22. He Matters
22
HE MATTERS
MAGGIE
Issues By Julia Michaels
“I ’m convinced Dylan hates me,” I tell Joey, propping my phone against the bathroom vanity as I run a brush through my hair, the bristles catching on tangles.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Joey replies, her voice soothing, but I can hear the skepticism laced in her tone.
“He accused me of fucking Felix,” I say.
“Okay, but you are,” Joey tilts her head. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, mascara wand poised, and I can’t help but roll my eyes.
“He doesn’t need to know that,” I argue, applying the mascara with a steady hand. “But I think he knows I lied, and he’s punishing me by making me film Felix and Ivy Nova.” I grimace at the thought, the weight of my secret pressing down on me.
“Why didn’t you just tell him the truth?”
“Who are you, the morality police?” I shake my head at her, and she rolls her eyes back at me, a playful gesture that makes me smile despite my frustration. “Because all my life, no one has ever taken me seriously. I finally find the one thing”—I hold up a finger—“that I’m actually good at, and I don’t want to mess this up,” I admit, my voice softening.
“Maggs, that’s not true. People take you seriously,” she counters, her tone earnest.
“When I wanted to apply to film school, Dad asked, and I quote, ‘I wonder what the refund policy is?’” I look at her pointedly, the sting of his words still fresh.
“You did sign up for a lot of things and then quit,” she replies, “And you know Dad was just teasing.”
“Isn’t that how you find yourself? You try a bunch of shit until something sticks,” I argue, my voice rising slightly. “Not everyone is you, Joey.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” She furrows her brow.
“You found something you love on the first try,” I say, the envy creeping into my tone.
She looks at me sympathetically as she climbs up on the fence, and I can see the pasture behind her, the side of the red barn, and the dirt road winding into the woods.
“Did you know that Dad made us leave three hours early so he could get a front-row seat for your graduation?” Joey asks, her voice softening, and I feel a lump form in my throat.
“I thought he got the VIP treatment or something because of who he is,” I say, a mixture of surprise and guilt washing over me.
Joey laughs, shaking her head. “No, Maggs. He was just a regular dad who was so proud that day he couldn’t stop smiling.”
How did I not know this? The warmth of her words envelops me.
“I didn’t tell you that to make you feel bad,” Joey says.
“Am I a selfish person?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper, knowing Joey would tell me the truth.
“Sometimes.”
“Geez, thanks,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“But you’re also generous, and the most loyal friend anyone could ask for. Whoever is lucky enough to be loved by you will see that if you let them,” she finishes.
“Your sappiness is going to make my mascara run,” I protest, blinking rapidly as I readjust my liner, the weight of her words settling in.
She shifts the camera as one of the horses approaches, chewing on the sleeve of her shirt. I watch her feed him a peppermint, the familiar ache for home returning, but this time, it’s a bittersweet longing rather than something gut-wrenching.
I fluff my hair again, unsatisfied with the result, and then freshen up my lip gloss.
“Since when do you wear makeup, anyway?” Joey asks, her eyes narrowing in mock suspicion as I straighten up, shoving my lip gloss back into my bag.
“I wear makeup,” I protest, but my voice lacks conviction as I look down at the limited supply in my bag.
She gives me a disbelieving look, crossing her arms. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Ivy and Felix’s performance? You look gorgeous, by the way.”
I glance down at my distressed t-shirt dress and sleek black moto boots that make me feel a little more put together.
“Well, I didn’t want to look all scraggy just because I’m filming,” I offer.
“Maggie, it’s okay to be with Felix and be good at your job at the same time,” she says.
My logical side, which, let’s face it, is a much smaller ratio to my impulsive side, agrees with her. I should be recognized for my talent whether I sleep with the talent or not. It shouldn’t matter but somehow it does, especially when I have everyone telling me what a flake I am all the time.
“I know,” I say noncommittally, my gaze drifting to the mirror.
“Wow,” she replies in an annoyingly exaggerated tone.
“What?” I ask, exasperated.
“What happened to ‘I bow to no man’, bad-ass Maggie?” she asks jokingly. I did say that once… or twice, especially after some of the losers I’ve dated.
“I’ve just never known you to be insecure about a guy before,” Joey says. “Why is this different?”
I narrow my eyes at her, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. My stomach twists in knots because I know the answer to her question. I’m tired of lying to myself.
“Because it matters,” I admit quietly, the weight of my feelings crashing down on me and the realization of why I’m so upset, especially when he blew me off. “ He matters.”
I lean against the vanity and shove my face into my hands. When I peek through my fingers, she looks like she’s contemplating my answer a little too thoroughly. “Have you told him that?”
There’s a loud bang that echoes against the door of the bus, and Dusty’s voice booms through the thin metal. “Maggs, get your ass moving!” He grumbles, but before he walks away he says, “And don’t forget your badge!” I hear his feet retreating on the gravel, “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
I roll my eyes, like I would be that stupid again . Even Dusty thinks I’m a flake.
