Chapter 34
I thought Sunday was as bad as things would get, but boy, was I wrong.
Mom lets me skip school on Monday. I don’t know what I was expecting, but the whole “ex–child star CeCe Lafayette has a secret
identity” thing has taken the internet by storm. I doubt people would have cared a fraction as much if Luke wasn’t involved.
If it was only, “Oh, we found CeCe Lafayette, and she’s in Connecticut living a normal life under a different name,” it may
have been the subject of one or two videos online, maybe a short article in Us Weekly or whatever, and then that would be it.
But because Luke’s involved, it’s caught fire. My fake Instagram account has blown up to more than three hundred thousand
followers, with no signs of slowing down. I can’t even log in to TikTok anymore because my algorithm saw that I interacted
with the first video, so it seems to think I want every follow-up video imaginable. Which I don’t.
It doesn’t help that Ani’s camp took the opportunity and ran with it. So much for her being “cool.” Along with articles about my “romance” with Luke, there are now paparazzi photos of her wearing dark sunglasses, looking sad. Headlines that say stuff like:
Ana?s Labrie Crushed by Cheating Boyfriend
“It was so new, but she was excited about it,” a close friend of Labrie’s said when interviewed. “She accepted the role—just
a supporting part, and she had to miss out on some lead roles—because of Lucas. And now this.”
And that’s not even the worst thing that comes up.
On Monday night, I discover that Dad gave an interview to Us Weekly. I find it during one of the ten thousand frantic googlings of “CeCe Lafayette” I’ve been doing since it all came out. I
know I should ignore it, stay offline, but I can’t. I open the article, hoping maybe it’s old content, but it isn’t. He gave
them photos of me and Luke from our Bricks days, private photos that were never published, and then some more recent family photos of me, Nicky, and Mom that I’ve sent
him over the years.
I can’t bring myself to read the interview itself.
After I show the link to Mom, I ask if I can skip school tomorrow, too. She immediately says yes.
Luke isn’t free to talk until late, past one a.m. East Coast time.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, almost as a greeting. “It’s been hell over here. So busy. How are you? How are things going?”
“Well, my dad gave an interview to Us Weekly,” I say. “So there’s that.”
There’s a stretch of silence. And then, like he can’t believe it: “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.”
“Do you want me to go pay him a visit?” Luke asks. This time I can tell he isn’t joking. “He’s still in LA, right? I would
clear my schedule for that. Happily.”
I let myself imagine it. The idea of Luke yelling at him on my behalf is briefly satisfying, but then I just get that sick
feeling in my gut. I imagine Dad breaking down in tears, saying he never meant to hurt me, all that. So I tell him no.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Luke says. “It would be my pleasure. At this point, he deserves everything that’s coming
to him.”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” I say. Then, changing gears, “How are things going for you?”
Luke pauses. “Oh, fine.”
“You don’t sound entirely fine.”
He sighs. “Like you said, it’s just a shit show. Cal’s upset. More than usual. He called a big meeting for tomorrow.”
“About this?” About us? I think.
“Yeah. But it’ll blow over. I’m sure he’s upset that this ‘drama’—his word, not mine—will derail his strategy. He’ll just want to talk about the best way to spin everything. I’m sure it’ll be all good.”
“When do you get back?” I ask.
There’s that pause again.
“Soon,” he promises. “But hey, you should get some rest. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
Monday through Wednesday, I barely leave the den. At least today I’ve found a modicum of self-control and don’t spend any
time looking myself up on the internet. Luke has been so busy since we last spoke. I thought he’d be back by today for sure,
since the shoot was originally scheduled to start tomorrow, but they delayed it until next week. Now he won’t be back until
Friday. Apparently they’re still aiming to finish by mid-December. I wonder how much Luke and I will even be able to see each
other, if at all.
“Claire?” Mom calls. She must have just gotten home from work. “Are you home?”
It’s past six, and only now do I realize that I haven’t turned on any of the lights downstairs.
“Yes, I’m in here!” I call.
I’ve just been lying on the couch with Thisbe, watching Netflix on my phone. Not even on the TV.
Mom comes in and turns on the overhead lights, then goes to switch on the lamps. “Hon, I think it’s time to go back to school. Sitting alone in the dark all day can’t be good for your mental health.”
“One more day,” I beg her, hands under my chin. “Please?”
“I know it’s hard,” she says, coming to sit on the couch. “But you’re going to have to go back eventually. What difference
does it make if it’s tomorrow or Friday or next week?”
“I’m dreading it.”
“If it’s terrible beyond imagining, you can come home early. But I want you to try.”
Later, past midnight, I still can’t sleep. I feel sick to my stomach about going back to school tomorrow. It’s not even the
attention or the questions I’m going to get. It’s the idea that Evie will ignore me and not speak to me all day. That’s never
happened to us. Sure, we’ve fought, but it’s never gone so far that we stopped talking to each other.
When it’s clear sleep isn’t coming, I get out my phone and text Nicky. He’s called every night since Sunday, and every time
he’s offered to come out for a night. Mara offered to come, too. I’ve said no, it’s okay, but I have a strong feeling that
after school tomorrow, I might need to see some friendly faces.
ME:
Hey
NICKY:
Yo. U good? It’s late
ME:
Can’t sleep. Does your offer for a visit still stand?
NICKY:
Of course
ME:
Can you come for dinner tomorrow? Mara too, if she’s free?
