I furrowed my brow at him. “You want him to suffer?” I was a little offended by that.
“I want him to face his own consequences.” His tone wasn’t malicious or vindictive. “And I want him to stop hurting you.”
♪♫♪
My dad called me the next day.
“Another article is up,” he said without preamble. “They have your name.”
I’d known this was coming, but my nerves rioted anyway. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Sweet Pea.”
“It was bound to happen eventually,” I said with more stoicism than I felt. “Can you send me the link to the article?”
“Yeah. They found high school photos.”
I grimaced. “Of course they did.”
“At least you’ll get good at saying ‘no comment’.”
“That’s the hope.” Too bad I couldn’t trust everyone else to do the same.
The article wasn’t bad, really. I didn’t love having awkward photos of me as a teenager plastered next to the photos of Sean in all his airbrushed, pop-star glory, but at least the basic facts were accurate. We had known each other since high school. I had helped him in the early days. I was the mysterious girl that sometimes pulled him out of drinking establishments. All true.
I decided to call myself lucky and moved on with my day.
There was a reporter waiting for me outside the high school where I worked, but she couldn’t follow me onto school property, so she was easy to ignore.
A choir room full of musically-inclined teenagers was a lot harder to dodge though.
“Okay!” I finally shouted to the room at large. “Yes. I know Sean. Yes. We were friends. Unfortunately, that article is a little late because I haven’t had any contact with him in some time, and that’s how it will remain. No, I cannot get you tickets or backstage passes. No, I cannot get anything signed for you. No, I will not give you any information or gossip or stories about him.” I took a moment to stare them all down. “Now, we’re going to get to work. And it looks like Mrs. Berkley is out of patience, so I’m guessing any further questions will result in detention.”
Mrs. Berkley nodded her head.
They still whispered among themselves, but we were able to continue class without them shouting more questions at me.
Unfortunately, I had to repeat the process each hour we had a class. On top of that, I was fielding an endless text chain from Tara and Felicity, who were shocked and amazed and more than a little bit pissed off that I hadn’t told them about Sean a long time ago. I could only respond a little during my lunch break, but I agreed to let them invade my apartment and ask all their questions later that night.
There were two reporters waiting for me when I left the school. I ignored them and hurried to my car.
I circled my apartment building, looking for any reporters lying in wait, but I didn’t see any, so I parked and hurried up the steps. When I was halfway up I heard someone shout my name and quickened my pace even more.
“Libby, hang on!” This time I recognized Jonas’s voice and turned, relieved to see that it was him and only him coming up the stairs after me.
I smiled in relief. “Hey.”
“Hi.” He gave me a quick hug when he reached me and then propelled me toward the door. “Let’s go inside.”
I unlocked it and we stepped in, Jonas wrapping me in a giant hug as soon as the door was closed.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are reporters hounding you?”
“Yeah. You?”
He pulled back, looking confused. “No…do you think they would?”
I raked my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know. I’ve managed to avoid all this for the most part, so I really don’t know who they’re going to care about.”
“Was it bad for you today?”
“It was annoying, but the teenagers were worse.”
He let out a guffaw. “I hadn’t even thought of that. You probably had a long day.”
“It’s getting better now,” I said, sinking into his hug.
We ended up having dinner together, but he fled when Felicity turned up on my doorstep, red hair framing her pale face like she was an avenging angel. “You!” She jabbed a finger at me. “You have a lot of explaining to do, little miss.”
“It’s good to see you too, Felicity. Won’t you please come in?”
Her shoulders fell and she slumped inside. Jonas dropped a quick kiss on my lips before leaving through the still-open door.
I took a steadying breath and then turned to face my friend.
She looked hurt, plain and simple. “What gives, Libby? How did I not know this about you?”
I shrugged. “Sean’s privacy is really important both to him and to me. It wasn’t my story to tell.”
Her eyebrows scrunched together in bewilderment. “Of course it was your story.”
Her declaration hit me with force. Because…yes, I supposed it was. But I didn’t know what that meant under the circumstances. And the more I thought about it, the more I believed that I’d do the same thing over again.
It was more of the same from Tara when she showed up. I did my best to explain while still respecting Sean’s privacy as well as my own. I didn’t want my life to be fodder for gossip, whether it was in a magazine or among my friends.
It was a very long day.
It turned into an entire week of long days, but I held my head high, kept my mouth shut around the reporters and the high schoolers, and told myself that it would go away. Sooner or later, it would go away.
And eventually it did. There were some photos of me posted with articles that guessed at what my relationship with Sean was like. There were some photos of Jonas and me together that got some attention, but since neither of us led famous or scandalous lives, there just wasn’t that much interest. There was even a photo of me with Tara and Felicity, which made them squeal in delight and made me cringe. “I know you hate this,” Tara said. “And I’m sorry, but I hope you don’t think we’re terrible for enjoying the novelty.”
I just shook my head and smiled. “I’m glad someone is enjoying it.”
When I’d gone two full days without getting a Google alert about myself, I sat down across the counter from Jonas and admired him unabashedly. “Thanks for enduring the fishbowl with me.”
He let out a little laugh. “It was an experience.”
“People who want fifteen minutes of fame are crazy.”
He shrugged. “I guess it depends on your personality.”
The tattoo on his forearm caught my eye yet again, and so I decided to ask again. “Any chance you’ll finally show me that tattoo of yours?”
He raised what I could only describe as a challenging eyebrow, holding my gaze for long enough that my neck started to get hot. Then he gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth move.
Holy moly. I knew he was fit, but I didn’t realize he was that fit. I gawked as he walked around the counter, casual as can be, and showed me the one line of script that was tattooed vertically up his side.
Be at peace, dear boy. Nana’s got your back.