Chapter 33
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“What is it?” Luke asks. “Is everything okay? You look stressed.”
“I think . . .” Suddenly my mouth is extremely dry. I try again. “Someone from last night uploaded a video of us.”
“Okay,” Luke says. “That’s not so bad, is it?”
I click the link to the video in one of the texts. “I think it is.”
Someone at the party uploaded a video of me and Luke holding hands. I don’t know who it was, because it was posted by an anonymous
account and it’s the only video on their profile.
The flashes weren’t just pictures or phone flashlights; they were videos. Or at least one video. It was uploaded last night
and already has over half a million views.
Lucas Cordova is into high school girls, the caption says.
I click into the comments and see that this is where it all unravels.
They start as you’d expect, like, Who is that?
And then an account that I think belongs to someone in my chem class comments my name—Claire Hopper—and says that I’m a senior.
Another comment says I moved from LA before freshman year.
Then the detectives in the comments section start putting it all together.
I go to my texts with Evie. There are a ton from last night. Even more from this morning, her saying she needs to talk to me, last night was crazy. Then one with the video. She texts, Claire? Have you seen these comments?
The worst thing is, after that text, there’s nothing. That was from more than two hours ago.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Dylan also sent me a text with, Is this true??? alongside a link to a TMZ article.
I open the link, and the bottom drops out of my stomach.
Lucas Cordova’s New Flame Is . . . Cece Lafayette?!
It begins:
Ever wonder what happened to the nerdy neighbor from the cult classic House of Bricks? Yeah. Us too. The story is even better than you could imagine. Nestled deep in New England suburbia, CeCe Lafayette has
hung up her acting cloak, seemingly for good, and has taken on a new, secret identity: Claire Hopper, a regular high school
student in Glenridge, Connecticut.
It goes on.
Out of context, I was safe. No one connected me to CeCe Lafayette because other than the same hometown, there wasn’t much else to connect us. But a picture of me and Luke together, now . . . puts everything about who I am under the microscope.
And under the microscope I am.
In less than twelve hours, someone took that video, combed through the comments, and ran with it. As I scroll through, I can
hardly believe the level of detective work this must have taken. If I weren’t so horrified, I’d be impressed.
The article references the California records of Mom’s name change from Lafayette to Hopper. It also shows a Bricks-era picture of me, Nicky, Mom, and Dad—a picture I have never seen online, despite my own scouring—compared to one of Mom
from her catering website, and one of Nicky from the UConn football site.
And then, of course, there are the photos of me. As a kid. Stills of me and Luke from the show, some more recent ones pulled
from friends’ public Instagram accounts, and a still from the video of me and Luke holding hands, looking surprised, in Eddie’s
basement last night.
Farther down the article are side-by-side face shots of me, with pull quotes from a plastic surgeon talking about what work
I’ve had done. According to this doctor, it’s not just a nose job. He says I’ve had multiple surgeries that have restructured
my whole face.
In less than half a day, they’ve managed to get an adult man—who spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to go to school for many years to obtain a medical degree—to give detailed commentary on the face of a teenage girl.
I close my eyes. “I feel sick. I’m going to be sick.”
“Claire?” Luke sounds worried now. “What’s going on?”
I hand him my phone without saying anything.
Luke scrolls through the article with a grim expression. “I’m surprised Cal hasn’t texted me about this.”
“I haven’t even told Evie yet.”
Luke hands my phone back to me. “It could still blow over.”
“How?” I ask. “This has everything. Deceit. Fake identity. Two ex–child stars in a secret romance.” He starts to protest,
but then I point to him and add, “Cheating. On your gorgeous famous French girlfriend.”
“We haven’t formally announced we’re a couple,” he says. “Me and Ani, I mean. And that isn’t even real.”
“I have to talk to Evie.” I pull up the favorites list on my phone. I press her name and the call starts. It rings once, twice,
three times. And then it goes to voicemail.
Luke sits down next to me as I text her, asking her if she can talk. Usually, Evie texts back instantaneously. I wait for
a couple of minutes, but she doesn’t respond.
“I don’t know what to do,” I tell Luke.
“Hey.” He grabs my hand. “It’s all going to be okay. It’s not even close to some of the bad press I’ve gotten.”
“Luke, this isn’t bad press. This is my life.”
“What, and when personal information about me is thrown about on the internet it isn’t my life?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just . . . I don’t know what to do,” I say again.
