Stay With Me (13 page)

“Aren’t you glad you decided to live off-campus?” Daphne crosses the tiny space to her bed, dropping her bag into the chair at her desk. There’s a small laundry basket at the foot of her bed and a shower caddy. She reaches under her bed and pulls out one long plastic box that holds chips, granola bars, some candy, and other food items. “Want one?”

I shake my head no and join her on the bed, taking my shoes off before I do so and leaving my bag, which has a change of clothes for tonight and stuff to wear tomorrow, on the floor. “What else do you have under there?”

“Two more, surprisingly. One has, like, supplies and the other is just extra clothes.” She leans forward, pushing the bin back under her bed. “And there’s a sleeping bag. I’ll take that and the floor tonight. You can have my bed.”

“No, there’s no need for that.”

“Nope. You’re taking it.” Daphne pauses, a smile tugging her lips. “And don’t worry. I changed my sheets earlier today. Not that I do anything but sleep in my bed.”

We have a few hours until the dorm party officially begins, so Daphne and I hang out, doing some work, as a soap opera plays in the background.

“So you went from being a Gerber baby to a soap opera baby to a rock star? How exactly does that happen?” Daphne asks a few minutes later.

“Yeah, I was on the soap until I was five. Then I played Annie in yet another Broadway revival of the show before playing Cosette. And then TV sitcoms and films. And my singing continued as I acted. The tours, the songwriting . . .” I wave my hand about. “It goes on and on.”

“Yeah. Same old, same old.” Daphne nudges me with her shoulder. “There had to be some fun things about being famous. The free clothes, the free jewelry . . . the hot men falling over each other to get to you.”

“Sure, there were things I liked.”

Paris in summer, riding on a camel for a movie role, never having to worry about money for the rest of my life. My mother has done many things wrong, but one of the few things she did right was to protect my finances from birth. But since she also profited from said finances . . . well, perhaps, her motives weren’t out of the goodness of her heart for me but more for protecting herself in the future too.

“See.”

I shake my head. “But there were more things I didn’t like. And I just want something else.”

Daphne leans against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. “So do I.”

The door suddenly flies open, and a tall, thin blonde enters with two bags full of liquor. She’s with another dark-haired girl who looks like she might be from Mexico. They’re both carrying bags.

“We’ve got a ton of—” The blonde suddenly stops, almost comically so, with her body stiff and her dark eyes wide. The other girl bumps into her, sending the blonde a few steps farther into the room. Both are still looking at me the whole time.

“Holy shit—”

“—balls,” they both utter at the same time.

“Maura. Tatiana.” Daphne points to the blonde then the other girl. “Hailey.”

“Holy shit—”

“—balls.”

And then both sit on Maura’s bed, the bags still clutched in their hands.

“Hi,” I say, a little weakly.

“I think they might be fans,” Daphne says dryly. “Let’s try to act normal, you two.”

“Daphne!” Maura recovers first. “It’s not every day you meet someone famous.”

“Or someone who’s kissed Holden White, Alex Randall, and Fitz Branthwell. And who was in the biggest romantic movie ever.” This comes from Tatiana.

“I know!” Maura nods her head in agreement, then glances over at me. “I cried sooooo much during that movie.”

“And then that kiss.” Tatiana sighs. “And then when they get back together.”

Tatiana and Maura sigh again. I think even Daphne joins in.

“What?” Daphne asks at my look. “That was a really good movie. You should be proud of it.”

I look at the three of them. “Okay. You’re right. It was good.”

“I’m always right,” Daphne says smugly. “Now, let’s get working on the drinks and then order some dinner.”

D
INNER ENDS UP BEING PIZZA
and cheesy breadsticks. Maura and Tatiana seem nice and ask expected questions about being famous. But soon they’re talking about the cute guys on campus, and Daphne buries her head in her pillow when her brother’s name is mentioned.

“Sorry, Daphne,” Maura says, taking a slice of cheese pizza. “But your brother is totally smoking hot.”

“Totally,” Tatiana agrees. “And so are his friends.”

Maura turns toward Tatiana. “Right! That house is full of hot guys. And don’t give me that look, Daphne. You’ve got to admit that it’s a smorgasbord of the sexy.”

“I admit nothing.”

