Page 93 of The Ex-Best Thing
“One hundred and ten percent,” the man says. “Come on, Joan, you know Bree got angry about not getting invited to some party or something and had to clap back. That’s how all these celebrities are. Their world is a big game of high school politics all the time.”
Colby reaches to turn the radio off or change it or something, but Bree stops him. “No, I want to hear this.”
Joan laughs. “I’m Team Bree on this one, Hank. You won’t change my mind, either. You don’t write something that meaningful without feeling deep betrayal. Even if their world is a little bit high school, that makes me feel worse for her, because high school was hard for most of us.”
“Probably not for Bree Belacourt, though.”
They both laugh.
“We’re going to follow that up with a song by none other than Jaida. Here’s ‘On My Own,’” Hank says.
Colby changes the station as the first few notes begin to play. He pulls off the side of the road and parallel parks. “How about that ice cream?”
“She always puts me in a foul mood,” Bree mutters. “I hate how catchy that song is, too. It’s impossible to hate it.”
“I can hate it for all of us,” Olive says, climbing out of the truck.
We stop for ice cream and find the shop blessedly empty, so the only people who ask for selfies are the workers, whopromise to post them once we’re gone so we can have a head start out of there.
“Hey, Bree,” the kid behind the counter calls. She has red hair and a bright white smile. “Does this mean you and Benny Rhodes are back together?”
Bree glances at me. I can’t read the expression in her eyes. She shakes her head. “We’re just friends.”
“Is he coming to Zoey’s wedding?”
“Good night!” Olive calls, pulling her sisters out the door. “Thanks for the ice cream!”
We make it around the corner to where the Bronco is parked. Colby takes up the rear of the group, eating his chocolate chunk one spoonful at a time. “Have you guys ever tried to get rid of the paparazzi by blasting music and lights at them?”
“Like they do in emotional warfare situations?” Zoey asks. “It’s better to ignore them.”
“If you want your picture plastered everywhere, yeah. But if you’re trying to live a quiet life, it’s a major inconvenience.” There’s a sharp edge to the way he says this, which makes me look at him over my shoulder. “I’m just saying,” Colby continues, “not everyone wants the spotlight.”
“We know,” Bree says, looking at me. “I’m sorry I brought this all down on you.”
“We don’t know for sure?—”
“It doesn’t matter how they found me. I’m the reason they’re here, and I’ll make sure they all leave with me when I go.” She opens the truck and climbs in the back, but I’m paralyzed, totally stuck in place on the sidewalk.
Because maybe I’ve been saying I needed privacy this entire time, but it’s starting to feel like I need Breemore.
The radio turns on with the truck, Hank and Joan still chatting about celebrity gossip and music.
“It’s a Grammy contender,” Joan says. “Absolutely! Who knewJaida could pull off country music? I didn’t, but I’m glad she took a stab at it.”
“You might be the only one. It’s going to win a Grammy, but not because it’s the best. It’s Jaida and everyone loves her.”
“Don’t be salty, Hank! The fact is the songs are good. She had a team of writers behind her who knew what they were doing.”
“They have nothing on ‘On My Own,’ though. The writer for that song should have handled her newest album.”
“She wrote that song!” Joan croons.
“Not alone, she didn’t. If you expect me to believe she didn’t change a few words for song credit, you’re insane. Duncan Doran is credited too, and his songs are the best. They have consistently topped the charts for the last decade.”
Colby reaches for the radio, but Bree stops him again. “Wait, I want to hear this. Duncan Doran writes half of my music, too.”
My body grows cold. The blood that usually pumps through my veins with normal fluidity is now icily still, waiting to see how this conversation progresses.
