Chapter Text
Camila is shaking. She doesn’t mean to be, she just can’t stop. Her fingers tap along to the beat of the song that’s playing on her iPod, and she softly sings the lyrics.
She isn’t sure whether she’s excited or nervous. It’s probably both.
And, also, she’s never really been on a plane before. Part of her excitement stems from that. The rest is just because—oh god, she’s going to meet Lauren Jauregui in less than an hour. Actually meeting her. With words and hugs and—
Camila forces herself to think about something else before she jumps out of her seat. Which wouldn’t be a good idea because the plane is already descending and the ‘fasten your seatbelt’ light is on.
But seriously. She’s meeting Lauren Jauregui.
As in upcoming rising star Lauren Jauregui. As in double platinum Lauren Jauregui. As in number one in the Billboard Top 100 Lauren Jauregui. As in Camila’s idol for years Lauren Jauregui.
She’s still somewhat convinced something went wrong, that she’s not the one that’s supposed to be on this airplane right now. Things like this never happen to her. She’s always just that weird girl who sits behind her computer for hours editing videos and pictures and talking to other fans.
Then again, how many Camila Cabellos can there be? And how many of them are from Miami? And how many are sort of hopelessly not-really-but-still-sort-of in love with Lauren Jauregui?
Camila looks out the window, catching sight of the Hollywood sign, and her heart jumps. This is really happening. Luck is finally on her side.
A warm, fuzzy feeling spreads through her stomach as she clamps onto the armrests of her seat and leans her head against the cold window. Somewhere down below, in that city, Lauren’s waiting for her. She can’t really help the smile that tugs her lips at the thought.
Camila watches the buildings get bigger and bigger until, quite suddenly, they’re on the landing strip. The pilot hits the breaks and Camila feels her seatbelt digging into her stomach. It only lasts a minute.
She’s in LA. For the first time in her life she’s in the City of Angels, where celebrities live and plastic surgery is a birthday present. There are lots of first times today. First time on a plane, first time travelling alone, first time meeting her idol…
The pilot welcomes them to LAX, and says some mundane things about the temperature and the local time. Camila barely pays attention to any of it, nervous butterflies fluttering around in her stomach.
As the plane gets hooked to a jet bridge and the doors open, Camila follows the crowd. She has no idea where to go, and these people seem to know what they’re doing.
They lead her through customs and to the baggage claim, where the last people from the previous plane are just wrapping up. Some look lost, without any stuff, and Camila feels bad for them. She watches a family with a kid dressed completely in pink talk to someone in an airport uniform while she waits for her own luggage to arrive. Just when the father starts getting red in the face the belt starts rolling again, and Camila jumps up, eager to grab her stuff and go.
Naturally her suitcase comes last.
By the time she finally has all her things, the family has left and so has pretty much everyone else from her plane.
She ponders asking someone where to go, but then an exit sign catches her eye and she somehow manages to get out.
It’s busy in the arrival halls. People are everywhere and there’s police and tourists in ridiculous outfits and business people and airplane staff and for a second Camila’s so overwhelmed she just stands and stares.
Until she sees someone holding up a sign that says, ‘Camila Cabello.’
Someone that isn’t Lauren, unfortunately. But she didn’t really expect Lauren to be there. The airport would probably be overcrowded with fans if she was.
“Uh, hi. I’m Camila Cabello,” Camila says, pointing to the sign.
The woman holding it up looks at her. “Can you prove that? We’ve already had three Camila Cabellos coming up to us.”
Of course. News travels fast in the fandom.
Camila pulls out her wallet and takes out her ID. She hands it to the woman and looks around, still hoping to spot Lauren somewhere.
“Alright, this looks legit.” The woman’s actually smiling now. “Welcome to LA, Camila. My name is Briana and I’m part of Lauren’s management team. You’ll be seeing a lot of me, since I’m in charge of the contest and its organization, so if you have any questions feel free to ask them.”
Briana hands her a card with her information on it, and Camila puts it in her wallet with her ID. She likes Briana now that she’s not looking at her like she’s trying to murder Lauren anymore.
“I do have a question, actually,” Camila blurts out, and then, before she can change her mind, “Is Lauren here?”
“No. We’ll meet her at her house later, but first we have some rules and other things to go over. After all, this contest isn’t just for your benefit but for ours and especially Lauren’s, too.”
