CHAPTER TWO

FLEETWOOD

( — fleetwood mac; british-american rock band. )

          SELINA DOESN'T TEXT REMUS.

          It's not like she doesn't want to, but she fears she'd pass off as too clingy slash desperate. Besides, she has no idea of what to say because, after all, what in the world should she say, anyway? 

          Hey, Remus, this is Selina from last night. This is just so you can save my number—if you want to, of course, but it feels like I'm invading your privacy by having your number while you know next to nothing about me.

          Or something along those lines. Preferably, it should be something that doesn't give off the wrong idea, hinting towards something deeper than things actually are.

          She doesn't have a problem with getting too involved with someone; she has a problem with getting too involved with celebrities. Granted, she has never done it, but she just knows it's something similar to stepping on a buried landmine; you know it's going to blow up if you move, but there's no way you'll manage to stay forever frozen where you are.

          Her roommate, Ethan, often reminds her she's terrified of commitment, to which she enjoys replying it's not commitment per se she's bothered by. The only thing that scares her, besides snakes, is being exploited and being taken advantage of because that's just how her world works. There's always someone trying to step over you to succeed and she'd be lying if she said she hadn't screwed other people over during the early phases of her career.

          There's also the happy coincidence that getting too involved with a celebrity was exactly what pulled her parents apart, destroying their marriage and forcing her to live without a father for several years. It forced her to make herself promise she would never let something like that ever happen to her or to her children.

          "I think you think too highly of yourself sometimes," Ethan said, slumped over his notebook and heavy-looking astrophysics books, before she left last month.

          Selina, knitting her brows together, huffed, blowing back her hair. "What? It's true. There are things you have to do to survive, and I'm not proud of what I did."

          "Is that why you think you'll inevitably get romantically involved with a celebrity? Because it will help you survive?"

          "No." Her voice turned a few octaves higher and he threw her a deadpan look, as if she had just proven his point. "I'm just saying—people in this business take advantage of each other, even if it's just a PR stunt. I mean, you saw what happened to Beverly. Plus, I've dated people before and we always ended things on good terms . . . not that I don't love my grudges."

          What Happened to Beverly is something they don't enjoy talking about. Beverly Kean just so happens to be engaged to Selina's childhood best friend, Winona Bernard, but putting things in such simplistic terms invalidates everything they went through to get to where they are now. After a PR stunt gone wrong, courtesy of Beverly's management, their relationship could barely be salvaged, but, if it survived that particular scandal and the aftermath of it, it can survive anything.

          Selina tried really hard to not get involved. Really, she did, and she still thinks everyone else would have much rather preferred if she had kept her mouth shut, but she just had to ruin it. She just had to remind Winona of the dangers of being dragged into the spotlight by the person you're dating (they didn't even break up during the stunt; they just had to see each other in secret), getting herself a one-way ticket out of her best friend's apartment; still, she didn't do it out of malice or out of spite. She was genuinely trying to help, even if her attempts at doing so are often ruined because she can't seem to stop herself from running her mouth.

          Luckily, Bevnona survived it all. Selina's parents didn't. Neither did Ethan and his ex-girlfriend, Miriam, who broke a four-year relationship when she landed a record deal, even if they're both living in Los Angeles.

          "Still," Ethan continued, leaning back in his chair. The light-yellow lights in his office cast golden highlights across his dark skin and she wanted to name all the shades of brown in his eyes—beige, mahogany, dark-honey. "You're not just closing yourself off from dating celebrities. You're closing yourself off from dating other people and actually getting to know them platonically."

          "I have baggage. Until I learn how to carry it myself, I'm not carrying anyone else's."

          Funnily enough, no one ever seems to stop to think about how Selina is relatively famous herself. When she talks about the dangers of new-found exposure, she's not just talking about herself when she gets involved with someone even more well-known; the same thing applies to the people she's with.

          Nevertheless, it's a lot easier and funnier to think about how self-centered she is, so she just lets them deliver the punch lines while she fades into the background.