The worst thing is, being with Luke made me feel like it might be possible. Like I could move back into this world, start
doing what I love again. With him in my corner, I felt strong enough to merge what was with what is. But maybe I was dreaming.
Maybe this is way more what the reality of that would look like.
I hear a whimper and a light scratch at my door. Thisbe. I swear, she’s got a sixth sense for when I’m upset. It’s like she
can smell it from across the house.
When I get up to let her in, Luke’s phone goes off. He checks it, silences it, and slides it into his pocket.
“Everything okay?” I ask, nodding at his phone.
Thisbe aggressively nudges my hand with her snout, letting me know we would both feel better if I were to pet her head, so
I do. She sits, leaning back with a wide mouth.
He hesitates. “Yeah. It was just a calendar reminder. For my flight.”
“Oh, that’s right. You have to go.”
“I don’t have to,” Luke offers. “If you want me to stay here with you, I could reschedule the trip.”
“No,” I tell him. “No, you should still go.” I suddenly feel shy with him, like a stranger is sitting on my bed.
Whatever is going on between us is brand-new.
Less than twenty-four hours new. Something this new feels .
. . I don’t know. Fragile. Even if we’ve known each other forever.
I motion between the two of us. “This isn’t . . . like, bad for you, right?”
“No,” Luke says. “Of course not. And you’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him. “When do you have to go?”
“To make it on time? Now.”
I swallow. “Let me walk you out.”
At the front door, he leans down and kisses me. Then he gently lifts my chin. “Hey. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be
okay.”
“Right.” I force myself to smile. “Call me when you land?”
He lets go. “I will.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, the panic seeps in. With him here, it all felt at least an arm’s length away. But now
that I’m alone . . .
I call Evie again. It rings and rings before going to voicemail again.
When I hang up, I go to text her, and I see there are text bubbles popping up on her end. My heart surges as I wait to see
what she’s going to say.
EVIE:
So is it all true?
I sit down on the stairs.
ME:
Yes
I wait for her to respond. I walk into the den and sit down in there, then stand up and pace, and sit back down. A text finally
comes through.
EVIE:
I’m going to need a couple of days to process all this. It’s not every day that you learn your best friend is an entirely
different person and literally never once thought to confide in you.
ME:
I know this must seem so bad. I am so sorry
EVIE:
It doesn’t SEEM so bad. It IS so bad. You know every tiny detail about me and my life and I don’t know you at all.
ME:
Would you have even kept the secret? You told Lily and Dylan I was doing the coaching thing with Luke
EVIE:
Yes. For something this big? Of course I would have
Plus, none of what you told me about that was even TRUE
Like I said I just don’t have the energy to get into this right now ok? I don’t want to say something I’m going to regret
She’s mad. Really mad. Whether she’s friendship-ending mad is unclear, but she’s mad enough that I’m worried she could be.
I wait for ten minutes, but she doesn’t text anything else. Only then do I start to cry.
First I call Nicky. But he doesn’t answer. I’m so desperate I even call Mom, but she doesn’t pick up, either.
For a minute, I sit there, paralyzed. I don’t have anyone else to call.
And the worst thing is, in a lot of ways, I’ve done this to myself. I can’t talk to anyone about this because I didn’t tell
anyone about it. About me. I curl up, bringing my knees to my chest. Thisbe is next to me on the couch, her head pressed against my leg. She whimpers
once and rearranges herself, like she doesn’t know what to do.
There is one other person I can text. I find Mara’s number in my phone, and our text chain from last month pops up.
ME:
Hi it’s Claire. Are you with my brother by any chance?
She responds in a few minutes.
MARA:
HI CLAIRE!! No, I’m not. He’s at practice
What’s up? Everything ok?
ME:
Not really
Then I text her a link to the TMZ article.
Two minutes later, she video-calls me.
“Hey.” I know it’s obvious from my splotchy skin and puffy eyes that I’ve been crying.
She’s in her room, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She jumps right in without preamble. “Okay, so first of all, how fucked
up is it that they have a grown-ass man on their payroll willing to talk about the face of a literal child?”
“Technically I’m eighteen,” I say, sniffling. But I also can’t help but smile.
She wiggles her fingers as if to say, close enough. “Second, I didn’t know you and Luke were together like that. Is that part of what’s wrong?”
“No, that part is fine. More than fine. It’s also extremely new.”
“But exciting?” Mara asks.
“Yes. Exciting.” More tears slip out. “It’s just . . . I haven’t even told my best friend. About myself, I mean. It’s like