《Horrible People》 Chapter 1: Olive DAILY DOOLEY 18th October, 2017 Olive Dooley spotted walking into manager¡¯s office! by Claire Finley Attention Olives! Our beloved Olive Dooley was spotted walking into manager Bridey Peeples¡¯ office this morning dressed in pink, white and denim¡ªsignature look from her early teen days. Could this mean what we hope it means?! I¡¯ll keep my eyes and ears out. As always, send tips.
I examine the body standing in the doorway. I feel like I¡¯ve met it before, but I don¡¯t want to admit it to myself. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late; I got lost,¡± it speaks. ¡°The desk assistant told me to just¡ª¡± ¡°Don¡¯t apologize for being late,¡± I say, cutting the body off. Judging by the body¡¯s reaction, my words sliced right through it. ¡°This is Cameron," Bridey says. I frown. ¡°A non-suspecting body, unsuspecting name¡ªwhat are you?¡± I need more¡ªI need evidence that my mind is tricking me, just playing with me and reminding how dangerous the real Olive Dooley is¡ªthat I can never be too careful, never let my guard down. Cameron winces. I imagine her asking herself, ¡°What am I?¡± She clears her throat. She knows the answer. She decides not to give it. ¡°I¡¯m a human.¡± ¡°Oh, for the love of¡ª¡± Bridey cuts in. ¡°This is my niece, Cameron. She¡¯s the one who will be ghostwriting your memoir. She¡¯s signed everything, knows the rules...she¡¯s ready to move in now.¡± ¡°Move in?¡± I scoff. ¡°How am I supposed to live my personal life with a journalist living with me?¡± This is too much, too close¡ªCameron may not remember me, but I know her, and that¡¯s good enough to me. I pick my purse up off the floor. I can¡¯t do this; I have to back out, I have to leave. ¡°This is not happening. I¡¯m out¡ª¡± ¡°You signed a contract. You can either buy yourself out, which you cannot afford without trading your current lifestyle, or you can fight this with lawyers.¡± When I do nothing more than give Bridey a sour look, she continues. ¡°You have to give the people something, Olive. Three years, and you have nothing to show for it¡ªunless you¡¯ve been doing things in secret, which¡ª¡± ¡°Is against the contract, got it the first million times.¡± I roll my eyes and stand; I¡¯ve heard this stupid lecture every time I refused to let Bridey get her way. ¡°Might as well get this over with then, yeah?"
We walk in silence to my car. She doesn''t have one, and the contract insists we go everywhere together¡ªhouse arrest as a punishment for not "putting myself out there", courtesy of Bridey. When we turn onto the main road, I pass Cameron my phone to input her address into my navigator app. The air conditioner and the sound the car makes as I drive fills the silence, acting as white noise until we arrive at Cameron¡¯s apartment. She brings out two suitcases, carrying two at a time. A black cat runs out of the apartment, then slows on the sidewalk, and the chaos forces my divided attention from my phone. I open the door and step out. ¡°Is that your cat?¡± The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Yeah,¡± Cameron says, leaning down to pick the cat up. ¡°He¡¯s staying with my sister, though, so you don¡¯t have to worry.¡± ¡°Bridey hates cats. It¡¯d have better luck at my place.¡± ¡°Bridey¡¯s not my sister.¡± Cameron picks the cat up and takes it back inside the apartment, shutting the door behind her. I pop the trunk. She puts the suitcases into the trunk one by one. She''s stronger than me...and stronger than before. ¡°Oh, thanks¡ªyou didn¡¯t have to do that!¡± I jump at Cameron¡¯s voice¡ªso excitable it was! So much time has passed since I have last been around someone with an excitable voice; I feel indifferent toward it. ¡°Sorry, I didn¡¯t mean to scare you.¡± I¡¯m not scared, but don¡¯t say anything. Cameron sighs. ¡°I know you don¡¯t want to do this...it¡¯s going to take us about a year, but after...I¡¯ll be out of your hair and you won¡¯t have to worry about me. I¡¯m not...I really don¡¯t know anything about you. I know you¡¯re famous, I know you¡¯re popular and on magazines, but I don¡¯t pay any attention to that. I just know what Bridey told me." Cameron places a laptop bag into the trunk and brushes her hands, those hands that looked so rough. I can¡¯t get over it. They¡¯re just hands, but my memory tells me they¡¯re softer than I¡¯d expect¡ªwhy am I so fixated on them? I slam the trunk and head back to the driver''s seat. Cameron''s back in the passenger seat. I start the car and stare straight ahead, but I don''t go. I see her looking at me from my peripheral vision, waiting to go. Her lips move, but I don''t hear her. "First thing to know about me, if you want to know anything about me: I hate Bridey." I look at her after I say the words, and her face is the same confused face I imagined her having at me starting the car and not moving. "Oh," she says, and I don''t know what to make of that. We get on the road again, neither of us talking. I don¡¯t have anything to talk to