          She spends the early moments of her Saturday morning weighing all the risks and benefits of testing Remus. She does it as she scrolls through her Instagram feed, still lying under her white sheets, and in the shower, with the lukewarm water blasting against the top of her head as she tries really hard not to slip.

          In the end, the risks outweigh the benefits. After all, the only way they could be minimally useful to each other would involve him introducing her to the band's manager, so they can make their participation in her radio talk show official to up her ratings and they'd get a publicity boost. Better yet, that's the only way they'd help each other without any unnecessary secondary effects.

          She has seen people looking like he did last night countless times. They're the type of people who are standing on the danger zone, threatening to be sucked into a spiral of negativity, and wait for something—or someone—to save them or to remind them of their true potential. They also tend to use those things or people as crutches, even when their job is objectively done, and that would only fuel the toxicity.

          Selina wants to help people, but not like that. Everyone has potential and strength inside them, but she can't be the one systematically forcing them to open their eyes and remain that way forever—part of it has to come from them, and, if she can stand there and support them, great. She's not a savior—she's simply someone looking for her peace of mind while not getting her baggage mixed with someone else's.

          Back to Remus. It's obvious to everyone who sees him, both in person, on stage or through a screen that there's something going on with him; he has always been known for his bubbly, sometimes childlike personality and unbeatable optimism, but Summersteen hasn't put out new music in months and the public and the critics fear this tour might be a farewell tour. He runs away from interviews, going days without being spotted by anyone or touching social media, and, when he actually shows his face, he lets his bandmates conduct the interview. The Remus Rossi the public had grown to love seems to be slowly slipping away.

          Selina has heard it from Maia, who heard it from Cameron. If things don't get better and the band dynamic shifts for the better, then this might actually be the end of Summersteen, after all those great memories (and not so great ones, including that time when he had to get stitches).

          She wants to know if there's anything she can do. However, getting too involved can't and shouldn't even be an option, as what's going on with Remus might wreck him even more if a complete stranger decides to meddle in the middle of his business; plus, fans and gossip social media accounts could start seeing things where they don't exist and ruin what could possibly be a good friendship.

          (Though she's not denying the swarm of butterflies flapping its wings inside her stomach whenever his eyes met hers last night. Absolutely not.)

          Selina has an incredibly busy day ahead of her. Between shopping for groceries, updating her social media, calling her father and her friends and chilling at the beach during the rest of the day because she has the night off, there shouldn't be any time to be worrying about trivialities.

          What doesn't classify as a triviality, however, is the rustling sound coming from the living room, just when she curls her fingers around the handle on the bathroom door, freezing into place. She knows for a fact there was no one else in her apartment when she rolled out of bed and locked herself in the bathroom and, for all she knows, it could have simply been the wind blowing against the curtains.

          It's either that or there's someone on the other side of the door doing God knows what. Her prized possessions certainly aren't in the bathroom with her and she needs her phone and laptop to work (and, well, live, since that's the era we're stuck in); most importantly, she needs herself and, if there really is someone out there, who's to say they won't hurt her?

          Thus, Selina fixes the fluffy towel she's wrapped in and asks herself: what would Selina Kyle do?

          First, she'd use something in her immediate surroundings as a weapon, so this Selina grabs a full bottle of shampoo, since it's fairly heavy. Secondly, she'd be stealthy while approaching her enemy, but the bathroom door creaks as Selina pushes it open, mentally groaning, and her wet feet softly tap against the wooden floors.

          Thirdly, Selina Kyle always dresses according to the occasion, preferring outfits that let her move freely as she fights, jumps and runs. Selina Locke is wearing nothing but a towel. Perhaps the former would find a way of making it work, while the latter . . . well, not so much.

          Selina tiptoes towards the living room, with the shampoo bottle nearly slipping off her hands, and it actually ends up falling to the floor with a dry thud when she sees a shadow dance against one of the walls. A tiny whimper escapes from her lips before she can stop herself from doing so, causing a familiar face to peek from the kitchen, totally expressionless.

