Chapter 72 Summer
SEVENTY-TWO
SUMMER
Stephanie beams down at me, as if she didn’t recently crush my dreams to bits. “Summer! What a wonderful party. Congratulations, this is such a massive milestone. I promise I’m not crashing. Your friend here invited me.”
“Oh.” I glance at Lulu, who’s staring at me intently like she’s trying to send me a telepathic message. “Thank you?” I’m not sure why I’d want the owner of the brand who humiliatingly dumped me at my party, but, like, okay.
“Listen,” Stephanie says, ducking her head so I can hear her over the music. “I’m so sorry for the mix-up. The intern responsible has been dealt with.”
“Mix-up?”
She nods. “The email that you received about cancelling the collaboration? That was meant to be sent to another content creator. I don’t know how it happened.
Honestly, I’m really embarrassed about it.
Of course, we’re so eager to work with you.
In fact, we’d love to meet next week and really get the ball rolling on your dress collaboration line. ”
My heart leaps. “Really?”
“Of course. We were thinking…something moody. Dark. Evening wear, very chic, you know. Our design team already has some mood boards drawn up. We’d love to riff off this ‘sad girl glam’ aesthetic trend you’ve started. The photoshoot would be very dramatic, all diamonds and makeup running.”
I blink. “Oh, I don’t actually think I’d like to do something dark.”
Her eyebrow arches. “No?”
“No,” I shout over the music. “I already have a ton of design ideas drawn up that I can show you—”
Stephanie cuts me off. “Usually, when we collaborate with a content creator, our design team comes up with pieces that they feel best encapsulate the creator’s style, and the creator offers approval.”
I don’t understand. “But…I thought the point was that the influencer designed the line.”
“You’d be involved every step of the way, but at the end of the day, we know our influencers aren’t fashion designers.” She looks at my dress with an amused twinkle. “Best to leave these things up to the experts.”
“Well, I did actually go to fashion school—” I start.
Suddenly, a scream goes through the crowd.
Lulu grabs my arm. “Oh my God! It’s time!” she yells in my ear, staring at the board displaying my follower count at the back of the room. “Sorry, Stephanie, I need to steal her for photos.”
Stephanie smiles indulgently. “We’ll talk,” she assures me, patting my shoulder. “I’ll have our first sketches sent over ASAP.”
“Come on, come on, come on!” Lulu chants, her sharp nails digging into my skin as she drags me through the pulsing crowd towards the front of the club. People crowd around me as the numbers flicker up and down.
4,999,988.
4,999,979.
4,999,999.
5,000,003.
The room erupts. People are screaming. Jumping up and down. An explosion of shimmery silver confetti bursts from the roof, landing softly in my hair and the folds of my dress.
“Congratulations!” Lulu screams in my ear. “I am so proud of you!”
I don’t answer. I just stare at the board, waiting for that old flush of happiness that I used to live off. It doesn’t come.
I don’t feel happy. I don’t really feel anything.
My eyes drop to my reflection in the mirrored wall. A million Summers reflect back at me, still and sad-looking in a puffy pink princess gown. People dance and shout and film themselves all around me, and I feel nothing at all.
Huh.
I take a deep breath. I think I’ve done my duty for the evening. I want to go to bed.
“Thank you so much for the party,” I shout to Lulu. She’s currently live streaming both of us on her phone, pouting at the camera. “It’s been amazing. I think I’m gonna head out.”
Her lips part. “What? Are you okay? You can’t go yet—”
“I’m really sorry,” I tell her and start pushing through the crowd. As I shove through, people gather around me, yelling. Phones get shoved in my face. Drinks get pushed at my hands.
“Summer, congratulations!”
“Summer, come do a TikTok with me!”
“Summer, shout out my new Crypto currency—”
“Congratulations! Oh my God, you must be so happy. I’m so jealous—”
My heart starts to stutter in my chest. The lights are too bright. My head is swimming. I’m getting overwhelmed. Hands grab at me as someone tries to pull me into their selfie, and I shove them away blindly.
“Please don’t touch me,” I mumble. “I need to go.”
They don’t listen. Flashes go off in my face.
Hands land on my shoulders, and I look up into a familiar face.
Marco. Fitness influencer. I went on a date with him once.
He wouldn’t let me drink the champagne he bought us for a full ten minutes, because he was trying to get a good shot of himself holding the bottle to put on his Picturegram story.
He grins at me now, slicked-back hair shining under the lights as he looks me up and down.
“Hey, baby. Congratulations. You look great. Let me take you out for another drink sometime to celebrate.”
I try to push past him. “Let me go.” His grip tightens on my shoulders, and anger flashes through me like lightning. I stamp on his foot, hard. He swears and lets me go.
“What was that for, bitch? Jesus, you’ve really let this get to your head. You used to be really nice—”
I shove past him, my heartbeat ratcheting in my ears. More hands grab at me, touching my arms, my shoulders, my dress. Flashes blind me. Strobes flicker. All of the shouting is melding into one deafening static of noise.
I’m starting to panic. “Please let me through,” I shout. “Please…” No one listens. I feel tears pushing up. God, I can’t cry. Not here, not with everyone filming me. I’ll just become a laughingstock again. I have to get out of here, I have to get out, get out—
“She told you to leave her be!” a familiar deep voice bellows over the music, and my heart stops. There’s no way.
I go up on my tiptoes, frantically scanning the crowd.
Fraser, Cameron, and Alec are here, fighting their way towards me.