“You’re no fun.” Maura snorts, then looks at me. “And you?”

“They’re definitely hot,” I say easily.

But I don’t make any specific comments about Caleb, and I feel Daphne’s watchful gaze on me as we eat the rest of our dinner.

After we’re done, Tatiana takes the empty pizza boxes and lays them on top of the small trash bin. The alcohol is taken from the bags, along with a stack of paper shot glasses. We line up the shot glasses on the floor, and then Maura opens the vodka and adds green food coloring to it, then shakes it up.

“We’ll call this ‘Alien’,” Maura says.

Daphne takes the bottle, looking at it askance. “That’s original.”

“You’ve got something better?”

“No.”

Maura points another now green vodka bottle at me. “You?”

“I’ve got nothing,” I say, holding my hands up.

“Then ‘Alien’ it is.”

Tatiana starts pouring some whiskey in another row of shot glasses. “It won’t matter at the end of the night anyway. It’s not like people will remember this—at least they won’t if the party is any good.”

I
REMEMBER NOTHING THE NEXT
day.

I wake up, gritty, groggy, and dry-mouthed. I have no idea what time it is . . . and for a moment, I’m disoriented. Not in my own bed. Not in my apartment. And far from Hollywood.

Little pieces of memory come back. Daphne. Going room to room, taking drinks along the way. Being zombified when I didn’t move quickly enough past a door. Maura getting swallowed by the lava pit—on purpose, as the cute guy who was hanging out in Room 107 kept hitting on her. Tatiana disappearing into another girl’s room on the second floor. Texting Caleb—

I jolt upright in the bed and immediately regret it.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

I look for my cell, but it’s still dark in the room, and I forgot where I put it. Where did I put the damn thing? One minute I had my cell, the next I was asleep.

I turn around, kneeling on the bed, and the room spins a little. Definitely still buzzed. No driving until I sober up, which might not be until tomorrow at this rate. I can’t see my cell near the pillow, and it’s not under it, but when I reach my hand down the small gap between the bed and the desk, I find it.

The cell is dead, and my charger is in my bag, which Daphne put under the bed in one of the crates last night. She did that when Maura and Tatiana had gone to the bathroom and said, “They’re nice, but I wouldn’t put it past them to look in your bag given the chance.”

My secrets aren’t in my bag, and they’re certainly not on my cell. But I don’t like people rifling through my things any more than the next person.

It was a good idea last night, but now in the morning/afternoon/whatever it is, I can’t get to it because Daphne is sleeping on top of her sleeping bag on the floor, and her body is blocking the bed and my only way to get to my bag.

Shit.

I really, really, really hope I didn’t text anything embarrassing.

Or say something stupid.

Or let out things I don’t want to let out.

I can’t do anything right now, and there’s no sense of tormenting myself with what I might have written.

I can wait.

I last sixty seconds.

Daphne rolls over onto her other side, her body shifting away from the bed, leaving just enough room for me to reach down and feel for the bin. Daphne rolls over again, flat on her stomach, her limbs splayed out like a starfish. She mumbles something in her sleep, but I don’t catch it.

At least now there’s just enough space where I can get the bin out. I grab my bag and slide the bin back under the bed. I rifle through my things, finding my charger at the bottom, and find an outlet near the foot of her bed. It seems to take forever for me to plug my cell in and then wait for the screen to come up. And then it seems to take even longer than forever for me to find my texts to scroll through.

That’s it.

I’m never ever
ever
drinking again.

Ever.

Chapter 15

D
APHNE IS NOT A HAPPY
person when she wakes up. She’s downright miserable.

“I’m not a morning person,” she says, as we head to this side of the floor’s bathrooms and showers area. Maura hasn’t returned yet, and I have no idea if Tatiana ever made it back to her room on the fourth floor.

Daphne has stated a variation of this ever since she woke up ten minutes ago.

“It
is
11 a.m.,” I point out.

“That’s morning to me.” Daphne winces when we enter the bathroom, the harsh fluorescent lighting making the green tiles almost pukish in its color. Daphne’s face turns about fifty shades of green. “I’m going to be sick.”

And then she runs into an empty stall, closes the door behind her, and throws up.

I knock gently on the door. “You need anything?”