          "What the hell?" she complains, crossing her arms in front of her chest to ensure the towel stays in place. Standing by the entrance to the kitchen, there's Cameron Carlisle himself, holding a small jar of peanut butter and grabbing a spoonful of its contents. His black hair is tousled, probably a consequence of the windy morning gracing Barcelona, and his face is covered in a healthy glow after a good night of sleep. "What are you doing here? How did . . . how did you even get in?"

          "'sup," Cameron greets, swallowing the peanut butter. "I have my ways."

          "And I have my ways of telling Maia you've broken into my apartment!"

          Cameron's eyes widen and he sets the jar and the silver spoon aside. "You wouldn't."

          "Yeah? Try me."

          "Your phone is across the room." He points to the device, set on the coffee table, and Selina clenches her jaw. "Bet you five dollars I'd win a race against you. I doubt bath towels leave enough room to . . . run."

          "Shut up." She runs her fingers through her damp hair and, even though it's still pretty early in the morning, tiny droplets of sweat have already begun to ooze down the nape of her neck and her back. "Do you mind staying right where you are and explain what the hell you're doing here while I get dressed?"

          "Not planning on going anywhere, since our lead singer doesn't feel like working today." Selina's heart plummets down to her stomach and she swallows the lump on her throat, praying Cameron didn't notice it. She decides to hide back inside her bedroom, going through her clothes to find a pretty bikini and something that leaves her feeling more refreshed, like a cotton tank top and a pair of shorts. "So, anyway"—Cameron raises his voice so she can hear him from her bedroom—"I'm here because Remus won't shut up about how we're seemingly giving an interview to your talk show, but neither Cory, I or our manager ever heard about it up until this morning. Is he delusional or do you have something to tell me?"

          Selina hesitates, thinking about the best way to explain exactly what happened last night. The thing about Cameron is that he tends to jump into conclusions a lot quicker than people can explain themselves, which usually leads to plenty of misunderstandings, and she has butted heads with him countless times throughout the years. Hell, their friendship was born out of a misunderstanding, when they were spotted leaving the same party at the same time and people thought they were either together or related—the latter because they're both Asian.

          Naturally, it angered them both. Not only because they had never said two words to each other up until that point and Maia had to intervene to clear the air, but also because of the connotation behind those assumptions. She's Chinese, he's Korean and they're not related. End of story.

          "He showed up at the bar where I work last night," she begins, tying the top part of a hot-pink bikini around her back. "He seemed kind of upset, but I only talked to him at the end of my shift because I wanted to close the bar and he just wouldn't leave."

          "You kicked him out?"

          "I was trying to be discreet about it"—Cameron scoffs—"and I even offered him a drink. We talked for a while, I walked him to his hotel and then I came home. That was it."

          "I see." The skeptical tone cladding his voice tells her that no, he doesn't see it. "But why is he so convinced we're supposedly popping up at your show?"

          "I'm sure it has nothing to do with how I've been trying to get in contact with your management for months and I always get the phone hung up on my face."

          Cameron gasps as she finishes buttoning up her shorts. "So you just took advantage of the poor guy? Frankly, Selina, part of me expected more from you."

          "I have no idea what that's supposed to mean and I'm not sure whether I want to know, so I'm not going to ask." Cameron hums in agreement. "I didn't take advantage of him. I might have mentioned the show, like, once or twice while we were at the bar, but I never asked him directly to come. He gave me your manager's card at the hotel, so I'm guessing he's actually interested in being a guest."

          Selina decides it's for the best if she doesn't mention how Remus gave her his personal number as well, as things between the band seem shaky enough already without another drama being thrown into the mix.

          Funnily enough, Cameron doesn't speak again until she joins him in the living room. The jar of peanut butter has since been forgotten, meaning that's something she won't have to add to her shopping list, but she wishes he had kept eating instead of staring at her with those eyes. He looks at her like he's about to snap and insult her stupidity, but manages to calm himself down by taking successive deep breaths.

          "Selina," he eventually sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose and placing his free hand on his hip. "Remus . . . he's going through a rough time right now. We're still trying to figure out what the hell we're going to do with him, with the tour and with the band in general, but our options are limited considering he's planning on skipping soundcheck. Don't take it personally, but your radio talk show should be one of our smallest worries at the moment."