Right. Camila probably should’ve expected that. Nothing happens for free anymore.
“Rules?”
Briana nods, guiding Camila through the crowd towards the exit. “They’re pretty straight forward, but still very important. You’ll have to sign a contract, though, because you’re going to see some things that aren’t supposed to be seen yet. Not by fans, anyway.”
And, just like that, Camila forgets about everything else. She’s going to see new things. Lauren is going to bring out new things and Camila will see them before anyone else. That realization is enough to get her heart beating faster again.
Once they’re outside, a large man approaches them and offers to carry Camila’s things. She recognizes him as Lauren’s body guard, so she hands him her suitcase. If he can keep Lauren safe, he’ll be able to handle a suitcase.
They climb into a black van with blinded windows, and for a second Camila hopes that Lauren’s inside—she’s not, obviously. Briana made that very clear.
“Okay, I have your contract here,” Briana says, handing Camila a few sheets that are stapled together, and a pen. “Take your time reading through everything and then sign your name on the first page.”
Despite the blinded windows, it’s still bright enough inside the van for Camila to read the contract. There are already two signatures. One is probably Briana’s, and the other one she recognizes immediately—Lauren’s.
She’s never really signed a contract before, and knowing that her first one is going to be on the same piece of paper that also has Lauren’s signature on it makes it extra special.
The rules are, like Briana said, fairly simple. It’s basically that she’s not allowed to record anything that happens the upcoming week, nor will she be allowed to talk about any unreleased content she’ll be seeing. Which is okay, because a camera crew will be following them around during the day, and at the end of it she’s supposed to give a brief overview of her stay so far on camera so that the footage can be turned into video diaries. She can still use her phone and social media, as long as she doesn’t give any details of their whereabouts and she’s certainly not allowed to share any personal information about Lauren with anybody—especially not the press and fandom.
In other words, she has to protect Lauren’s privacy.
She signs the contract without a second thought. None of it is alarming or just straight up weird, and she really wants to spend the next week by Lauren’s side.
“Great,” Briana says when Camila gives back the contract. “Now we’ll be going to the office to touch you up for the cameras, and then you’ll be introduced to the most important people in this whole thing. After all that’s over we’ll go over to Lauren’s house and shoot a short video of the two of you together.”
Camila doesn’t really hear anything except for the part where she was going to be in Lauren’s house with Lauren.
The rest of the ride was quiet, and Camila plugs in her earphones again. The past two days she hasn’t really been able to listen to anything other than Lauren’s debut album, and now that she’s so close to actually meeting Lauren she’s almost forgotten any other music exists.
It’s lame, but she has her hardcopy of the album in her suitcase, safely rolled up in a few shirts, for Lauren to sign. It’s especially lame because she’s going to get to know this person, and after spending a week with her a signature probably won’t matter. Maybe she’ll even have her phone number. That’d really be—
“We’re here,” Briana says, interrupting Camila’s thoughts.
They climb out of the van and she immediately feels the Californian heat. Somehow it’s different from Miami weather, though she’s can’t put her finger on why.
Rob, Lauren’s bodyguard, shadows them all the way inside the building, where the AC is cranked up as high as possible.
Not really knowing what else to do, Camila follows Briana into an elevator and hold the doors open for Rob. When it’s just the three of them, the seriousness of the situation starts to dawn on her.
All the people in this elevator already know Lauren. This isn’t a dream to them, it’s their job. Something they consider mundane and possibly complain about to their family on their day off. Something Camila can’t imagine ever making sense to her.
Meeting Lauren is the ultimate dream for her. Spending enough time with her to actually get to know her is even more surreal. She doesn’t really know what to feel—it’s so overwhelming. She kind of feels everything.
Part of her wonders whether she’ll be good enough for Lauren. Part of her is trying not to act too weird. Most of her is just freaking out at the fact that this is happening to her. Out of everyone that called they picked her. She’s still not sure this is actually happening.
“I’m not dreaming, am I?” she blurts out, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looks so normal. Just Camila. There’s literally nothing special about her, and yet she’s standing here.
“You’re not dreaming,” Rob says with a smile. He pats her shoulder. She definitely feels that. Somehow he’s more patient than Briana. Maybe it’s because he deals with people like Camila on a daily basis.
She swallows. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He’s nicer in person than in people’s videos.
The elevator stops on the fourth floor.