her about, and I don¡¯t care if she has anything to say to me. I don¡¯t care about her at all. She is just a person whose hair is way too short, whose dress code is not representative of the gender in which she appears, who keeps making me second-guess myself and my reactions. I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. There is a bit of a familiarity in her I can¡¯t pinpoint, but I¡¯m not sure I want to, either. I just want to get this bloody book over and done with so I can get back to living my life as is convenient for me. I know I owe it to my fans, because I wouldn¡¯t be where I am today without them, but when everyone depends on you and you alone to do something well and without error, it¡¯s stressful¡ªtoxic. It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want to be an actress anymore, it¡¯s more that I am tired of being a person I¡¯m just to please everyone around me and do the job. And now, I have a whole other person whose job is in my hands. I can¡¯t win¡ªif I¡¯m not doing any projects, I just have to lay low, but if I have a project, I have several more people who depend on me to be the Olive Dooley they, and the rest of the world, want. And I resent them all for it¡ªeven the fans, but I know they won''t be my fans any longer if they find out who I am on the inside. I don¡¯t know how to go back into hiding. My personal and professional lives are colliding in a way I¡¯m not ready for, and I¡¯m terrified it¡¯s all going to blow up in my face. Chapter 2: Cameron I¡¯m not sure what I was expecting, but in the two weeks I have been living with Olive, she has given me a textbook biography of herself no one could ever care about and been here just to sleep. I don¡¯t know where she goes during the day, but she¡¯s always gone...at this point, all I can write about her is my struggle to walk in her house without stepping on clothes or bumping into a box of fan mail. I want to clean it¡ªI feel like this mess is calling out to me, ¡°Cameron! Help me! Save me! Clean me, hurry! I¡¯m desperate over here!¡± but I¡¯m scared. Olive Dooley is scary. She intimidates me, this long-haired blonde who can¡¯t go one day without wearing pink. The kitchen, however, looks like it¡¯s barely been used. The refrigerator reminds me of something out of a Hallmark movie, if Michelle Obama went shopping and stocked Olive Dooley¡¯s fridge. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if that¡¯s what happened¡ªshe¡¯s got a poster of the former First Lady in the upstairs hallway with a red lipstick heart drawn on the frame, in the bottom right hand corner. And the frame itself, you ask? It¡¯s pink, with white rhinestones. It¡¯s official: I¡¯m in hell. I told my sister to worry if she doesn¡¯t hear from me within a day, because it¡¯s possible I¡¯ll have been suffocated by all the pink in here. I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m supposed to survive this. Earlier, I looked through the photo albums in some boxes she pulled out for me and left a note on my door for. Most of the photos were professionally taken; rare was it for me to flip the page and see her sitting in the lap of a relative or playing in the mud or hugging friends. Nowhere in her house, when I was exploring, did I see photos of her with family or friends. There was one photo of her with a woman I now know as Angelica Dooley, her mother. She seems so lonely. I don¡¯t want to feel sorry for her¡ªsympathy isn¡¯t attractive¡ªbut I can¡¯t help it. I didn¡¯t consider the loneliness she might feel, what with her career and all. *** ¡°Is there anything you can tell me?¡± Faye: my nosy sister. ¡°The only contact I¡¯ve had with her so far is a lecture about her Wikipedia biography and the notes she¡¯s left me. ¡®Make a list of what you eat. Grocery shopping is outsourced¡¯ is one of my favorites.¡± I wrap alfredo noodles around my fork. We¡¯re eating Italian, one of my favorites. ¡°Outsourced?¡± Faye¡¯s brow raises before she laughs. ¡°High-maintenanced much?¡± She returns to her food, which has so much red sauce I can¡¯t tell what it is. There are also mushrooms, so I try not to stare at it too long. I don¡¯t like mushrooms¡ªthey feel too weird¡ªand I¡¯m allergic to them, anyway, so I¡¯m golden. Faye finishes her whole plate, but I have to take the remaining half of mine home. I filled up on bread while waiting for the main entree, so I couldn¡¯t help it. Faye¡¯s three months¡¯ pregnant, or else she¡¯d have had to take food home, too. She didn¡¯t used to be so hungry. We wait for the take-home batches of bread¡ªone for each of us¡ªpay the bill¡ªher husband¡¯s treat for being out of town¡ªand head out. ¡°Is Bridey at least being nice to you? Dave was adamant about me checking on that for you.¡± ¡°If he¡¯s so worried about her treating us right, why¡¯d he marry her?