Episode 1: Part 1
Don’t turn your screen off, just because it’s me. Don’t—I need you to listen, okay? Listen like you wouldn’t this morning, when you said some things and I said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” is what I was trying to say, but it didn’t come out right. Just—let me explain. This is what actually happened before you went running off and stopped being maybe almost in love with me.
Static from the electronically-induced thunderstorm raised the hair on my arms. “If you’d only listen to me,” I screamed over the beginning rumbles of thunder.
The movie set around us was a skeleton of an outdoor scene, waiting for the initial special effects testing to be done before it was completed. Pak climbed down from a ladder propped up against the star-studded backdrop. Lightning threw his tall profile into stark relief. “Give me one good reason to.”
I blinked stale water out of my eyes. If I could have thought of a single decent reason, I might have been able to answer. The artificial rain beat down on my head and puddled around my feet.
“What do you want me to say, Birdie? That it’s okay that you used me in your stupid little game? You set me up.” His voice cracked with the thunder.
“I just—” I pretended the rest of what I said was lost to the fans kicking on, adding a tornado.
“I always knew you were a bitch, Birdie, but I thought I meant something to you.”
“You do!” I reached a hand out to him. “You’re my—” I didn’t have the words to finish that sentence.
“I’m what?” He stood in front of me, the storm he’d created screaming around us. “Just answer me that. I’m your what?”
No, that doesn’t make any sense. Let me try starting earlier.
The back of the seat stank of sweat and smoke against my nose. I don’t remember whom my mother stole the car from. Thunder vibrated the windows. My fingernails dug into the cheap polyester of the seat.
Mother reached over and squeezed my knee. “Just a little further, baby. There’s blue skies ahead.”
That’s a terrible beginning. Went way too far back, that time.
Okay, one more.
So I was walking down the school hallways, minding my own business—
Except, no, I wasn’t. I need to explain. One more rewind. Last one, I swear. So on Monday, I was planning the guest list for my election party while I drove to school.
“Grass Johnson?” Skittle asked, holding back her thin blond hair with one hand, and clutching a stack of notecards in the other.
“Attention hog.” My car grumbled to itself as I sat in traffic with my foot on the brake. It was a little windy, with the convertible top down, but not nearly as bad as Skittle’s flyaway hair dramatics would have had you believe. My hair, for example, remained straight and stylish. “She’ll show up in some slutty outfit and hit on every guy there.” Her parents are moderately important agents in the world of acting, but really, she wasn’t worth the trouble.
How many more names could be on my list? I was already tired of it, and we were barely ten minutes into the nearly hour-long drive to school.
It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from my mother’s mansion to my high school, but I always drive, no matter how bad the traffic makes it. I didn’t get a shiny blue Thunderbird for it to sit in the driveway, and anyway, I’m not walking across dirty pavement in my Jimmy Choos.
“Madison Avery?”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t even talked to Madison in over a year. I wasn’t about to mess up my party by inviting some Goody-Two-Shoes like her. Okay, so she isn’t really a Goody-Two-Shoes, but I’ll get to that.
Skittle chewed the top of her pen. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her not to do that. Skittle’s parents own a small movie studio. They do well enough to send her to the same private school as me, but not well enough to be truly famous. At Hollywood Hills High School, it’s all about who your parents
Don’t turn your screen off, just because it’s me. Don’t—I need you to listen, okay? Listen like you wouldn’t this morning, when you said some things and I said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry,” is what I was trying to say, but it didn’t come out right. Just—let me explain. This is what actually happened before you went running off and stopped being maybe almost in love with me.
Static from the electronically-induced thunderstorm raised the hair on my arms. “If you’d only listen to me,” I screamed over the beginning rumbles of thunder.
The movie set around us was a skeleton of an outdoor scene, waiting for the initial special effects testing to be done before it was completed. Pak climbed down from a ladder propped up against the star-studded backdrop. Lightning threw his tall profile into stark relief. “Give me one good reason to.”
I blinked stale water out of my eyes. If I could have thought of a single decent reason, I might have been able to answer. The artificial rain beat down on my head and puddled around my feet.
“What do you want me to say, Birdie? That it’s okay that you used me in your stupid little game? You set me up.” His voice cracked with the thunder.
“I just—” I pretended the rest of what I said was lost to the fans kicking on, adding a tornado.
“I always knew you were a bitch, Birdie, but I thought I meant something to you.”
“You do!” I reached a hand out to him. “You’re my—” I didn’t have the words to finish that sentence.
“I’m what?” He stood in front of me, the storm he’d created screaming around us. “Just answer me that. I’m your what?”
No, that doesn’t make any sense. Let me try starting earlier.
The back of the seat stank of sweat and smoke against my nose. I don’t remember whom my mother stole the car from. Thunder vibrated the windows. My fingernails dug into the cheap polyester of the seat.
Mother reached over and squeezed my knee. “Just a little further, baby. There’s blue skies ahead.”
That’s a terrible beginning. Went way too far back, that time.
Okay, one more.
So I was walking down the school hallways, minding my own business—
Except, no, I wasn’t. I need to explain. One more rewind. Last one, I swear. So on Monday, I was planning the guest list for my election party while I drove to school.
“Grass Johnson?” Skittle asked, holding back her thin blond hair with one hand, and clutching a stack of notecards in the other.
“Attention hog.” My car grumbled to itself as I sat in traffic with my foot on the brake. It was a little windy, with the convertible top down, but not nearly as bad as Skittle’s flyaway hair dramatics would have had you believe. My hair, for example, remained straight and stylish. “She’ll show up in some slutty outfit and hit on every guy there.” Her parents are moderately important agents in the world of acting, but really, she wasn’t worth the trouble.
How many more names could be on my list? I was already tired of it, and we were barely ten minutes into the nearly hour-long drive to school.
It’s only a fifteen-minute walk from my mother’s mansion to my high school, but I always drive, no matter how bad the traffic makes it. I didn’t get a shiny blue Thunderbird for it to sit in the driveway, and anyway, I’m not walking across dirty pavement in my Jimmy Choos.
“Madison Avery?”
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t even talked to Madison in over a year. I wasn’t about to mess up my party by inviting some Goody-Two-Shoes like her. Okay, so she isn’t really a Goody-Two-Shoes, but I’ll get to that.
Skittle chewed the top of her pen. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her not to do that. Skittle’s parents own a small movie studio. They do well enough to send her to the same private school as me, but not well enough to be truly famous. At Hollywood Hills High School, it’s all about who your parents
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