“It’s not that serious. He spills all the tea and in return I give him scoops from my other sources too. Symbiotic relationship and all that. Anytime Rupert P. and him ever got into a lovers’ tiff you best believe I became Griffin’s own personal news outlet. How do you think I got those pics of Rupert P. passed out drunk in his house last year? Griff leaks stuff all the time through me. We’re actually kind of friendly now.”
Griff? “Clearly.” And then something hit me. “You knew Rupert P. would be on the eighth floor because Griffin told you his room was on the eighth floor, didn’t he? Wait, were you … Was there a plan?” My mind was spinning faster than I could form words to explain it all. Had Erin told Isabel about her plan to ruin the boys? Was Isabel in on this whole thing? And maybe more importantly, was I the only one who wasn’t?
Isabel stopped looking at me. Just when I actually wanted her to be straight with me. The elevator doors opened on our floor.
“Talk to Erin.” Isabel stepped out of the elevator first. I watched her walk down the hall and I got the strangest feeling, like it was the first time I was seeing her. Maybe it was the first time I was seeing the real her.
And all I saw was hate. Because after a while, obsession without any payoff can breed it—hatred. The boys will inevitably disappoint you somehow. You think a girl that they date isn’t worthy of them. You think their songs could be better, that their relevance is weak. You begin to wonder why you still care so much, why you still fight their battles for them over Twitter while they themselves are sipping pi?a coladas on some Mexican beach, and you realize that at some point your obsession is mostly perfunctory. You’ve sold your soul to it and now you open up Tumblr and scroll because it’s hardwired in you to do it. If you can just get one more piece of info, one more pic, one more scoop, it’ll fill that empty feeling in you that you dug unbeknownst in the first place.
This is what I thought of Isabel’s obsession. The way fans are necessary to keep a boy band going, the boys became necessary for Isabel to keep her site going, and therefore her life going.
Killing Rupert P. would cause the most chaos. It was the biggest story to ever hit her site. She was on cloud nine—I could see it in the way she walked. She was practically skipping. And Isabel didn’t skip.
I pictured her standing over Rupert P. in his chair, wrapping the pink tights around her fists and pulling as hard as she could. I imagined those flared nostrils of hers, and her smile, which was always more of a snarl. It was the kind of smile that was meant to be formed when performing murder anyway.
“Did you kill Rupert P.?”
She turned around slowly, just as she was about to put the key card into our room’s lock. “What did you say to me?”
“You heard me.” I was scared to confront her like this, but I needed to know. “Did you?”
She marched over to where I stood. “Oh, you tried it, escuincla babosa.” That was not the sort of Spanish they taught in class, but even if I couldn’t translate it the message was clear. Isabel was mad. She seemed much taller than me in that moment. Or maybe I was shrinking. I was Alice in Wonderland and I’d just downed the magic shrinking potion. Isabel was the Queen of Hearts. Seriously, I was worried for my head.
She jammed her fingers against my shoulder. The hallway wall behind me broke my fall.
We were alone on the eighth floor of The Rondack, and Isabel very well could’ve killed me and gotten away with it. “If I’d known I’d have to deal with your whiny ass the entire night, I would’ve told Erin to keep you home until you were properly housebroken. Just so we’re clear, I give zero fucks what you think. But keep reaching, Icarus. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a site to update and a body to dispose of.”
Not exactly a denial.
She went to open the hotel room, and I was left to rub the newly blossoming bruise on my shoulder.
When I got to the room Isabel was nowhere in sight, having obviously retreated to the bedroom to update her site or bite the heads off bats or something. Apple sat on the couch. I realized this was the first time we’d dared to leave her alone with Rupert P., but this time was obviously different. There was no fear that she’d try to hump his leg or something. Or at least I hoped not. She just sat there on the couch, looking anywhere but at Rupert P., eating a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.
I sat next to her.
There was something I needed to find out, before we spoke about anything else. “Apple, were you in on Erin and Isabel’s plan?”
She didn’t stop chewing her chocolate altogether, but she chewed more slowly, her eyebrows scrunching as she looked at me. “What plan?” she asked through a mouthful.
“You know … to mess with The Ruperts?”
Apple swallowed. “There was a plan?”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. So Apple wasn’t in on it. I wasn’t the only one who was out of the loop. It made me feel closer to her suddenly. If I had someone on my side, that meant that this whole night wasn’t totally fucked. Maybe we could do something to make things right again.
“I’m sorry I blew up at you earlier,” she said.
“Me too.”