¡± Dave is our older brother. He met Bridey three years ago at a conference in Portland. They¡¯re currently separated because of her spending habits and shopping addiction...and her inability to pull herself away from work. He wants kids, but she doesn¡¯t¡ªand he thought he might be able to change her mind despite both mine and Faye¡¯s multiple warnings that you can¡¯t just change someone¡¯s mind like that. Some people really don¡¯t want kids, and that¡¯s fine¡ªbut you can¡¯t marry someone with the hopes that that wanting will change. ¡°I only saw her in the beginning. I don¡¯t think I have to see her anymore. It¡¯s just me and Olive.¡± I cringe at my word choice, but Faye doesn¡¯t care. ¡°Well, keep me posted.¡± She pulled me against her into a hug and told me she loved me. ¡°Make sure you take care of yourself, too. You need some space, you come over to my place. You need someone to cuddle, you go to yours. Don¡¯t need your...Olive having another reason to avoid you.¡± I feel my face flush. ¡°I bring one screamer home for the night while mom and dad are out, and you never live it down.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a bit...hard to.¡± She smirks and wriggles her eyebrows. ¡°Oh, my God¡ªgo home. Just go home, go home.¡± My sister, the sexually explicit. I¡¯m not a prude, I just prefer not to speak of such topics in public where other people can hear us¡ªor to anyone. I prefer to pretend like I¡¯ve never slept with anyone at all, because life is easier and less embarrassing when my face doesn¡¯t feel like a Red Hot candy. ¡°Love you!¡± *** When I arrive at Olive¡¯s¡ªit still doesn¡¯t feel like home¡ªthe television channel quickly changes and she¡¯s looking at her phone. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to be back so soon.¡± It is now that I realize how soft her voice is, how tender her accent is. I don¡¯t know which part of the UK she¡¯s from exactly, but the accent is noticeable¡ªI feel like I¡¯m in a movie. ¡°I was gone for three hours...dinner doesn¡¯t take much longer than that.¡± I shrug. I feel so uncomfortable around her. I have no idea how to act around her. I know she hates me and wants nothing to do with me, but I also know we have no choice but to work together, so instead of doing something, I always only freeze. ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t imagine.¡± She doesn¡¯t seem mad at me. Mouth closed tight, I force a semi-smile and leave to put my leftovers in the fridge. I put the bread, wrapped in foil, on the counter. ¡°There¡¯s bread,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to it if you want.¡± Quieter, I add, ¡°If you eat carbs.¡± I turn and find her leaning against the counter across from me. ¡°Oh.¡± I didn¡¯t hear her follow me here. My body locks up again. ¡°I eat whatever I want, if I like it.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I wet my lips. Her eyes pierce me. ¡°I had a chat with someone today about working with people who¡­¡± She trails off, shrugging. ¡°Anyways, she said I should ask you how you work best so I can best help you¡ªwhat you need to know, what you need from me.¡± Why is she being so nice? ¡°Okay,¡± I manage to get out. My body¡¯s still frozen, uncooperative of what I need it to do. ¡°So¡­?¡± I exhale. I know she¡¯s guiding me, probably genuinely trying to help me, but she¡¯s making it worse. I feel like I¡¯m suffocating, but I¡¯m just standing here, staring at her. This has never happened to me before. I mean, I get nervous, and I freeze, but¡ªno...maybe this has happened before, but it¡¯s just so inconvenient to what I need my body to do right now¡ªhow I need to react and behave in front of this person who, in terms of who society deems important, is much higher than myself in terms of worth. I hate myself for being a fucking cliche. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. She steps forward once, then back, and a whiff of her perfume enters my nose. It¡¯s intoxicating. My sister¡¯s right¡ªI need to get laid if I¡¯m going to survive this. ¡°You look like you¡¯re having a panic attack,¡± Olive says. I don¡¯t budge. She opens a lower cabinet and pulls out a brown paper bag, closing the cabinet with her foot on her way over to me. She opens the bag and places it against my mouth; one of her hands moves each of my hands to the bag. She¡¯s so gentle. ¡°Breathe,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Take deep breaths, go slow.¡± I¡¯m so embarrassed I¡¯m going to die. ¡°Do I make you nervous?¡± she asks when I¡¯ve calmed down. I sat on the floor; she sat across from me. I shrug. ¡°It¡¯s not just that.¡± It¡¯s not a lie. She tilts her head. ¡°Then what?¡± ¡°You hate me, for starters.¡± Olive sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t hate you.¡± ¡°You avoid me like the plague. This is the most we¡¯ve talked in two weeks. Otherwise, it¡¯s just notes.¡± ¡°I have a life, Cameron. For three years, I¡¯ve been living my life without having to report to anyone, and¡ª¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to report to me. I just need to be able to get to know you. I can¡¯t do my job if you don¡¯t let me in. I¡¯m on your side.