness.
“You’re Michelle Hornsbury, aren’t you?”
Michelle Hornsbury smiled and looked as she always did in pictures: somehow frightened and unsure. A bunny rabbit who suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. “Why yes, I am.”
“I’m Erin. And this is my friend—”
“Diane Court,” I said. I knew Erin was giving me a look, even though I wasn’t watching her.
“Pleased to meet you,” Michelle Hornsbury said. “Are you girls Hornies?”
You’d be forgiven to think Michelle Hornsbury just asked us a very inappropriate question. In fact, she was only asking if we were fans of hers. “Hornies” were what Michelle Hornsbury fans called themselves. Terrible fan name, I know, but what else do you expect from fans who came up with the name “Strepurs”?
While Michelle Hornsbury had no discernible talents, and therefore no reason to be famous whatsoever, some of Rupert P.’s fans spilled over into becoming fans of his girlfriend. I always thought obsessing over a famous person’s significant other or parent or sibling was dumb, but there were still a lot of people who did it. Michelle Hornsbury’s fans were dedicated enough to build websites in her honor and send her cookies whenever she said she was feeling sad on Twitter.
So, were we fans?
“Quite frankly!” I lied.
“Can we sit down?” Erin said.
Michelle Hornsbury’s smile was still present, as ever, but dimmer now, even more unsure, if that was possible. “Uh, I don’t know … I really should get back to my …” She looked around the totally empty table, the candy-colored cosmo in her hand, her phone. “Emails. I’ve got loads of emails to read.”
Erin sat down anyway. Not wanting to stand around like an idiot, I sat down too.