“Ugh, God I’m running late and I still need to grab my extra batteries,” I say, feeling the urgency settle in.
“You’ve got this,” she assures me.
After ending the call, I inhale deeply, steadying myself as I smooth my dress and run my fingers through my hair one last time as I look around the room. My bag in hand, a storm of excitement and nerves twist together inside me. But I remind myself—I am a force to be reckoned with.
* * *
I hold the camera steady, my heart racing in anticipation as the host prepares to announce Felix’s surprise performance. I haven’t seen a glimpse of it yet; rehearsals were private, and despite my best attempts to weasel my way in, I was shut out.
The curtain lifts, revealing a deserted, rain-soaked city street projected onto the screen behind the stage. From stage left, Ivy strides out, her black leather pants hugging her curves like a second skin and a matching corset accentuating her figure. Her rich, sultry voice fills the air as the orchestra plays softly, each note resonating with a warmth that contrasts the coolness of the rainy backdrop.
Against every instinct to look away, I hold the camera steady and zoom in. The song builds, the orchestra swelling with intensity, and just as it transitions into the bridge, Felix emerges from the opposite side, guitar in hand. The tempo shifts, and he launches into the chorus of one of his songs, his voice blending seamlessly with Ivy’s as they harmonize, a perfect union of sound.
His outfit is a far cry from his usual ripped jeans and t-shirt. Tonight, he wears a fitted vest with nothing underneath, paired with sharp pinstripe slacks that highlight his toned physique. It’s a look I never expected from him, and it hits me like a sucker punch to my lady bits.
I pan to the crowd, who erupt from their seats, the auditorium buzzing with surprised, delighted applause. Ivy doesn’t skip a beat, strutting across the stage toward Felix with a confidence that makes my skin prickle. I try to shake off the jealousy that simmers within me as Felix locks eyes with Ivy, holding the mic intimately close between them as they sing the same lyrics.
From the moment of that first performance, when our eyes met while I filmed him from atop the speaker, he’s always sought me out in the crowd. But not tonight. Tonight, his gaze is fixed solely on Ivy, unwavering and unyielding.
As Ivy sings his words, a wave of possessiveness washes over me. This song doesn’t belong to her. I knew the performance was a mashup of their hits, but I wasn’t prepared for the raw emotion it stirred in me. I want to claw those lyrics back from her throat, especially when he circles her, strumming his guitar as the tempo slows. It feels predatory, but she’s the one with a predatory gleam in her heavily made-up cat eyes, her gaze roaming over his body with an intensity that makes my heart race for all the wrong reasons.
As a professional, I keep the camera trained on them, but every muscle in my body is taut, coiled tight with tension.
Ivy steps into Felix’s space, the sharp stomp of her high-heeled boot punctuating a dominant note of the song. He bends slightly, lowering his face to hers, and the audience is riveted, captivated by the electric chemistry between them.
Felix looks like he’s in his element, radiating sex appeal and confidence on stage.
“Would you look at all that sexual energy up there? It’s like a five-alarm fire,” Dex says, sidling up next to me.
“What? I mean, maybe a two -alarm,” I shake my head, but the image he conjures is now seared into my mind, and I feel a wave of nausea rise within me.
Fucking Dex.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I push him aside, desperate for a better angle.
He scoffs, glancing at the stage. “I wasn’t gonna miss Ivy Nova. Look at her.” He gestures dramatically. “She’s fucking hot.”
“She’s not that hot,” I retort, my voice sharper than intended.
“Are you blind?” Dex laughs, shaking his head. “Boy, I’d give anything to be in Felix’s shoes right now.”
Glaring, I try to lose him by moving closer to the orchestra for a different shot, but he follows, relentless.
“Do you think they’re gonna fuck afterward?” he asks, eyes glued to the stage.
“No!” I shout, startling a nearby audience member who shoots me a glare. I stalk over to the side of the stage.
“Sure looks like it,” he says absently.
“Look, I’m trying to do my job, and you’re distracting me,” I hiss.
“Geez, sorry,” he replies, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he retreats toward the aisle.
I shake my head, but my grip on the camera has already wavered. My eyes are glued to them on stage. Ivy’s blonde hair is pulled back into a severe high ponytail, her ruby red lips glistening under the lights as she walks around that stage, and Felix, like she owns both.
I narrow my eyes, feeling the heat of the stage lights curl the hair on the back of my neck, the air thick and stifling without a breeze. My makeup is probably sliding off my face by now, and I can practically hear Joey’s voice in my head: Wow, I’ve never known you to be insecure . I try to extinguish that thought, but it lingers.
As Ivy swings her leg up to wrap around Felix’s waist during the finale, my blood boils with unfiltered rage, even though he merely steadies her calf, doing nothing more.
I lower my camera, and in that instant, Felix’s eyes find mine. Too fucking late.
I spin on my heel, fleeing the auditorium.