Briana leads them all to a room where multiple people have already gathered. They introduce themselves as makeup artists and hair dressers and stylists and camera crew people. After the second person, Camila’s head is spinning and she’s already forgotten the name of the first.
It doesn’t really matter. They know her name and they know what to do.
For the next hour or so they tell her, “Look up, honey. Great, now look down,” and, “Spin around to show me the back? Thanks girl,” and, “Are you sure you don’t want your hair a few shades darker? Okay, okay, I won’t touch it, no worries.”
At some point she tunes them out and just goes with everything they tell her. Except the hair. She isn't going to let anyone color her hair.
When she looks in the mirror after what feels like forever, she doesn’t really look like herself anymore. The person staring back at her look to be a couple years older, and way more sophisticated. It’s not necessarily bad or uncomfortable, just…different.
“Are you ready?” Briana asks, pointing at the cameras behind them.
Camila wants to shake her head and say, No, but it comes out as, “Yeah, I think so.”
Her life has already been turned upside down and she hasn’t even met the reason yet.
“Just tell us something about yourself, how you got here and what you’re most excited about,” the main cameraman says.
He calls action and Camila’s left staring into the lens. It’s so big she can see herself.
“Uh, hi guys. My name is Camila Cabello, I’m eighteen years old, and I’m from Miami, Florida. Last week my best friend, hi Dinah, told me about a radio contest that gave people the opportunity to meet and spend a week with Lauren Jauregui, and that I had to call otherwise she would do it for me. I didn’t really think I had a chance, but here I am. I guess what I mean is; don’t ever give up on your dreams because you never know when you’re going to get a midnight call from a radio station telling you you’re going to spend seven days with your idol.” She makes an odd hand gesture and smiles through her nerves.
Talking to a camera is hard.
When the red light dims, she bites her lip. “Was that okay?”
The cameraman, whose name Camila now remembers to be Gregg, nods without much enthusiasm. “The last part was great. Fans love inspirational quotes.”
Briana claps her hands, as if they just invented light. “Great! Now we’re all ready to meet Lauren.”
But Camila’s isn’t so sure she’s ready to meet Lauren.
Yes, this is what she’s dreamed about forever, but what if she makes a fool out of herself? She can totally see herself pulling a Jennifer Lawrence and tripping on her way to hug Lauren, and instead of gracefully gathering herself she’d probably smash her face against the pavement and walk around like someone who had too much plastic surgery for the rest of the week.
She’s not ready.
But no one cares. Like Briana said, this isn’t about Camila; it’s about the company and Lauren.
She tries not to make a big deal out of it. After all, it’s her big dream.
By the time the van pulls over in front of Lauren’s house, Camila’s already forgotten about it. Her stomach is one big blurb of butterflies and she’s not sure her brain is actually still working. Her lungs definitely aren’t.
“What are you feeling right now?” Gregg asks, pointing at the camera so Camila won’t look at him but at the lens.
“Everything,” Camila blurts out, for once not caring about how she’ll look on camera.
In less than a minute she’ll be hugging Lauren.
The car door opens and Camila and the cameras pour out, and for the first time Camila knows what it’s like to be standing in front of Lauren Jauregui’s house.
It’s large, though not as large as some of the neighboring houses. The walls are white with a few large windows, one of which works like a mirror. The front porch looks empty and unused.
Camila’s not sure what to think of it. It’s definitely not like she expected, but she doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. It’s just different.
She forgets all about the cameras that are following her every move she makes, her full attention on the house in front of her. Lauren’s inside that house.
She doesn’t need to tell her legs to start walking—they just do. She doesn’t even realize it until she’s raising her hand to ring the doorbell.
She’s shaking all over her body. It makes pressing a button a lot harder than it’s supposed to be.
There’s a part of her that wants to run away and hide, and a part that wants to jump through the window and not have at least half a dozen people watching her meet her idol for the first time.
Someone—Lauren!—unlocks the door from the other side.
Her heart is beating in her throat.
And then the door swings open. Lauren’s dressed in black jeans and a black 1975 shirt, and for a split second, right before Camila loses her shit and throws her arms around the girl, there’s an unreadable expression on her face.
“Oh my god,” Camila breathes, unable to keep herself from hugging Lauren. A voice in the back of her head yells at her for forgetting about manners and introductions and handshakes, but she just can’t help it.
