“Well … what do you think is going on, then?” Isabel said. You’d think Isabel would be good at lying, but she was actually clearly very bad at it. If I didn’t already know that she was hiding something, I’d still think she was acting shady. Her eyes were looking all shifty and unsure. Like, put some effort into it, at least.
“I don’t know,” Griffin said. “But all of this is highly suspicious to me. He wouldn’t just turn off his phone, he wouldn’t not answer my calls unless he was with Michelle, and he’s never with Michelle. And most of all, he would not quit the band. You know how hard he’s been working on being good. Being kicked out of the band was his biggest nightmare—he told me all the time. Why would he just quit?”
“Maybe he’s just playing a prank on everyone.”
This was the most plausible lie anyone had said all day. If Rupert P. was known for one thing, it was his penchant for ruining other people’s days. Mayherestinpeace.
“Maybe,” Griffin said. “But something’s still fishy about all of this.” He dug his fingers into his hair, though it was so perfectly moussed that every strand fell back into place when he took his hand out again. He narrowed his eyes and his lips fell into a pout. Imagine a male model lying on a bed of women while staring blankly ahead, contemplating the meaning of life. “I’m going to call the police.”
“No!” Isabel said. She coughed, trying to cover up her outburst. Not only was she a bad liar, she was also apparently a terrible actress. “You can’t do that.” She leaned closer to him, and farther from me. “That’ll out the both of you. Think about Rupert. Would he want you to do that?”
Griffin glanced in my direction, like he wasn’t sure if it was still safe to talk around me now that the word “out” had been spoken aloud.
“I don’t care about that anymore,” he said. “If Rupert’s in trouble then the police need to be involved. Will you do me a favor? Would you just ask around for me? Your resources combined with mine—we could get to the bottom of this.”
“For sure,” Isabel said.
“Great.” He placed his hand on Isabel’s arm, and his face melted into something heartfelt. Imagine a male model riding a horse naked. “Thank you, Is.”
The sound of screeching metal caught all of our attention. It came from outside, and I’m pretty sure I saw the frame of the scaffolding move.
“That has to be a fire hazard,” Griffin said. “There are too many girls out there. That scaffolding is going to come down.”
Griffin Holmes: style icon/gorgeous gay prophet.
“I better go,” he said.
I watched him walk through the lobby and out the front entrance, and for a second I could feel the heat of the roaring fire of Strepurs outside, their yells licking the doors.
“Do you want to explain what just happened, Is?”
“You were there, Lydia. You heard the whole thing.”
She headed for the elevators and I followed, close on her heels. “What I meant was how the hell do you know Griffin Holmes?”
“He’s one of my sources.”
The gilded elevator doors opened. Luckily, it was empty, so we could speak openly. “For your site? How come you never told us?”
“I gotta tell you everything?”
“We’re friends,” I said, and even I could hear how false that sounded now. But I pressed on. “Friends tell each other things like this. Especially if it involves The Ruperts.”
She turned to look at me, straight in the eye. Whenever she did that it was intimidating. It was one of the reasons I liked the fact that Isabel was mainly an online friend. Isabel was taller than me. And meaner. And her nostrils were permanently flared, like she smelled something she didn’t like and that something was me. She was so much easier to talk to when she was just an icon on a screen.
“Let’s not pretend that you’re friends with me for any reason other than the fact that I get you the best Ruperts leaks,” she said. “I’m a source for you. And Griffin Holmes is a source for me. It’s the circle of life, et cetera, et cetera.”
Before today I probably would’ve been offended by her substituting the word “source” for “friend,” but I knew she was right.
“How’d you get him to be your source?”
“I worked on him for a minute. Tweeted him incessantly til he followed me back, and then I shot over a DM right quick letting him know I had proof that he and Rupert P. were coupling it up.”
“Did you?”
“No, obvs. He took the bait anyway.”
“You blackmailed him.”
“And I’ve been getting insider deets on the boys’ every move ever since. You’re welcome.”
“That’s kind of messed up.”