LOTTIE

I think about what Luca said—for this to work, we have to trust each other. For us to trust each other, I need to be brave, take a leap of faith, and believe she'll treat my vulnerability with care.

She might have a lot to lose if things go awry, but so do I. There are too many eyes on me. My empire is too big to not crush everything in a wide radius once it crumbles.

"It's complicated," I admit.

"I bet. It must be so hard being beautiful, rich, and famous. No one ever telling you no."

My stomach curls. She might be trying to hurt me, but she did call me beautiful.

"Why are you so against accepting help? I figured you'd do anything to keep the camp afloat."

"It's not help that's the issue."

"Then what is?"

"You. You're the issue. It's your help I don't want. You can't even answer a simple question without being cryptic and evasive. How can I trust your intentions if I don't know what they are?"

My bottom lip quivers. "I—"

"I just need you to answer this one question—truthfully. Don't sugarcoat it, don't beat around the bush. Don't tell me an embellished version of it because you think it's what I want to hear."

"Promise you won't think any less of me."

Leigh tilts her head to the side, just like in her profile picture, and that dumb lock of hair falls in front of her eyes. Good thing both my hands are busy—one holding my matcha, the other locking her in place.

"Does my opinion of you matter that much? I'm one person. You won't see me again once you leave. Whatever I think of you is a droplet of water in the big ocean of your fans."

"My fans only get an abridged version of me. There are things I can't share. Things I don't want to share. I need you to believe me when I say I'm doing this to help you. I also need you to know I'm trying to help myself—"

"There we go."

"—but not in the way you think. I'm not trying to look good or be praised for this. I haven't mentioned Evermere anywhere because I want to be left alone for as long as I can. I know this will change once word gets out, but temporary peace and quiet is better than nothing."

She nods, finishing her cappuccino. Then, she licks the foam from her upper lip and I lose my train of thought. "Go on, then. I'm all ears."

"Can you do one more thing for me? I know I'm already asking for a lot."

"Yes?"

"Can we go somewhere else? Walk for a bit, get ice cream?"

She wrinkles her nose like a bunny, looking so adorable, so pretty it hurts. "Fine. But you're buying."

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I'm convinced Leigh Flores could talk me into doing anything she wants just for the tiniest glimpse of a smile. Probably not something illegal or morally compromising, but buying her ice cream and watching her struggle to choose a flavor because everything looks so appetizing sounds like a good place to start.

"You know, you don't have to pick one or two," I tell her. "What's stopping you from getting the biggest ice cream you possibly can?"

"I don't want to look like a tourist douche, walking around with a huge ice cream and having it melt all over myself."

"Should we get you some socks and sandals to complete the look?" She scowls. "You probably can't get sunburned, so that's one tourist cliché out of the window."

In spite of herself, she chuckles. "That's true. Do you really not mind if I pick out multiple scoops? This is my favorite parlor, and I can't choose a favorite flavor. It's embarrassing."

"Go ahead." I vaguely gesture towards the ice cream display. The flavors range from traditional like chocolate and strawberry to more tropical ones, like passion fruit and tamarind, but also unique ones—popcorn, rocky road. "I didn't think you'd be into vanilla."

I didn't mean it like that.

I meant it in a completely innocent way, mostly because no one really likes vanilla ice cream, but then she turns to me, eyes so wide she's never beating the doe allegations.

My cheeks are so hot I could melt all the ice cream in this place.

"I'm sorry," I rush to say. "I meant the ice cream. That was really inappropriate."

She lets out a nervous laugh. "Could be worse. I can write it in my memoir—this one time, Lottie Fitzpatrick accidentally hit on me."

I allow myself to breathe of relief. I'm lucky she's taking it all in stride, otherwise this could've ended badly. Words like abuse of power, power imbalance, intimidation, and intimidation swarm my brain; honest intentions mean nothing when people have already made up their mind about you.

It brings me back to when I was figuring out my sexuality, realizing I liked girls, and hearing horror stories about my friends being ogled by creepy men. I was terrified I was looking at them the same way those men did; even now as an adult, I'm always looking over my shoulder.

How will this be perceived? How do I navigate the dating scene when it feels like everyone knows each other or has dated each other? How do I make my social status not be a threat?

"Hey, relax," she reassures me. "I was just kidding. You caught me by surprise, that's all. Guess I'll have, like, five different scoops. They use oat milk to make these, by the way. Not sure if you're allergic, but . . ."