Lauren smells like cigarettes and lavender, her body stiff at first until it relaxes and hugs her back. Camila buries her face in her shoulder, closing her eyes. It’s like they’re made for each other.
The hug lasts a few moments, just long enough for Lauren to start pulling back, and for Camila to remember she doesn’t actually know this person.
Tugging a strand of hair behind her ear, she looks at Lauren shyly. “Hi, I’m Camila. Sorry for attacking you.”
“It’s okay.” Lauren doesn’t introduce herself—it’s unnecessary. They all know who she is.
“No, really. Usually I’m more put-together. I mean, not really, but you know what I mean. Do you? Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m just—I’m really nervous. I never met someone famous before and I’ve been a fan for a—” She stops, suddenly remembering the cameras and Briana and—oh god—Lauren. “Anyway… sorry.”
Lauren smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Happens all the time.”
She looks behind Camila, flashing the cameras a smile, before taking a few steps backwards. With a simple hand gesture she invites Camila to come inside.
On the inside, Lauren’s house is simple. The main colors are black and white, and it’s about as impersonal as it gets. There isn’t really a hallway—instead they’re just in what looks like a spare space surrounded by half walls with black trims on top. From where Camila’s standing, she can see a bar and kitchen on her right, and a living space with three large bookcases on her left. And really, those are the only things that make the house looks like someone’s living here.
Camila turns around to look at Lauren, who’s still on the front porch talking to Briana in a hushed voice. She looks annoyed.
Camila bites her lip. She’s done it again. She scared Lauren off. She shouldn’t have been that straightforward. All her life she’s told everyone that if she were to ever meet her idol she’d stay calm and be polite and have a conversation instead of hug them without asking. But she had to lose control and mess up the one thing she can’t take back; Lauren’s first impression of her.
She really wants to cry right now.
Lauren and Briana and the cameras walk into the house. Lauren looks less annoyed now, but Camila can’t tell if her smile is fake or not.
“Camila, right?” Lauren pronounces her name right on the first try. Maybe she still has a chance.
“Yeah. I’m really sorry about before. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.” Camila looks down to the ground, not meeting Lauren’s beautiful bright green eyes.
“Like I said, it’s okay. I’ve had worse happen to me.” Lauren’s voice makes Camila’s insides turn into mush.
“Okay,” Camila says, reminding herself not to say that too much so she won’t sound like a John Green novel. She looks around Lauren’s house. “I like your place.” No, she doesn’t. It’s too impersonal, too detached.
This time Camila can tell Lauren’s smile is forced. “Thanks.”
“You have a lot of books,” Camila says, to prevent an awkward silence from happening. This isn’t going like she planned. At all.
In her imagination they’d hit off great and talk and talk and talk until they fell asleep and when they woke up they’d talk even more. Instead she gets semi-awkward silences and cameras shoved in their faces.
“I like to read.” Lauren’s reply is cold, like her smile.
For a moment, Camila wonders whether Lauren even willingly agreed to have a random stranger live in her house for a week. Then they’re distracted by Briana.
“How about you give Camila a tour of the house?”
Lauren nods. “Sure.”
She points at something behind Camila’s back, breezing past her. Their arms brush and Camila freezes, goosebumps all over her skin. But Lauren seems unfazed and walks straight into an open area. She hits the light switch and spotlights flicker on, lighting the place with different colors.
“This is kind of a party area,” Lauren explains, gesturing around her. There’s a bar and a large TV and even a piano. It’s almost a small club.
“It’s where I hang out with my friends and stuff. Of course the bar doesn’t have any alcohol and it’s mostly for show. Until I turn twenty-one, then there will be alcohol.” She looks straight into the camera as she speaks, and Camila can see bottles of liquor stacked behind the bar.
Of course.
She cracks an unwilling grin. Lauren catches her eye and for a second she smiles back—a genuine smile this time. It makes Camila’s heart flutter.
“Over there’s the kitchen,” Lauren continues, waving her hand to her right. “It’s not really interesting, although I do have some nice knives.”
She’s clearly mocking the cameras and Camila wonders how much of this content will make it into the video diaries. Maybe Lauren’s doing it on purpose for exactly that reason.
“Lauren,” Briana says in a stern voice, causing Lauren’s head to snap up. Camila expects her to retaliate, but instead something changes in her eyes and she looks down.