“No,” she croaks. “Maybe a casket. I feel like I’m dying.”

“Bad, huh?”

“I hate throwing up.” There’s a slight catch to her voice, as if she’s about to cry. “I really, really motherfucking hate it.”

“So do I.” I pause. “Maybe a shower will make you feel better.”

After some time has passed, Daphne leaves the stall and grabs her shower caddy. “I doubt it. Are you sure you don’t want to take one? I have an extra towel, and I’ll stand guard in case anyone enters. There won’t be any naked pictures of Hailey Bloom floating around the internet under my watch.”

That’s one thing I’ve luckily managed to avoid. I’m sure some paps wished I would “accidentally” have a nip slip or forget to wear panties and step out of a car and flash my vagina. But who wants to deal with
that
kind of press and be slut-shamed? And it would also be gross, because I only turned eighteen last December, and I just don’t want the “she flashed her vagina” thing to ever be a part of who I am.

But there are a lot of parts of me that I wished weren’t me. That I could erase—permanently. Because it would be much easier to recover from showing my naked breasts or vagina.

I wouldn’t ever be able to recover if the other thing came out. It’s not even about keeping the fame, because God knows I don’t give a shit about that, but I just don’t want to deal with that. Ever.

Can’t I just take this one thing to my grave?

I hope so. I really do.

“Hellooooo! Earth to Hailey.” Daphne waves her hand in front of my face. “Where did you go?”

“I’m still out of it.”

“I told you not to drink the Zombie Spurt.”

“Now I’m the one going to be sick.” But I don’t make a move to the toilets. I grab some toothpaste from Daphne, squirting it on my toothbrush. “And I’m definitely going to take a shower.”

“Here.” Daphne slides out of her flip-flops. “Wear these, and whatever you do, don’t look down at the drain.”

I take her advice.

I take a quick shower, and towel myself off. Daphne passes me my bag, where I’ve stored a change of clothes, and I put my bra and underwear on, wrapping the towel around me. I’ll put my clothes on in a bathroom stall and head out so Daphne can take a shower.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Not a problem.” Daphne puts her flip-flops back on. “I’m glad you did, because God, you smelled like someone poured alcohol all over you.”

I laugh and head to the bathroom as Daphne showers. I’m putting on my knit leggings when something slides under my stall.

I bend down and pick up the USB stick.

I think nothing of it until another minute passes by when I’m slipping my tunic over my head when another something slides under the stall, hitting my left foot.

I glance down.

A thick set of bound pages.

I pick it up.

A screenplay.

And then I look at the USB stick in my hand. I bet this has a music demo on it.

“Psst,” a voice whispers. “Pssst. I have something for you. I think you’ll really like it. Maybe it can be your next movie.”

And then another something makes it way under the bathroom stall.

Another book. Another USB stick.

I don’t say anything. I don’t do anything. I wait until the person leaves, and then I leave the bathroom stall, making sure no one else is around. Daphne’s still in the shower, but otherwise, the coast is clear.

And then I dump both screenplays and both USB sticks where they belong—in the trash.

I
DON’T PLAN ON SAYING
anything to Daphne when she gets out of the shower, but she takes one look at my face and strides over to me.

“What the hell happened?” she demands.

“The usual.”

“Which is?”

I point to the garbage can. “See for yourself.”

She stalks to the garbage can, peering down at it. Her expression turns thunderous. “Those fuckers!”

“I know.” I wash my hands again. “That’s why the dean and the board suggested I live off-campus.”

“You’d wanted to live”—Daphne looks around at the puke green titles, the stalls, and the showers we’d just taken—“
here?
”

“No. Yes.” I shrug, then lean one hip against the counter. “Maybe. It’s the whole college experience, isn’t it? Living in a dorm?”

“I’d rather live in the kickass apartment you have and not have to deal with all the shit that goes around here. Too many girls under one roof is not a good thing. And sharing a room with another person? Well, it’s not fun all the time.”

“That’s what the dean said. Not in those exact words, but they thought given my level of fame it would be harder for me to live in a dorm. That I would have more privacy off-campus.” I wipe my hands off on a paper towel. “And I agreed with them. Eventually. When I thought about the hair in the showers, it became an easier and easier decision.”