“Good.” He pulls out his phone and then frowns. “Ugh. It’s late. I’ll leave you to it. I have to get up early tomorrow.”
Libby and Edward dance their way over to us. Libby has always had a surprising amount of rhythm, but Edward is quite possibly the worst dancer I’ve ever seen. He pumps his arms back and forth over his head, slightly off the beat, looking like he’s slapping invisible high fives in the sky. It makes me think of Robert and his terrible dancing, and suddenly I wish he were here.
“You leaving?” Libby asks.
“What?” Tarquin shouts.
“I said, are you leaving?” she repeats loudly over the music.
“Yeah. Gotta get up early.”
Edward starts rubbing his eyes, looking like a tired little kid.
“I think that’s our cue, too,” Libby says, leaning in to give me a hug.
The second Kate and Corrie see Edward leaving, they come over to Georgie and me to say good-bye. They look exhausted, and it’s my bet they simply wanted to hang out near Edward as long as possible. I hug them, feeling the euphoria that only two glasses of prosecco and a lemon-drop shot can bring.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, kid,” says Georgie. “More shots?”
As Georgie and I dance to Rihanna, I realize that I feel good for the first time in months. I feel like myself.
I’ve gotten my life in order. I’m creating a cool app that might actually succeed. I broke a school record and am back on track for an athletic scholarship, assuming I keep it up next year. And Libby and I are speaking again. Hell, even Edward and I are speaking again.
Sure, Libby’s replaced me with Edward—but that’s just part of growing up, isn’t it?
We’re not little girls anymore.
On the Monday morning after my track race, I wake to my phone ringing at seven a.m. The only person who would call me this early is Bill—I hope everything’s okay with the app. We’re supposed to submit to Apple next week.
It’s Libby.
“This better be good,” I groan.
On the other end, all I hear is crying.
“Libs? Are you okay?”
More sniffles.
“Libby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Through choked sobs, she manages to speak. “Edward and I broke up.”
“What? You’re in your room, right?”
She sniffles. “Yeah.”
“Don’t move. I’ll be up in ten seconds.”
I bolt from my room without even changing my clothes, running up the stairs and down the hall to Libby’s room.
Clothes are strewn across the floor. In the far corner of the room, Libby lies faceup on the bed, eyes open. She’s staring up at the ceiling, not blinking. Her nose is red and her eyes are puffy. It looks like she’s been crying for hours.
I slowly approach, like I’ve seen people do with skittish horses.
“Libby?” I say soothingly
Libby sits up, her face crumpling when she sees me. I sit on the bed next to her and give her a hug as she cries into my shoulder. Soon, my shirt is soaked from her tears.
After a few minutes of crying and clinging to me, Libby pulls away, rubbing her hands back and forth over her eyes.
“What happened?” I ask tentatively.
She reaches over and picks up her phone from the bedside table. “Here,” she says, handing it to me.
It’s an article in the Sun—and I’m in it. Three photos are blown up on the front page: the half-naked Polaroids of Edward and me from Huntshire, the ones he gave me after we broke up. Alarm bells sound in my head. How did they get those photos? I’m the only one who should have had them.
The screaming headline makes my stomach twist:
“Charlotte the Tech Wiz: Prince Ed’s Ex-Girlfriend Taking Tech World by Storm.”
What the hell?
I scroll through and read as quickly as I can:
Launching soon, and poised to be the hottest app launch in ages, Selfsy was created by Charlotte Weston, a seventeen-year-old classmate of Prince Edward, and sister to Edward’s girlfriend, Libby Weston . . .
. . . now constantly seen with his demure girlfriend, Libby—but he dated her gorgeous sister, Charlotte, first!
. . . naughty schoolboy Prince Edward was involved in a love triangle between the Weston sisters, as the Sun previously revealed . . .
A source close to the Weston sisters reveals . . .
. . . Libby was Edward’s special guest at his eighteenth birthday party last month . . .
. . . Charlotte’s following in the footsteps of her entrepreneurial middle-class mother. Jane Weston yanked herself up by the bootstraps, literally—her online shoe company, Soles, is rumored to be worth over 100 million pounds . . .
. . . suddenly, the family found themselves swimming in money, but despite hobnobbing with royalty and millionaires, they haven’t lost their middle-class touch and pride themselves on remaining humble . . .
. . . Selfsy eliminates the search troubles of other DIY apps . . .
. . . only proves that clever, popular Charlotte was more suited to being a royal girlfriend than shy wallflower Libby . . .
. . . can exclusively reveal their pet names: Bumble (that’s Libby) and Moose (that’s Edward) . . .
. . . our insider tells us Edward is worried about becoming king, spending hours each weekend in London holed up in secret meetings at Buckingham Palace . . .
. . . sexy Charlotte’s Instagram account is addictive—click here to follow!
. . . sign up at SelfsyApp.com to get on the mailing list and be alerted when the app launches.
Other photos in the piece include a long-lens paparazzi shot of the three of us in town holding ice cream cones, Libby and Edward sitting on a bale of hay at my birthday party, a photo from my Instagram of me mugging for the camera at Donatella one night last fall, and a paparazzi shot of me in the car outside Windsor Castle before Edward’s birthday, wearing India’s gold gown and displaying a stunned, deer-in-the-headlights expression.
How the hell did they get all these?
I scroll back to look at the three Polaroids again. Seen through a public lens, they look really bad. Edward and I were just being silly that night, but if I were a stranger looking at them, they suddenly don’t seem so innocent. I still think the one of me on Edward’s back is cute, although Edward’s eyes are a little blurry, so he looks wasted. The one of us hugging isn’t terrible. But our photo with the beer bottles is especially bad: I look like I’m giving the rim a blow job while Edward grabs me from behind and pulls my bum into his torso. I’m in a bikini and he’s in swim trunks, so there’s a ton of skin showing. It’s beyond suggestive—suddenly our playing around almost looks pornographic. He’s all about controlling his public image, so he must be furious these were leaked.
But maybe the worst part is that the piece spends several paragraphs praising how beautiful and smart I am, talking up Mum’s company, and complaining about how Edward was stupid to let me go. I feel a twinge of pride when I read the part about how the app works and why it’s poised to be the next big thing, but then immediately feel guilty.