"I love oat milk."

Leigh hums. "Great. You'll love their ice cream, then."

We fall into what I hope is comfortable silence. People who glance our way do a double take as they piece things together, but Leigh serves as a good guard dog by glaring at anyone who dares gaze at me one second too long.

Luca is here, too. There's something oddly hilarious about how out of place he looks, wearing a baseball cap and a Knicks t-shirt, ice cream cone in his hand. If Leigh thinks she's intimidating, he has her beat.

"So," I begin, once we're outside with our ice cream. As promised, Leigh ordered not five, but six scoops, each one more outlandish than the others, and says she'll deal with the sugar crash when the time comes. "This might sound ridiculous and privileged to you, but you wanted me to be honest."

"Try me," she dares. "Nothing sounds ridiculous to me."

"I'm burnt out. That's the short version of it. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Creatively. I feel absolutely miserable. The tour just ended and all I've been doing since is planning what comes next. Write songs, record them, prepare the album. Promote it. Go on tour. I've been on the move constantly for years. Lockdown was the only time I got to stop and breathe properly, but even then . . ."

"I remember. You put out an album in, like, May. Two months into lockdown."

I nod. "I have a home studio. Between writing, recording, and baking, I wasn't doing much. I figured everyone needed a distraction. Of course, the album got completely eclipsed two months later with good reason, but I didn't mind."

"Folklore?"

"Yep. I can't compete with that, especially in the same genre, but I couldn't escape the comparisons. I was supportive, still stream and love it to this day, but, even though Redacted came out first, I was getting plagiarism accusations. Not a fun time all around. I guess that's when I started panicking, like I'd overstayed my welcome. The market is saturated. If I wanted to stay relevant, I needed to put out a better album. Better lyrics. Better production. I released Speed of Light two years after that, very bubblegum pop, and it did all right. I needed something lighter and it kept the masses entertained. Dissect my lyrics all you want while I work on the next big thing."

Leigh plucks the thread out of a cherry and plops it in her mouth. Her lips, luscious, pink, are my personal hell. "Chloe keeps up with everything you do. You can probably tell." I can. I take no offense to it; from what I saw of Chloe, she seemed invested yet normal. "I remember the whole discourse about Dream Girl and your song. Daydream?"

I shrug. There's no use beating around the bush and people still speculate to this day, so I might as well. "It was a direct response, yes. I didn't want to be painted as someone's dream girl. That was an idealized version of me, written by someone who's no longer in my life. It ended when it had to."

"But it's by—"

"A man. Yes." I bite my ice cream. She looks at me like I kicked a puppy. "We dated for a few years, back when I was still figuring things out. Still figuring myself out. I already knew I liked women, but I thought there was more to it. Maybe there was for a while. Not anymore. Every time it gets brought up, I get attacked by people who think I'm a disgrace to the lesbian community because I'm not a golden star."

"Shit, seriously? Out of every issue in the world, this is what people get angry at?"

"People have this . . . idea of me in their heads. Some of it checks out, but other parts are just what they want to see. What they assume it's true. I can't do anything about it; even if I put out a statement, they'll still try to come up with an alternative explanation. So I don't engage unless it's actively harmful or bordering on slander."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Lottie. How do you deal with it? Surely you should be allowed to punch people in the face every now and then."

I laugh. It comes easy with her. "Maybe. But I've been in the business for a long time. I learned how to compartmentalize. Anyway, all of this to say I decided to tell my team I needed to take a break before I collapsed. My best friend's boyfriend found Evermere, so here I am. I came here to unwind and find some inspiration. I want to do something different. Something that feels like me, for once. Not something I'm doing because I feel like I have to for the sake of sales or awards. My music is genuine, don't get me wrong, but I feel like I hold back a lot. Fear, anxiety, maybe the overarching theme of the album requires something more curated. My goal is to write something raw. Unfiltered. My Jagged Little Pill. My female rage moment."

"Understandable. Here." She gently presses a paper napkin against the corner of my lips. I fear I might combust with her touch, and all she's doing is wiping ice cream from my mouth. Her thumb accidentally grazes over my bottom lip. I'm like a child who doesn't know how to eat. "Now we're even."

"We are." Leigh looks away. There's a faint rose tint to her cheeks. "Which brings us to summer camp. I've volunteered with kids before and promoting education and supporting art programs is something that means a lot to me."

