I took this in, but it sounded like truth by omission. It sounded like there was more. “What did you know?”
She took a deep breath and it all came out. “I knew that Griffin had a room on the eighth floor, and that Rupert P. would probably be spending most of his time there.”
“And why did you know that? Or want to?” I asked. “It wasn’t because you thought that would get us closer to the boys.”
“No,” she said. “I wanted to know where Griffin and Rupert P. would be so that I could catch them together off guard. I was hoping to maybe get a picture. Citizen pap the hell out of them. The plan was always to blackmail Rupert P. Everything that happened with Apple—Rupert P. ending up in our room—that was all serendipity. It expedited things. I never dreamed the blackmail would go this far. Or that it would work so well.”
“But why would you want to blackmail him?”
“To make a dent in the group. Which would be the start of my plan.”
I was afraid to ask, because I was afraid of what the answer would be. But I needed to. “What is your plan?”
“To kill the boy band.”
Oh.
Like it was the weather.
Sunny out and 30 percent chance of kill the boy band???
“Figuratively speaking,” Erin added.
Because that made it so much better. “Do you mean The Ruperts specifically, or boy bands as a concept?”
“Both, actually.”
“Oh,” I said. “What the fuck?”
“Calm down,” Erin said. “I just want to destroy them till they’re an unrecognizable shell of their former selves.”
“Erin, what the fuck?” I said it again. And again. I think I may have repeated it a dozen times, because Erin came to sit next to me (I must’ve also taken a seat at some point) and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she whispered. “Do you need some time?”
“Do I need time? I need more than time, Erin! I need an explanation. Do you realize how crazy you sound right now? Oh no, you’ve had a psychotic break, haven’t you? This is your Black Swan moment. It’s okay, it can happen to anyone. I need to get you help.”
I pulled out my phone. In my mind, at that moment, that was all I could think to do. Erin wasn’t herself and she needed help. Luckily, I had my therapist on speed dial. “Dr. Schwarcz-Levinsohn is great,” I said. “She’ll whip you right back into shape.”
Erin yanked the phone out of my hands. “Get a grip,” she said. “I’m of sound mind. Actually, my mind’s never been sounder. You may not understand my actions right now, but one day you’ll come to realize that what I’m doing is really great. No, not just great—right. Boy bands need to go. And we’re going to be the ones to eradicate them.”
I stood up. I had too many feelings racing through me—spilling out of me—to just sit there and listen to this. “Where is this all coming from? We love boy bands, Erin. You love boy bands. You love The Ruperts.”
“I hate The Ruperts.”
“What?”
“I hate The Ruperts.” It was like she liked saying it, liked the idea of it, liked the way the words bounced around on her tongue.
Liked the way my face fell upon hearing it.
Erin always could make anything sound seductive, the way she spoke. But not this.
“How many hours have we spent watching their videos together?” I said, incredulous. Maybe all she needed was to be reminded of how much she loved The Ruperts. “How many times have we gone to your house and laid on the floor in your room and sung their album at the top of our lungs? We’ve told each other stuff. We’ve told each other our deepest fantasies about Rupert X. and Rupert K. All we do is talk about them!”
“All you do is talk about them,” Erin said calmly. “And you’ve obviously not noticed, but lately all I do is listen. I’m sorry, but I’m done listening. The boy band is everything that is wrong with society.”
“Jeez, Erin, it’s just a boy band. It’s not that serious.”
“Tell that to a world of girls who worship them. Do you see how many girls there are outside of this hotel? Thousands of girls, screaming their throats raw. And for what? A quartet of trendy haircuts who don’t even know they exist. Those girls outside are lobotomies. They’re zombies. Only instead of brains they want stupid boys with mediocre singing voices. I’ve seen the light, and I’m not going to be part of the trend anymore. I won’t just stand around and watch as a whole generation of us devolve into a sniveling puddle over some … boys.”
“A whole generation of girls? You’re the one who always said boy bands have a shelf life of two to four years.”
“That’s my entire teenage life!”
Now she was angry. She stood from her seat and finally raised her voice, the loudness of it matching the panic in mine. And it made me realize that I’d only seen the tip of the iceberg of some new blackness in her heart. The Erin I knew didn’t just suddenly start hating the boy band that she’d once obsessed over. There was so much more to this that I didn’t know.