Blacklist. Alyson Noel
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silence, he’d calmed enough to concede that what she’d said was in many ways true. Though he’d be damned if he’d admit it to her.
“So why not write in her defense?” he said, hoping to move on before Layla stormed out, or worse. The solution seemed obvious enough to him. If he had a blog, that was what he’d do. It’s certainly the stance he’d taken whenever he granted an interview, which was less often these days.
Having moved to LA with dreams of breaking into the music industry, Tommy had soon discovered it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he’d hoped. The good looks and talent that had made him a standout in his small Oklahoma town barely registered in a place where virtually everyone was ridiculously beautiful and well on their way to fortune and fame. So when news of Madison’s disappearance first broke, Tommy didn’t hesitate to claim a piece of the spotlight. At the time, he was sure Madison was merely lying low and would surface soon enough. What he hadn’t counted on was the discovery of her blood on the Night for Night terrace, much less Aster’s stained dress linking her to the crime.
Layla unfolded her arms and sipped from her coffee. After crinkling her nose in distaste, she went back for more. “Clearly you don’t read my blog.” She returned the cup to its saucer. “Otherwise you’d know that the one time I dared write a piece in Aster’s defense, it resulted in death threats.” She shook her head at the memory.
“Everyone loves an easy target.” Tommy studied her, watching an array of emotions play across her delicate features as she reluctantly nodded in agreement.
“Unfortunately for Aster, she’s easy to hate. She’s young, rich, gorgeous, a little on the prissy side. . . .”
“A little?” Tommy felt ashamed the moment he said it. With everything Aster was facing, it didn’t seem right to poke fun, no matter how true the accusation. “Though actually, the same goes for you. Anytime you dare to put yourself out there, or worse, put yourself out there in a way that honors your convictions, you can expect to be dog piled.”
“Speaking from experience?” Layla quirked a brow as her gaze moved over him.
Tommy shrugged and sipped his beer, remembering the backlash he’d faced—the slew of hate tweets, his car tires getting slashed—all because he’d been the last known person to be seen with Madison. The internet was the most terrifying court of all. It was mob mentality at its worst—rife with torch-wielding armchair judges ready to convict on mere hearsay alone. Luckily for Tommy, the furor had eventually died down, but only because the haters had found a new target in Aster.
“Look,” Layla said. “As the former president of the I Hate Aster Amirpour Club, I get it. But now I just want to help her. For one thing, Aster’s innocent. For another, it’s the right thing to do.”
Tommy studied her closely. She was acting odd, cagey, purposely avoiding whatever she’d come to discuss. And while part of him wished the whole thing had been an excuse just to see him, he knew better. Layla was simply not the flirty, coy type. She was the most straightforward girl he’d ever met, or at least, usually. At the moment, she clearly needed a nudge, even though she was the one who’d called for the meeting.
“So what’s this evidence you found?” He pressed back against the cushion and waited for her to fess up.
With a resigned sigh, she sank a hand into her bag, retrieved a package, and pushed it across the table toward him.
Tommy glanced between Layla and the heart-shaped box, then settled in to read.
March 14, 2012
Today at school I almost gave myself away. Or, actually, I did give myself away, but since it was only in front of Dalton, it’s not exactly the emergency it could’ve been, since everyone knows that Dalton doesn’t really count as a person who matters enough for other people to actually listen to.
Still, I can hardly believe that after all the hard work I’ve done to successfully erase any and all traces of my former hillbilly accent, watching countless old movies so I’d sound sorta British, or, at the very least, like I could be from just about anywhere but WV, I was stupid careless enough to totally out myself for the hick that I am.
Anyway, it all started when I spilled a can of paint all over my smock during art class and let out a stream of curses that normally wouldn’t be any big thing unless a teacher overheard (which luckily didn’t happen, since Mr. Castillo was too busy updating his Tinder profile to pay attention to me), but quickly became a VERY BIG DEAL when Dalton overheard and I realized I’d ACCIDENTALLY USED MY OLD ACCENT!!!!!
Ugh.
I can’t even. ☹
The second I realized what I’d done, well, I just stood there like an idiot. I swear, I could hardly even breathe!! And when Dalton’s eyes met mine, I sincerely thought I would die right then and there. It felt like my whole life was rewinding—flashing right before my eyes. It was like I was literally watching all my dreams—everything I’ve been working toward—vanish in one horrible moment.
Or at least that’s how it seemed at first.
But after a few seconds ticked past, I pulled it together enough to realize that if I wanted to undo the damage, then I needed to own what I did.
So, while Dalton was busy standing there gawking as though he was trying to process how best to handle this juicy bit of intel, I looked right at him and forced myself to smile as I said, “Tell me the truth—did that sound authentic?”
Dalton just stood there, mouth gaping like a fish at feedin’ time.
So I smiled wider and said, “I’m auditioning for a TV commercial this weekend, and I’m working on my accent.”
He stared at me for so long I actually started to sweat. It was like I could see his mind processing the quickest way to use my mistake to leapfrog his way to instant popularity.
“There’s a kissing part too,” I added, before I could fully think it through. Still, desperate times call for desperate measures, and all that. . . .
I inched closer, so close we were nearly touching, and said, “And I should probably work on that too. Maybe you can help me rehearse after school?”
Whatever he’d been thinking of doing to me before, well, he was now thinking of doing something entirely different. And even though I was reluctant to go through with it, now that I’d put it out there, I had no choice but to commit.
He waited for me after school, and I let him walk me home. Luckily, the parents were at work, so we had the whole house to ourselves. And even though I only planned to let him kiss me for no more than ten minutes max, surprisingly, kissing Dalton wasn’t so bad, so I decided to bring him up to my room and go a little longer (and a little further!) than planned.
By this time tomorrow, Dalton will be popular (I’ll make sure of it) and my secret will be safe. I just hope he doesn’t expect me to be his girlfriend or anything, because while he may be a decent kisser, I can’t risk getting close to him.
Can’t risk getting close to anyone, ever.
I was just lucky it was Dalton and not Emma or Jessa or someone who wouldn’t be quite so easy to manipulate distract.
In the end, I guess it wasn’t too bad. If nothing else, it served as an important reminder of how I can’t afford to let my guard down.
How I can never stop acting like the shiny new version of myself.
How I can never stop acting, period.
The diary entry was so full of contradictions it was hard to process. The proliferation of hearts, flowers, and stars was definitely the mark of a romantic, dreamy-eyed teen. But the actual content displayed the kind of ambition, maturity, and determination rarely found in someone that age. Tommy studied the xeroxed copy, having no doubt Madison had written it. And judging by the date at the top, she’d been around fourteen at the time.
He studied the picture again. Only one person had eyes like that, and the