‘That’s so true,’ Nate says.
‘And the government is always the baddie,’ Katie says. ‘Without fail. It’s so predictable. No wonder I haven’t read The Gallows Dance, I bet it’s like all the others.’
‘You’re so ignorant,’ Alice snaps.
‘Anyway, Willow isn’t a stupid name,’ I say, a little hurt by the remark. ‘It’s natural . . . earthy. It even sounds like leaves, sweeping the grass, bumping up against each other, trailing in the water.’
‘Amen to that,’ Alice says.
Nate pulls my arm into the thinness of his ribs. ‘God, you’re pathetic.’
I scoff, but he’s kind of got a point. I am pathetic when it comes to Willow, even though I know he’s make-believe – a figment of some dead author’s imagination. I also know that Russell Jones is an arrogant-actor-tosspot who beds models and snorts cocaine . . . but in the absence of Willow, I will pose with his avatar.
Speaking of which, an Avatar walks by. Tall, broad, even-featured. He looks like he may be attractive under all that blue.
‘OMG,’ Katie squeals. ‘A sexy Smurf.’
We wait to meet Russell in a long, darkened room. The queue’s shorter than I expected – only a couple of teenage girls scrolling through selfies on their phones.
A lady with a clipboard takes our names and collects our crumpled tenners. ‘Right, we’re doing well for time, I’ll be with you again shortly.’
She leads the selfie girls through a door at the back. I crane my neck to see if I can catch my first glimpse of Russell, but they’re too damn quick.
Alice grips my hand. ‘I can’t believe this is about to happen.’
‘I know,’ I reply.
‘Do I look OK?’ she asks.
I don’t even bother studying her. ‘Yeah, course.’
‘Do you think Russell will have heard of me?’
Nate laughs. ‘No way. He’s a megastar, he’s not going to be reading some random fanfic by some wannabe Sally King.’
‘Thanks, but I wasn’t asking you,’ Alice replies, her voice sour. ‘And FYI, who’d want to be Sally King, poor cow killed herself after one novel. I’m going to write a trilogy.’
‘Wow, you’re all heart,’ Nate says. ‘RIP, the lovely Sally King.’
‘Who invited you anyway, Squirt?’ Alice pokes him in the ribs and he squeals like he’s five. Anyone would think they were the siblings, the way they carry on.
Clipboard Lady reappears. ‘Right, you guys are next.’
Alice pushes past us, her heels clacking against the floor. We follow and enter another dimly lit room. I can see Russell Jones standing at the back, his toned body squeezed between the selfie girls, his strong fingers wrapped around their waists. He smiles as a camera flashes, lighting up the network of scaffolds overhead and the canvas behind him. The theme tune fills my head, all violins and drums, and I feel a sudden surge of adrenalin.
Julia Starling – the actress who plays Rose – perches on a desk and talks to some security guards. Cast in the emerald glow of the stage lights, she looks even more ethereal than usual. Her thin hands flutter before her face as she laughs her bell-like laugh, and her hair cascades down her back in dark, glossy waves, no frizz in sight. I notice she wears blue jeans and a white blouse. I suddenly feel like a fraud, standing in my tunic, pretending to be Rose. I know I’m pretty, in a quirky, pale way (at least, people tell me I’m pretty, in a quirky, pale way) but I could never match Julia’s grace, the delicacy of her features.
The selfie girls leave. I watch Russell take a swig of water. I can just make out the shape of his Adam’s apple moving down his throat like the tip of a blade.
‘Enjoy,’ says Clipboard Lady, ushering us towards him.
He nods at us, and his gaze immediately fixes on Alice. That little kernel of envy expands to fill my entire body.
A smile creeps across his face, his teeth so white they almost glow. ‘A fellow Gem. An unpopular choice, but if you can pull it off, why the hell not?’
Alice laughs – a nervous trill. ‘I know, right.’
He swishes his caramel hair from his eyes and turns his attention to me. ‘Ah . . . Rose, my love, you’ve found me at last.’ His eyes look just like Willow’s – amber flecks radiating from his pupils, like sunshine escaping from a black sphere, a solar eclipse. But they lack some of Willow’s kindness.
‘Jules,’ he calls. ‘Hey, Jules, this is the best Rose we’ve seen all day.’
Julia glances over her shoulder and grins. ‘You want my job, girlie?’
I open my mouth to reply, but no noise escapes.
She laughs. ‘I’m just screwing with you . . . you look great, really. I love the sash.’
‘Thanks.’ My smile threatens to split my face in two.
Russell extends his hand towards Nate. ‘And you must be Thorn.’
Nate shakes his hand, a little too excitedly. ‘Big fan, big fan, big, big fan . . .’
Russell gestures at the brooch on Nate’s tunic: a thistle head carved from oak. ‘Nice badge – the symbol of Imp rebels.’
‘Cut us down and we come back stronger.’ Nate’s face lights up. ‘You know, like weeds.’
Russell slaps him on the back, I think to shut him up, and then turns to Katie. ‘And . . . you are?’
‘A DNA helix,’ Katie says.
‘Clever, I like it.’
I notice Alice scowling, the foundation cracking on her usually flawless skin.
Something creaks overhead. The emerald light wobbles, sending a giant shadow scudding across Russell’s seamless features. ‘So how do you want to do this, guys? Group or individually?’
‘Group,’ Katie and I say in stereo.
But Alice mustn’t hear, because she says, ‘Individually, please.’
I hear it again. My eyes scan the scaffolding; it looks sturdy enough. The violins must be messing with my head.
‘Come on then, superhuman.’ Russell loops an arm around Alice’s waist, but I don’t feel jealous, I just feel dizzy – like I’ve downed a vodka and Red Bull.
I hadn’t noticed the photographer until now. He seems to emerge from nowhere, as though cut from the dark itself. I hear that creak again, another shift of emerald light.
‘So, what’s your name?’ Russell says.
‘Alice.’
‘Well, you really are in Wonderland now.’
Willow would never say that. Disappointment surges up my throat, making my lips tingle. The camera flashes, bleaching out their faces, sending another shadow jutting up the canvas, all spikes and dips. I blink several times.
Alice giggles. ‘Anime Alice, that’s my pen name. I write loads of Gallows Dance fanfic, you may have heard of me?’
Russell looks impressed. ‘So you’re Anime Alice? The Anime Alice. Sure, I’ve heard of you. You’re becoming quite the internet sensation. Hey, Julia, get a photo of me with Alice here, it’ll look great on Instagram.’
Alice can’t resist a flick of her eyebrow for Nate’s benefit, right before that infectious smile bursts across her face.