"Yeah, I've seen it. People say wonders about you whenever you visit schools and hospitals. I've never seen happier kids."

I beam at her. "It's so rewarding, isn't it? It means the world to see those big smiles."

She returns the smile—shyer, but it's still there. "Indeed."

"I know how important it is for kids to have an outlet for their emotions and giving them creative hobbies is a great way to help them explore their feelings. I might not have experience with summer camps, but I know how to entertain. I know how to be there for the kids, too. Looking at your photos, reading about everything you and your family have done throughout the years, reading the reviews . . . it's exactly what speaks to me. It's the raw sense of purpose I've been chasing. I want to help you, but I also want to help myself. I think we can make a great team and give these kids the greatest summer of their lives. Please don't think I'm doing this for praise. I need this experience to help my creativity, yes, but I also need it to help me reconnect with the world. With something meaningful. I don't want to just be Lottie."

She stays quiet for a while as we walk alongside the boardwalk. It's still early in the afternoon, peak sunburn hours, and the beaches are filling with people. No one is rushing, no one is screaming.

This must be what paradise feels like.

I wish I could allow myself to enjoy it properly, to stop and breathe in the sea breeze and the salt. To stare at the vastness of the sea and remember how small I am next to it.

But I can't. In my life, everything feels like the world. I feel too big to exist among other people.

"Who do you want to be, then?" Leigh eventually asks, as we make our way down a flight of stone stairs leading up to the beach. Once we hit the sand, she kicks off her flip-flops, blazer tossed over her shoulder. "If not Lottie, then who?"

"I can't fully stop being Lottie. I love her. I love what I do. But sometimes I wish I got to be Charlotte, too. They should be able to coexist, but Lottie overpowers everything in her path. I'm a tornado. I'm destructive."

"I don't think you are."

"You don't know me."

"Maybe not. But you want me to. You wouldn't be here telling me all of this and baring your soul to a literal stranger if you didn't want to be known."

"I don't usually do this."

"I know. You have to protect yourself. You never know if things are about to blow up in your face just because you trusted the wrong people." She sets her blazer on the sand and sits on top of it, stretching out her legs. "I don't think you need to keep them separate forever. There's a time and place for both of them and Lottie might be at the forefront, but shoving Charlotte to the back of a metaphorical closet will only make it worse. You want to reconnect with yourself, right? You need to bring her back. The two can't live without each other."

"I know. But Lottie is who people want. Charlotte is boring. Charlotte is private and awkward. Once I'm alone, I feel like a completely different person, someone I have to keep hidden."

"Why?"

"I don't know." I wish my dress had pockets. I don't know where to put my free hand. "Part of me is embarrassed, I guess. I'm scared of what people will think about her. If she's not up to standard, it's not a stretch to assume they'll start disliking Lottie, too. I know people care a lot more about the brand than about the person behind it. It's easier to change her."

"Sit with me for a second."

I don't let people tell me what to do. Most people. Leigh Flores is not most people, so I join her, carefully tucking my dress under me as I sit and cross my ankles.

"I'm sure my opinion matters jack shit to you, but I understand where you're coming from. Even if I don't relate to your specific experience. Sometimes it's easier to get lost in trying to meet everyone's expectations and turn into who they want you to be. As a normal person, we call it people pleasing. As global superstar Lottie Fitzpatrick, it girl, you'd probably call it a public persona. It makes sense that there's a whole side of you you're not sharing with the world. You'd lose your mind if every single thing you did, said, or thought in private was being broadcast."

"I know I'm contradicting myself. I want to be raw and honest, but I don't want to open a door to something that's not meant for public consumption. I want to still be me. Whoever that is."

"I don't think you're contradicting yourself, but I think you're closing yourself off from potentially great experiences because you automatically assume people won't like you. Do people think you're boring and awkward or do you think you're boring and awkward?" I don't answer. "But thank you for being honest with me. You're not at all what I expected."

"In a good or a bad way?"

Leigh chuckles. "TBD. If we're going to make this work, then it'll have to be a good kind of unexpected."

My heart jumps. "So does that mean we're doing this? Helping each other?"

"Yeah. I suppose we are." She reaches out a hand towards me. I gladly take it, feeling her warmth seep into my skin. "Hi, partner." 

☀︎༄.°

i did it. i used the term it girl. alexa barajas i love you

(can't spell pit girl without it girl)