Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 221(@200wpm)___ 177(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
I scroll down impatiently until I see the picture that accompanies the article, and I freeze. It’s a grainy shot, taken in low light, but it’s pretty easy to see who and what is in the frame. It’s me and Candy – last night, in the private room at the club.
How did anyone take this picture? From the angle, it was clearly taken from near the door. My back is to the camera, but with my head turned in profile, it’s clearly recognizable as me. For Candy, it’s even worse: she’s full on to the camera, her eyes half-closed and her lips parted as I lean down for another kiss. The dress she was wearing is hiked halfway up her thigh, and my hands are on her breasts, obvious for all to see.
It’s lewd and inappropriate, the kind of image that neither of us would want anyone to see. We were trying to keep this quiet, and now it’s splashed all over the pages of a local paper. We made a mistake, thinking we could keep this from Lexie. Everything has come crashing down already, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since we decided to keep seeing each other.
My heart is pounding rapidly in my ears as I skim-read the article. They’re making out that Candy is under sixteen years old – which isn’t true, and I’m sure anyone looking at the image could also guess that she isn’t because she looks older than that. They haven’t mentioned her name, which perhaps means they don’t know her identity – so why publish that she’s underage? Why print this image at all?
Unless, of course, someone put it online to try and disgrace me. To ruin my reputation. Now that this is out, it will be going around the art blogs and magazines by the end of the day – there’s nothing the art world loves more than salacious gossip.
My phone pings and I look down at the screen. It’s a message from an artist I sometimes buy work from, letting me know that he’s seen the article and thinks I’m disgusting. Goddamnit. This is getting out fast, and it will only continue to spread. I have to do something.
But before I can even think about fixing this, I have to talk to Candy. I have to warn her. She’s in this photo, too, and she’s not going to get a personalized news alert like I did. She needs to hear it from me before she sees herself somewhere and has the shock of her life.
I grab my cell phone and dial Candy’s number, waiting for it to connect. I tap my hand restlessly on the desk as it rings, and rings, and rings. She doesn’t answer. When the answering message kicks on, I swear and try again, and again, and again.
She’s not answering. I have to go over there and check that she’s alright – before someone else gets to her first.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Candy
I’m sleeping in late this morning, knowing I don’t have any classes until the afternoon – and because I need some time to recover from last night. Even though we didn’t stay out too late, I ended up coming home feeling exhausted. And, more than that – feeling like I’d had the night of my life. I can’t imagine how good the weekend will be, two full days of uninterrupted Finn – it makes my mouth water.
I was sleeping in late because when I do wake up, it’s not to the sound of my alarm. It’s to the voice of my roommate, Alex, standing over me and calling my name until I open my eyes and look at her.
“What?” I ask, blearily. I am only half-awake, but when I take in the fact that Alex’s face is bright red and there are tears rolling down it, I’m suddenly as alert as if I’d been up for hours already.
“How could you do this to me?” Alex asks, her voice shrill and taut.
I sit up in bed, wiping a hand over my face to try to wipe the sleep from it. My heart starts thumping in my chest. I don’t know what Alex is talking about, but there’s no way this could be good. “What? What’s happening?” I ask, trying to get a handle on the situation.
“You’re supposed to be my friend,” she says, beginning to sob, and shaking her head. Her voice is getting louder and louder with every word.
“Alex,” I start, concerned, about to ask her what the hell’s going on. I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I might know. I just don’t want it to be true.
“He’s my father!” she cries, and that sinking feeling goes right to the pit of my stomach and down through to my feet. I feel frozen in place. I can’t move. I can only stare at her in horror.