Shit. He had us pegged.
I tugged on the elastic bracelet on my left wrist and snapped it against my arm repeatedly, trying to think. I had to do something before we gave ourselves away completely. The more minutes that passed the more I realized that all of this was very wrong. Today wouldn’t just be the day I kidnapped a ginger. Today would be the day I set a ginger free. That was what was going through my mind, at least. In reality, though, I still cared too much about what my friends would think if I brought any of this up.
“Fans!” Rupert P. yelled. “Stupid-bloody-snot-nosed-crying girls! You’re all psychopaths, the lot of you!”
Isabel’s face tore open with a grin, not because she was happy about being called a psychopath—Isabel could be kind of sadistic, but even she wouldn’t be happy about that—but because, as I suspected, she was thrilled to see a real live boy bander lose his shit. A famous celebrity calling his fans psychos was a newsworthy thing. A headline. A scandal. And there was nothing Isabel liked more than scandal. “Gee, Rupert P., tell us how you really feel.”
“D’ya wanna know how I really feel about fans?” Rupert P. said.
Isabel nodded eagerly and held her phone a few inches from his face, the little lines on her voice recorder app spiking spastically in the same rhythm as my heartbeat. “Please speak clearly,” she said.
“There’s Catholic schoolteachers,” Rupert P. began. “Then below that, there’s paparazzi, and below that still there’s homeless people, and miles and miles below that there are fans. You’re the scum of the bloody earth, is what you are, innit? As soon as I get free, d’ya know what I’m keen to do? I’m keen to murder all of you. Yeah, yeah, forget telling the police. I will tie you all up like you did me and set you on fire. And then I’ll just watch as you burn. How does that sound?”
Harsh.
Isabel tapped the red button on her screen to stop recording. “Well, that should get me a few hits.”
“You can’t post that!” Apple said. “This is obviously a very distressing situation for him. Can’t you see how scared and vulnerable he is right now? Nobody likes being tied up—least of all celebrities.”
“Wait, was I being recorded just now?” Rupert P. said. “You have got to be kidding me. Let me go!”
He was getting increasingly agitated, and all we could do was watch, dumbfounded, like this was another Ruperts performance. “I have places to be!” Rupert P. whined. “I was meant to meet up with Michelle! Ugh, she’s going to kill me!”
Michelle Hornsbury, Rupert P.’s girlfriend.
Actually, that should read: Michelle Hornsbury, Rupert P.’s kind of/not really/alleged girlfriend.
I’d almost forgotten about her, but I should’ve known she’d be around here somewhere. She followed Rupert P. everywhere he went.
My phone buzzed in my jeans, and I dug it out to find a new text message from my mom. She worked long hours, and being a nurse didn’t afford her many opportunities to call in, so texts were the next best thing.
You girls having fun? it read.
My mom thought I was having a sleepover with a friend. Which was technically true. I’d just neglected to tell her that this sleepover was taking place in a hotel in downtown Manhattan. Lying to my mother was easy, mostly because she never asked follow-up questions. Something as simple as Which of your friends’ houses are you staying at? Can I have their parents’ number? Are you sure they won’t mind having you over? It is Thanksgiving, after all would have been enough to catch me in the lie. But that was the thing about being the kind of girl who never gets into trouble: Parents trusted you.
The truth is my mom probably didn’t ask any questions because she likely felt guilty about having to work extra shifts over the Thanksgiving holiday. Also, I was showing an interest in something that involved the very social act of meeting up with actual friends instead of talking to them through phones and computer screens. Mom liked me best when I was social and happy, and the therapist I was seeing twice a week agreed with her. It’s something that I’ve admittedly struggled with after everything that happened with my dad.
I texted back.
So much fun!
I wasn’t watching Erin, so when she whizzed past me it snapped my attention back to her. The hot-pink tights she tied around Rupert P.’s mouth didn’t exactly go with his freckled skin tone, but I guess that was beside the point when they were being used as a gag.
Tights were really so much more versatile than I ever thought.
Erin yanked on both ends, splitting Rupert P.’s lips into an awful grin. “Group meeting,” she said. “Right now.”