AUDREY
I SCRUTINISE MY REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR , TUGGING AT THE hem of my jumper. It’s soft and grey and the nicest one I packed, which isn’t saying much. I also have no idea if it’ll be appropriate for where Ezra and I are going, seeing as I have no idea where that’ll be – I was trying to be cool and laid back by letting him surprise me, forgetting that I’m not and have never been a cool and laid back person. I wish Marika were here, if only to tell me to stop being so neurotic.
‘Audrey!’ someone calls up the stairs. ‘There’s a boy here! He says that he knows you!’
I stiffen, snapping back to reality. Ezra said he’d come at six and it’s only – ah. Where’s my phone?
‘Coming!’ I call back, tearing around my room like a hurricane. I finally discover it under my duvet and seize it, grabbing my bag and practically throwing myself down the stairs to the front door. Hari is standing there beside it, looking absolutely incredible in a black mesh bodysuit and silver jacket. She’s from Germany, lithe and athletic with cropped blonde hair and a tendency to fall asleep at castings. She’s also one of the few girls still living here after the others left for London.
‘I was leaving. He was outside,’ she tells me, gesturing at the door. It’s slightly ajar, held in place by a taut door chain. Through the gap I can see Ezra, who raises a hand in greeting.
‘He’s a friend,’ I say, feeling my face heat. ‘Sorry. I forgot to tell him that the bell was broken.’
‘Okay,’ she says simply, unclipping the chain and parting the door. She breezes past us – Ezra smiles crookedly, apparently unperturbed.
‘In fairness, I wouldn’t have let me in either,’ he says.
‘I’m so sorry. I lost track of time, and my phone—’
‘You’re good. I just got here.’
‘I’m going to choose to believe that.’ I smile, grateful for his easy, unassuming kindness as I step outside. The sun is just beginning to set, dark wisps of cloud trailing through the pink-hued sky as we start to walk. Ezra is wearing a check shirt and dark jeans, a backpack slung over his shoulder. None of it gives me a better idea of where we’re going.
‘You have two flatmates, then?’ he prompts. ‘Marika and …’
‘Hari. And Anja. There’s actually four of us right now.’
‘That place has four bedrooms?’
‘No, uh – we bunk up. It’s pretty standard for models who are starting out. Our agency owns the apartment and we pay them rent.’
‘Must be pretty reasonable, then?’
‘Well, New York is expensive.’
‘No, then.’
‘No.’ I smile. ‘It’s cheaper than a hotel, at least.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve also paid an eye-watering amount of money to share a room with a stranger. Or – my dad has, at least.”
‘Boarding school, right. You left this summer?’
‘To very little fanfare, yeah.’
‘And you didn’t want to go to uni?’
‘I didn’t really think about it. And my family is here, so …’
‘There’s universities here.’
‘Oh, are you one of those people?’ He grins. ‘You think I’ll be doomed to failure and obscurity if I don’t fork out for a degree?’
‘I don’t think any of that!’ I laugh. ‘Just – it’s meant to be a good life experience, right? And someone like you …’
‘My God, that’s loaded,’ he says, smile widening as he slows his pace. ‘Someone like me – who’s that, out of interest?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say quickly. ‘I just meant – there’re a lot of books in your apartment, I noticed, and—’
‘My very large apartment in Midtown, yeah.’
‘Yeah,’ I manage feebly. ‘It’s nice.’
‘We don’t have to dance around it,’ he says easily. ‘My dad has a lot of money. He owns the place, among others. And if I wanted to dick around in academia for the rest of my life then he’d probably be happy to bankroll that. But I don’t. Not as of right now, anyway.’
I can’t tell if I’ve offended him. His tone is light; his expression hasn’t shifted. But his gaze is intent, like he’s trying to gauge my reaction.
‘I don’t either,’ I say. ‘I mean – I applied to a bunch of unis but only because that’s what everyone else was doing. I probably would have gone, but then the modelling thing happened, so …’
‘When was that?’
‘A few months ago.’
‘How’s life back home holding up in your absence?’
‘I don’t have a life,’ I say without thinking.
His eyebrows quirk upwards. ‘Metaphorically?’
‘Pretty literally,’ I admit, glancing away. ‘I think I told you that my family moved around a lot – it made it hard to keep a hold of things. And friends, I guess.’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Their loss.’
He sounds so matter-of-fact, when he says that – so sincere, and it makes me feel like someone’s lit a sparkler in my chest.
‘You don’t know me well enough to say that,’ I remind him. He looks at me sideways, smiling crookedly.
‘Call it a hunch,’ he says. ‘Think you might want to put down some roots here, instead?’
‘In New York?’ I laugh.
‘Yeah! What’s funny about that?’
‘Just – it’s basically another planet.’ I smile. ‘Nothing that happens here feels real. I’ll be gone before I get used to it.’
‘You have a date for leaving yet?’
‘No. I guess it’ll be soon, though, so I probably shouldn’t get too attached.’
I regret those words the second they leave my mouth. They’re true, of course – I could leave any day, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll ever come back. But it sounds like a dismissal. Of this. Of him.
‘Sure,’ Ezra says after a beat. Then – ‘I haven’t told you where we’re going yet.’
‘Right,’ I say, slightly thrown by the abrupt change of subject. ‘I guess I didn’t ask.’
‘You didn’t.’ He nods. ‘But we’re at our first stop, so I can’t keep you in suspense much longer.’
He stops walking, and I follow the line of his gaze to …
‘A bodega?’
‘One of my favourites,’ he says, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘We don’t live that far apart, actually. Here.’
He withdraws a small, crumpled wad of cash from inside, and hands it to me.
‘I thought we could have a picnic in Central Park. I’ve got a blanket and stuff,’ he says, patting his backpack. ‘But I didn’t know what you liked to eat so I figured I’d let you handle the food side of things.’
‘That’s so cool.’ I beam. ‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?’
‘Course not.’ He grins back, looking pleased. ‘And I’m asking you to do the shopping, so …’
‘With your money. Really, I don’t mind paying.’
‘We established the rich parent, I believe.’
‘Right – I guess you using a pack of cigarettes as a wallet threw me off a little.’
‘Wow. Are you wallet-shaming me?’
‘It’s not a wallet. That’s my point.’
‘All right, get in the bodega,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I won’t tolerate criticism.’
‘It’s really more of a comment,’ I protest, but he’s already guiding me inside. I let him, my stomach flipping pleasantly at the feeling of his warm hands on my shoulders. Oh no. I’ve been trying to ignore the inevitable, but …
God damn it.
I have a crush.