NICKY:
We’ll be there
I send Nicky a heart emoji, and then I text Luke next. It’s earlier in LA, so he has to be awake.
ME:
Hey. Are you around? Do you have a minute to talk?
I wait for a couple of minutes before a response comes through.
LUKE:
No, I’m at this dinner thing
Is everything okay? I can step out
Otherwise I can call you in an hour or so
ME:
No, don’t worry. Let’s talk tomorrow
Something about the interaction makes me sad. It reminds me of Lily’s older sister. She’s much older, in her late twenties,
and her long-term boyfriend is in the army. Sometimes they go months without seeing each other, talking only over video. Lily
said that one time, when he was gone for eight months, she sank into such a bad depressive episode that it took her months
to find her way back to herself. It seemed so silly to me, like, if you’re with someone and the circumstances of your relationship
make you that miserable, why wouldn’t you break up with them?
Not that Luke and I are at all the same as Lily’s sister’s situation, but I’m starting to understand it more. Because you
don’t choose who you fall for. And being with Luke—if that’s where this is going—would mean that there would be lots of this.
He would be much busier than me. He would be away for months, on location. He would be at dinners and premieres and events.
And if I’m at college—which I plan to be—it’s not like I could tag along.
After a couple of minutes of playing a stupid puzzle game I downloaded to distract myself, I force myself to click off and
put my phone face down on the nightstand next to me.
We’re having an early November cold snap, so it’s absolutely freezing outside as I head to school on Thursday. The sky is a monotonous slate gray that seems to leach the color out of everything. I didn’t wear a warm enough coat, so the cold immediately gets to me, like it’s burrowing into my bones.
My first class on Thursday is AP English, and I slink in before anyone else get there. Mr. Frank’s eyebrows go up when he
sees me.
“Claire,” he says, peering at me over his glasses. “Our local celebrity. Nice to have you back in class.”
And that’s only the beginning. Being back at school is ten times worse than I was expecting. And I was expecting bad.
For every person who doesn’t dare come up to me and pepper me with questions, there are three people who do. And they want
to know everything. Was I really a child star? Why did I change my identity? Did Luke and I fool around as kids? What surgeries
did I get? Did I have breast implants? Were Luke and I a thing? Were we sleeping together? Why did I keep this all a secret when
I would have been way more popular if I’d been honest about who I was?
The questions are so invasive that it feels like all these random people I’ve barely ever spoken to are unzipping my body,
reaching in, and inspecting my organs.
Multiple people take my picture. These are people I’ve gone to school with for years, who I know.
Will the photos make their way to the internet?
Probably. I can’t help kicking myself for not spending more time getting ready this morning.
Then again, even dragging myself out of bed was an effort.
I think about my droopy ponytail, the dark circles under my eyes.
Are they going to get another board-certified doctor to dissect my appearance in these photos, too?
But what’s worse is when I see Evie at lunch.
I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe a sad, hurt look, followed by an invitation to go for a walk and talk things through,
so we could both get everything off our chests. But when she sees me, there’s nothing on her face. She’s walking with Dylan,
and she turns in the other direction. Dylan gives me a sorry face but goes with Evie.
That’s when I call Mom.
“It’s terrible beyond imagining,” I say when she picks up. “I can’t take any more today. Please call me out early.”
“Consider it done,” she says. “But I’m in the middle of a work thing I can’t get out of, since Johnny isn’t here to cover
for me. I can call you an Uber from my account.”
While I’m waiting out front for my ride, the universe decides to top off today’s misery by having one other person come out
the doors into the empty front circle.
Ben.
He sees me the same time I see him, so it’s not like we can avoid each other. He’s got a black winter beanie on. I hold up
my hand and give a small wave without smiling.
He doesn’t wave back, but he comes over to where I am, his thumbs hooked under the straps of his backpack.
“Hey,” I say. “You going home early, too?”
“Doctor’s appointment.” He pauses. “So should I call you Claire or CeCe?”
“Claire,” I say. “CeCe wasn’t ever my real name. I only used it for acting. I changed my last name because my parents got
divorced. Not because I was trying to hide my identity.”
“But you did that, too.”
“Yeah. It just kind of worked out that way.”
“Right.” For a minute I think he might walk away. But then he asks, “Are you doing okay? This must be a lot for you.”
The fact that he asked chokes me up. Like when people are nice to you at the exact moment you need it, and it makes you fall
apart. I nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. But thanks for asking.”
Ben rocks back and forth on his heels. “You know, I really liked you. Like you, I guess. And I thought you felt the same way.
It sucked to find out you were into another guy all along. Which, like, fine. He’s famous. What chance did I have? I just
didn’t think you were the kind of person to play around with someone else’s heart.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I hate that my voice is shaking. I don’t have the right to cry and make this about me and my feelings
when I’ve so clearly hurt his. I steady myself, force my body to kill the prickling feeling in my eyes. “I don’t have an excuse,
other than I’ve been confused about how I feel, too. But I know that isn’t good enough.”
“So are you guys, like, a thing now?” Ben asks.
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Got it.” He nods at a white SUV that just pulled up. “My mom’s here. But I hope he treats you well. You deserve that.”
He could have given me the cold shoulder, but instead he was kind. Kinder than I deserve. In another version of my life, where
Luke doesn’t exist, I could see myself being with Ben. And being happy.
“Thanks,” I say, and then I add, “I mean it.”