“Anyway,” she continues, in a much softer tone. “Like I said, it’s just a kitchen. You’ll probably be seeing a lot of it, since I have all the food there.”
She moves past Camila, their arms don’t brush this time.
Camila isn’t quite sure what’s going on. Lauren isn’t like she expected. Something’s off, but she can’t put her finger on it. This isn’t the Lauren she’s used to seeing in interviews and behind-the-scenes videos of photoshoots and music videos.
But before she can address her concerns, Lauren’s already on her way to the other side of the house, past the large staircase. She gestures at the corner on their left. “This is the living room, where I play video games and read books.”
A messy stack of books is on the coffee table, along with an even messier stack of video games. Camila notices GTA V amidst them. She wonders if Lauren will let her play.
“But on this side the magic happens,” Lauren says, and she pushes open a large, glass door. Camila holds it open for everyone else, but Briana nods her head to tell her she has to follow Lauren.
Inside the room is a recording studio. Maybe Camila should’ve expected it, considering Lauren is a musician and all, but for some reason she didn’t. On their side of the glass is a computer and a control panel, on the other side are instruments and two microphones. It looks exactly the way Camila imagined a recording studio would look like.
Lauren’s behind the computer, opening a music program. She looks better inside the studio. More relaxed. More alive.
“I have a snippet of a new song that I’ve been working on,” Lauren says, right before music starts booming from the speakers. There’s a guitar solo and then a few seconds of Lauren’s voice, raw and loud, before the snippet’s over.
It’s unlike Lauren’s other stuff, and Camila loves it immediately. It’s not the preppy pop music she’s used to, though there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but a little more rock and a little more indie. It sounds the way Lauren dresses.
“That’s amazing,” Camila says, earning a shy smile. “Can I pre-order it on iTunes yet?”
Lauren laughs, and it’s the best sound Camila has heard all day. Even better than the music.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Lauren promises. She looks at Camila, and for the first time really looks at her. Their eyes lock and Camila forgets all about the cameras and Briana and Lauren acting weird. In that moment it’s just them.
The moment is over before either of them can do anything, like hug.
“Don’t put that in the video,” Briana tells Gregg in an obnoxious loud voice. “We haven’t discussed the new album yet and we’re not sure if this song will make it.”
Lauren’s face falls, her smile disappearing to make place for that empty look from before. She glances from Camila to Briana and back at Camila. When she speaks again, her voice is even smaller than before. “I guess no pre-orders yet.”
And Camila really wants to punch Briana in the face. Whatever’s happening here, it’s her fault. She’s not the violent type, she’s really not, but there’s just something about the way Lauren almost literally curls up into a ball every time Briana lets words fall out of her mouth that makes her angrier than anything else.
She reaches out to touch Lauren’s arm, in a way of comforting her, but Lauren pulls away and stomps out the studio.
Camila and the cameramen stand there sort of awkwardly as Briana follows her, and Gregg stops recording. None of them says a word, trying to pretend none of that ever happened. But it did, and suddenly Camila feels like she knows why Lauren’s been acting so detached.
Camila watches as the van takes off with Briana and the cameras in it. As soon as they turn the corner, she lets out a relieved breath and goes back inside.
They’ve been here for nearly three hours, and the whole time was filled with stupid interview questions and house tours and Briana shooting Lauren warning glares that made Lauren retreat even more every time. Eventually it got so bad Gregg said they wanted an interview with Camila without Lauren, to talk about first impressions and stuff. Lauren disappeared immediately.
Now that everyone’s gone, though, Camila wants to talk. She’s only seen Lauren for a really short time and they haven’t been able to chat at all, except from whenever Briana told them to pretend they were having a great time already, and that doesn’t count. None of that was genuine and real.
Unfortunately Camila has no idea where Lauren could be. Her house is massive and she has only seen part of it so far, including the bedroom she’ll be staying in for the next week. Like the rest of the house it’s filled with black furniture, and even the bed is made with black covers. Hopefully Lauren has some colorful things in this house, too, otherwise it’ll be a very depressing week.
“Lauren?” Camila calls out, knowing she probably won’t be heard.
No reply.
The last time she saw Lauren she was stomping up the stairs, and Camila’s pretty sure she hasn’t come down yet. So she climbs the large—black—stairs and is lost immediately. She opens every door she can find, ending up in what looks like an office space, and her own bedroom again. But Lauren isn’t there.
