Until Then

Prologue

IZZY

Cameras flash nonstop, the paparazzi behind me yelling at every celebrity to “look this way” and “turn toward me,” as if anyone can discern who me is in his mayhem.

I shuffle through the crowd, offering apologies when I bump into another person nearly every foot.

Desperately, I fight to get to my post where I’ll be interviewing on the red carpet on behalf of The Tea—a celebrity gossip and news channel. This is the third year I’ve represented them here, and yet my nerves still rattle me.

“Am I sweating?” I ask. “I feel like I’m sweating.”

Carla, an assistant from the show’s production who’s shadowing me today, pauses only long enough to give me a quick assessment before nudging me to keep moving. “You don’t look sweaty. We’re almost there. ”

She speaks into her Bluetooth headset, but I can’t make out the words. It all sounds like gibberish in the chaos.

Years ago, when I started my vlog, I never dared to dream about these kinds of opportunities. It felt like too much to hope for. But as my vlog became more popular and my social media following grew, so did the offers I received.

“Here we are.” Carla motions to where The Tea is set up on the carpet, camera and everything.

In a matter of seconds, I’m mic’d up and handed a separate microphone to pass to my interviewees.

Things go well as celebrities arrive. I even manage to interview one of my favorite actors, Samuel Owens, without peeing myself, so I count it as a win.

Not long after, Lux, the world’s biggest popstar, makes her way over to me, practically swimming in a sea of glitter and wearing a shimmery silver dress that reflects the lights around us.

Carla takes the card from my hand and replaces it with a new one.

Keep your cool, Izzy. She’s just a person .

Lux is one of my unicorns. A celebrity I’ve dreamed of meeting more than just about anyone else. At twenty-two, she’s already reached uber stardom, surpassing many of the recent greats with chart-topping songs and albums and unmatched tickets sales.

Heart racing, I clear my throat. “Lux, thanks so much for chatting with The Tea tonight. You look wonderful. Who are you wearing?”

I loathe that question, but it’s one I’m required to ask.

She looks down at the dress with a small smile, though there is a flash of annoyance in her eyes she can’t hide. But with her head tipped, the camera likely missed it. “It’s Gucci. ”

I paste on a smile. The last thing I want is for this interview to go south because of the questions The Tea wants me to ask. I glance down at the index card in my hand.

“What’s your must-have makeup product on tour?”

Lux keeps the same small, almost bland smile as her fake silver lashes fan against her cheek. “I’m really into this rose-tinted lip oil right now. And no, I don’t know the brand. It’s one my makeup artist uses.”

I bite my lip. “Um…” I clear my throat. God, this is already a disaster. Carla gives my elbow a squeeze, reminding me to keep going.

Hands shaking, because Lux is already edging away from us, I mindlessly read the question from the index card. “Is it true you’re dating Cannon Rhodes from the band The Wild?”

Lux purses her lips, her eyes going almost as icy as her blond hair. “What kind of importance do my dress and makeup, or who I may or may not be screwing, carry?”

“I—”

“I’ve stated time and time again that certain topics are off-limits, and still you reporters push?—”

I gape, my heart dropping. “I’m not a?—”

“What’s next on that little card of yours?” she asks with a sneer. I’ve never known Lux to behave this way. In every interview I’ve seen of her, she’s been fun and bubbly.

“I…” I lower my head, read the next question, and close my eyes, doing my best not to cringe on camera. “There are reports of you leaving a hospital on tour. Is there any validity in the rumor that you had an abortion?”

“That’s enough of this.” She holds up a hand, effectively putting a wall between us.

Tears burn my eyes at the reprimand, though I understand her anger. I wouldn’t want to constantly answer questions about what I’m wearing, who I’m dating, or what I may or may not have done with my body. It’s pushy and invasive. The Tea has always leaned into these kinds of questions, but I’ve never been given questions as invasive as the one I just uttered.

Lux walks off then, saving me from having to ask the last question, which somehow feels worse than the one about abortion.

As she saunters away, I do my best to smile, despite the way nausea roils in my stomach. I have other people to interview, and I have to keep a brave face.

Hours later, feet swollen from my heels and with cooling patches beneath my eyes, I sink into bed with Wonton, my beloved Maltese. And despite my better judgment—and knowing The Tea will probably have my head for it—I send a DM to Lux.

I type out, delete, and retype my response several times before settling on a message I think sounds okay.

@izzy_james: Hi, Lux. I wanted to extend my sincerest apologies for tonight. The questions were uncalled for, and it’s on me for not reading them ahead of time and vetoing them. As a woman who shares my life on social media, I understand what it’s like to be asked invasive questions about your personal life. I’m terribly sorry I was a part of that for you. I’m a genuine fan of your music and all you do. I hope we can meet again under different circumstances.

Once the message is sent, I force myself to turn my phone off. Otherwise, I’ll be awake all night scrolling various social media apps in search of gossip about the disaster of an interview and anxious for a reply from Lux. The chances of her even seeing the message are slim, but I have to hope.

It’s nearing eleven when I finally wake up. It’s unusual for me to sleep this late, but I was out until the wee hours. Wonton, thankfully, had no problem sleeping in with me. He wiggles beside me, slowly rousing, and gives my nose a lick. Then he lets out a sharp bark—his demand to be let out.

I slip out of bed, and once I’m wrapped up in my robe, I open the sliding glass door to let him out back while I go to the bathroom myself. As I round my bed, I eye my phone where it sits on the nightstand, telling myself I need to wait at least five minutes before powering it on again.

After washing my hands, I step back into the bedroom and find Wonton pawing at the door, ready to be let back in. When I do, he runs straight out of the room to the kitchen for his breakfast. For such a tiny dog, he’s extremely bossy. I snag my phone and stuff it in the pocket of the robe, holding strong. Once I’ve set his bowl of food down and started a pot of coffee, I finally give in to the temptation to check social media.

When the app loads and I navigate to the notifications, my heart drops.

@luxonator3000: how cld u ask Lux those questions? So rude.

@brielle_luvs_lux: I can’t believe you did that. I’ve loved your vlogs for years, but I’m unfollowing.

@izzyjamessucks: Don’t come after our girl like that. Ur CANCELED.

Comment after comment appears on my last few posts, all some variation of how much I suck. My following count has already dropped by three thousand. It’s not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it’s enough for it to sting.

My DMs are filled with more of the same, though I do find a message from Lux waiting. My heart beats rapidly and my hands shake when I click on it.

@LUX: I appreciate your apology. I understand the questions didn’t come directly from you, but next time I highly recommend you vet them beforehand. Best of luck,

Lux.

Then, almost forty minutes later, there is another message from her.

@LUX: Our interview is going viral. My team is on it, because frankly, I don’t want it circulating any more than I’m sure you do. My fans are already going after you, so now it looks like I owe you an apology. I’m going to put out a statement and try to clean this up.

I click onto her stories where a tired-looking Lux explains how the questions weren’t mine but directly from The Tea. She pleads with her fans to understand that attacking me does more harm than good and that we’ve spoken privately.

My heart plummets. Regardless of her efforts, it won’t be enough.

Not with her level of fame and the passion her fans have for her.

As my follower count continues to lower, I watch as everything I’ve worked so hard for slips through my fingers.

And anymore, without my vlog or my social media following, I don’t know who I am.