          "Oh," she blabbers, clearing her throat when her voice comes out a little bit too raspy. "Oh, no, I totally get it. I'm not going back to Los Angeles until September anyway, so . . ."

          "Still." Cameron presses his lips together. "This is being hard on all of us. You get it, right? Something that affects one of us ends up affecting the entire band and it seeps into our personal lives as well. We're trying to have as fewer distractions as possible."

          Selina raises her chin. It doesn't take a genius to know he hit her right where it hurts by referring to her as a distraction—and she's certain he doesn't mean that just because of her show. It's all about her and what she can do.

          "Don't worry," she dryly retorts. "I'm not planning on interfering with the band. I have my own drama to deal with."

          "Yeah, about that . . ." He massages the side of his neck, purposely avoiding her eyes. "Can you interfere a little bit for now? Maybe try convincing him to show up for soundcheck and not ruin the show for the rest of us and for all the people who bought a ticket?" She narrows her eyes, but doubts she's looking intimidating in the slightest. Winona says it's because of the dimples in her cheeks. "We're having breakfast back at the hotel and you could . . . I don't know, come hang out with us for a little while and accidentally let slip how important this night and this entire tour is."

          "And what's in it for me?"

          "Uh . . . backstage access? Free merchandise? The satisfaction of knowing you've helped Maia by helping me by helping Remus?" He bats his eyelashes, opening his eyes wide like the cat from Shrek. "Selina, please. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't believe you could do this."

          "Sounds a lot like manipulation to me. I don't know what kind of person you think I am, but . . ."

          "Oh, I think you're great." He shrugs. "Sometimes. Now is one of the times you get to be extra great and then we'll disappear into thin air and stop making your life super awkward. If you ask me, I think he'd be thrilled to see you, but try to not get him drunk again next time."

          "Next time?"

          He throws her a denim jacket. "Shall we? I have an Uber waiting outside."

          Selina follows him downstairs, albeit reluctantly, and has to put on her sunglasses as soon as they take a step outside, with the blazing sun scorching the naked skin of her shoulders. Her denim jacket rests on the curve of her arm, as it's already too hot to wear it without turning into a walking ball of sweat, and she's immensely thankful for the chilly air inside the vehicle.

          She lets Cameron know he won't get away with this as easily as he thinks he will just because she wants to stay on good terms with Maia, especially because the latter wouldn't approve of this in the slightest. Selina herself is already regretting accepting Cameron's offer, wishing she could dig a hole in the sidewalk when she and Cameron exit the car and find themselves surrounded by camera flashes.

          "I hate you," she mutters, through gritted teeth.

          "I'm an acquired taste," Cameron cheerfully declares, and holds the glass door open for her. Even though the paparazzi don't follow them inside the hotel, mostly thanks to the burly security guards scattered around the lobby, they walk as quickly as they can, crossing the room in large steps until they reach the VIP breakfast area.

          Of course it's located on the rooftop, because where else would it be?

          Selina's heart hammers against her chest as they make their way towards the table where the band and the crew is eating breakfast, but, thankfully, she goes by unnoticed . . . for the most part.

          Remus, who until then had been calmly sipping his orange juice, chokes on it when his eyes land on her before ever so gracefully spitting the drink to her tank top.

          It used to be white. Used to.

you know, i once told simone simonesaidwhat "hey i just noticed i tend to dedicate my second chapters to you". she also has an entire book of mine dedicated to her (it's counterfactual, by the way), but i thought i'd keep up the trend in this book as well. and it makes sense, as first chapters are always so exciting to write and i have a horrible tendency to get bored with books; however, simone herself is one of the reasons why i don't give up. she's one of the reasons why i write in general, and i doubt there will ever be a day when i won't be feeling immensely glad to have her in my life. i love you!!

this book is soooooo much fun to write. really!!!

anyway, in case you read mimeomia, you must have noticed something: The Beverly Thing was mentioned, which marks the first reference to that book. it certainly won't be the last so stay tuned for more!