She crosses the hallway and opens another door—the only one she hasn’t been in yet. Inside it she finds color, lots of it. The bed is red, the rug is red, even the wardrobe is red. And, just like that, Camila realizes she’s found Lauren’s bedroom. But Lauren isn’t in it.
She’s inclined to stay and snoop around, but she’s pretty sure Lauren wouldn’t appreciate that and she doesn’t plan on being kicked out of the contest on the first day. Not when there’s so much left to do and so much left to talk about.
If only she could find Lauren.
She closes Lauren’s bedroom door and hopes Lauren won’t know she’s been in there. There’s only one other door left, and it leads outside. It’s large and made of glass and heavy to push open, but Camila manages to slip outside, expecting to find a roof but is met with a terrace instead. There are sunbeds and parasols and—holy shit—a hot tub. But Lauren isn’t there either.
Camila walks past a barbecue and an enormously long table with at least eight seats, hoping to find Lauren around the corner. When the terrace doesn’t end there, she decides to walk around the house until she finds Lauren, knowing she has to be somewhere up here.
She is. After climbing another flight of stairs and almost falling into a pool—seriously, who the fuck has a pool on their roof?—she spots Lauren on the rooftop with a cigarette dangling in the corner of her mouth.
“I thought you were afraid of heights,” Camila says, carefully climbing next to Lauren.
“I am,” Lauren replies without looking up. Her voice is cold and distant, like her eyes. She doesn’t say anything else for a while, and neither does Camila, until Lauren holds her pack of cigarettes in front of Camila’s face. “Cigarette?”
Camila shakes her head. “I don’t smoke.”
Lauren almost smiles. “Good.” She flicks the ash off her butt and sticks it back between her lips.
Camila doesn’t say anything. And instead of studying Lauren’s face like she so desperately wants to, she looks anywhere but there. She looks at the palm trees and the other houses in the neighborhood, at the expensive cars and the already dimly lit street lanterns.
Eventually, one cigarette and lots of silence later, Lauren looks at her. “Why are you here?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” Camila says, looking back. It’s getting dark. She can see the sun setting behind Lauren, giving her an angelic look.
“No, I mean, why are you here? At my house.” Lauren looks away, lights another cigarette. Camila wishes she hadn’t.
“I won the contest.” Camila isn’t sure why Lauren’s even asking her. Obviously she won the contest. “There was a radio contest and I called the station and they called me back a few days later saying I’d won.” She doesn’t know what else to say.
Maybe Lauren doesn’t know either, because she’s quiet again. Camila isn’t sure Lauren even wants her on the roof with her, but she hasn’t made any attempts to make her leave, so she stays. She wants Lauren to know that she’s there for her. Even if they only met a couple hours ago, she’s there for her. Even if she doesn’t know the full story, she’s there for her.
Without saying a word, Lauren pushes the pack of cigarettes in the back pocket of her jeans and starts climbing past Camila, back to safety. Once she’s on the wooden flooring surrounding the pool again, she throws out the half burnt up cigarette, and starts making her way downstairs.
“Hey,” Camila says, stopping Lauren. She climbs off the roof. “Where are you going?”
“Out.” Lauren doesn’t meet her eyes. “There’s a party and I’m going.”
Camila frowns. “What kind of party?”
“The kind you’re not invited to.” Lauren takes another step, but Camila’s voice holds her back.
“If you’re leaving then what am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t really give a shit,” Lauren shoots back. “There’s plenty of ways to entertain yourself around here. Go figure something out.”
Camila follows her as she walks down the stairs, back to the large, glass door. “You can’t just leave me here alone. I’m your guest, you owe—” And then she stops.
Lauren doesn’t owe her anything. Lauren probably doesn’t even want her here. Just because she’s been nice to her doesn’t mean Lauren has to be nice back. Camila isn’t even sure if she can even be nice anymore. The Lauren standing in front of her is nothing like the Lauren she admires so much.
Lauren looks at her with raised eyebrows, waiting for her to say something. But Camila shakes her head. “Have fun at your party.”
“Right,” Lauren says. Neither of them moves for a moment, until finally Lauren unfreezes and disappears through her bedroom door.
Camila watches the door for a moment, hoping Lauren will come back. But instead the speakers that are hung all over the house turn on, and loud music that Camila doesn’t recognize booms through the entire house.