I didn’t know if she meant emotionally or physically. Probably both. I couldn’t believe that anyone was capable of hurting Erin. I couldn’t believe that someone had succeeded. And I couldn’t believe that the boys—our boys, who we loved so much—could be so horrible. “I’m sorry, Erin. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
She shrugged, and when she blinked part of the shimmer in her eyes went away, and it was like she was back in the present. “I was embarrassed,” she said. “I was stupid. But I refuse to be stupid any longer. That’s why I need to do this.”
“We already got Rupert P. out of the band. How much more damage do you want to do?”
“As much as I can.”
I swallowed hard, confused and more than a little scared. “Do you realize what you’re saying, though? You want to destroy people’s lives.”
“Four boys for the price of millions of girls. I think it’s a fair trade.”
“Those girls outside the hotel—all the Strepurs of the world—love those boys. Who are you really hurting here?”
“Strepurs don’t know what they want. Those girls outside the hotel could overthrow governments with their passion! They have the potential to do so much more. To make music, or art, or to write something that isn’t rpf fanfic!”
A slap in the face. A thunderclap that shook me to my gut. “I thought you liked my fic.”
“You’re so talented. You could be using your skills to do so much more than just that.”
“And you could be using your skills to do more than destroy a boy band! Erin, you can’t just go destroying people’s lives because Rupert X. screwed you over.”
Poor choice of words, I know, but it was too late to take them back.
“This isn’t about Rupert X. anymore. He’s just a stupid fuckboy. But he did make me realize something. I’m not just going to be a victim. I’m doing something about it.”
“How could you involve me in this?” I said.
“You could’ve walked away from this at any moment. But you didn’t.”
It was the truth, and it particularly stung because it meant I couldn’t just blame Erin for this. It was no one’s fault but my own that I never walked away, that I never freed Rupert P., that I never even had the balls to stand up to my friends. I was always following Erin blindly. I was a coward.
I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that, though. “You’re being psycho.”
“I’m the psycho? At least Rupert K. isn’t a recurring guest star in my daydreams.”
Another slap in the face. They were starting to sting.
I’d told her about that in confidence.
“Think of all the things you’ve sacrificed for this band,” Erin went on. “Friends—”
“I have friends.”
“Friends who you don’t communicate with on the Internet. Discovering other interests. You’ve got this tunnel-vision obsession that’s keeping you from seeing real life.”
I couldn’t believe she was saying this to me. I knew other people didn’t understand me, didn’t understand why I cared so much about these boys, but the one person I thought got it was the one person who was throwing it all back in my face. I always thought we were in this together.
I was so wrong.
And I think that hurt more than anything.
“Why am I even here, then?” I said. “Why did you invite me along if you knew I would be opposed to this?”
“I hoped you’d see my side of things. You’re my best friend. I want to save you too.”
I’d chased her all the way in here, but suddenly I wanted to be as far away from her as possible. “I’m so grateful,” I spat. I tried saying it with as much venom as I could, but Erin was always the one who had a way with words.
There was this girl at school who used to taunt me sometimes. Leslie Hamilton. She was a sophomore and I was a freshman, and this was early on in the school year, the worst the bullying ever was. She didn’t do anything major, just spewed shit consistently. Stuff about my clothes, my hair, about how I didn’t have a dad—really childish stuff. One day in the locker room, while everyone else headed into the gym for PE, Erin took my hand and pulled me back. The two of us were the only ones left.
“I have something for you,” she’d said. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, her lips still super red, even for gym. She held out a pink water bottle for me to take.
“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m not thirsty.”
“It’s not for you, silly. That’s Leslie’s water bottle. She keeps it locked in her locker because she occasionally enjoys a bit of vodka in her post-gym refresher. But combination locks are a breeze, and no match for me.” She held it out again, shaking it a bit. “So here, take it. I think you should pee in it.”
I read her face, trying to make out if this was some sort of joke, but she was serious. “What?”
“Pee in the bottle. She deserves it.”
“Erin,” I said. It was more of a shocked laugh than a name, the way it came out. “I can’t just … I can’t just pee in someone’s water bottle.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s really mean.”
Erin sighed and dropped her hand, the water bottle colliding limply with her thigh. “How can you stand the way she treats you? I can’t.”