¡± I¡¯m scared. I¡¯m scared what I just said is going to blow up in my face and shit is going to hit the fan. ¡°I signed a non-disclosure agreement. Who could I tell what I find out?¡± ¡°Bridey, for¡ª¡± I make a buzzer sound. ¡°Bridey is my least favorite person in this whole world, and the only reason she¡¯s helping me is to get back in my brother¡¯s good graces. That¡¯s it. She only does what will benefit her. I¡¯m just a pawn¡­¡± I sigh. I might as well give her the whole truth. ¡°But I do need a job, and...this is it for me right now. The economy sucks, we¡¯re not all born into fame.¡± Olive tenses, as if I¡¯ve just struck a nerve, as if I hit a soft spot for her. ¡°A therapist, then. There¡¯s a clause in the contract.¡± Before I can open my mouth to protest, to say I don¡¯t see a therapist, she adds, ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with it if you need to see one. There¡¯s also a lawyer, but I don¡¯t imagine there will be any need for that, so...a therapist. Because we all need people we can tell anything to sometimes, when it feels like the rest of the world is against us.¡± She goes. People who don¡¯t go to therapy don¡¯t talk like that, aren¡¯t as adamant about this topic¡ªabout talking safely with someone¡ªas she is right now. She¡¯s opening up, but I try not to show how happy I am that she¡¯s finally accepting me into her life so she doesn¡¯t scurry back into her shell so soon. Instead, I nod. ¡°Okay.¡± She stands and offers her right hand. ¡°Okay?¡± I take it, and she helps me stand up. ¡°I¡¯m going out tonight¡ªa club.¡± She looks me up and down before she meets my eyes. ¡°Show me your clothes.¡± *** This was the worst idea ever. I smell her perfume even more now. I want to do things I prefer not to tell anyone about¡ªbecause, okay, I¡¯m a prude. But I don¡¯t identify with being a prude¡ªit¡¯s more that I struggle to talk about what turns me on without blushing and feeling like I have some bugs fluttering inside my stomach. It¡¯s an uncomfortable feeling I prefer not to feel. I¡¯m shy. I need to get laid. And now, we¡¯re going to some heteronormative club, and I have no idea how I¡¯m going to survive. I¡¯m going to die. ¡°Have you ever worn these?¡± Olive asks, holding a pair of black pants against my body. I feel so domesticated right now. Is this how Thomas feels when I dress him up in that shark costume and put him on a Roomba? ¡°I wore them once, to¡ª¡± I don¡¯t even get to finish. ¡°Put them on.¡± She returns to looking through the closet, and I get up to go into another room to change. ¡°Hey!¡± she yells. ¡°You can change here. If you¡¯re that worried, I promise not to look.¡± I change in the same room¡ªthis guest room she put me up in, which is mine until we finish this book. The last time I changed in front of a girl who wasn¡¯t my sister was three years ago, but I haven¡¯t seen Ashley Schepp since. Every other girl I¡¯ve slept with, I¡¯ve left before they awoke. I feel like I¡¯m back in high school soccer, changing in the locker room. I announce when I¡¯m done, and she turns to look at me. ¡°Those¡¯ll do.¡± My blue-and-white plaid button-up flannel flies into my face. ¡°Got any camisoles?¡± What¡¯s a camisole? ¡°Black or...no, I think black would look best. Black makes you look like a fifteen.¡± Is she hitting on me? I nod in the direction of the dresser and am thankful when she focuses her attention on the contents in the dresser instead of on me ¡°I...don¡¯t know what those are? But there may be something in there.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a spaghetti strap top.¡± She holds up a black tank top and demonstrates. ¡°Almost like this, but not as thick on the straps. I¡¯m going to get ready now. For shoes, wear a pair of your Converse or those ones that look like you stole them from a skater guy.¡± *** When she said we were going to a club, I didn¡¯t expect us to take two hours to get there. Of course, I didn¡¯t expect her to decide what I should wear or for her to take me to a ladies¡¯ night, either¡ªand by ladies night, I mean the kind for women who like women. Olive added red and purple highlights to her hair with some sort of chalk¡ªI¡¯m iffy on those details¡ªand wore a red plaid dress with a black leather jacket and black Converse. We¡¯re color-coordinated. We look like a couple. I¡¯m not sure how I feel about this, but something tells me I¡¯m going to regret coming tonight. We haven¡¯t determined who will be the designated driver tonight, so when I see her drinking a margarita, I assume responsibility. It¡¯s not like I came here to play, anyway¡ªI¡¯m working; I need to be on my information-collecting game tonight. ¡°Why are we here?¡± I ask. ¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡± ¡°I mean, Olive, you¡¯re dat¡ª¡± ¡°No. Whomever you think or¡¯ve been told I¡¯m dating is a rumor that¡¯s not true.¡± She cuts me off so fast I barely have a chance to process what I was going to say and what she says. ¡°Okay, but¡­¡± I look around. ¡°This place¡ªit¡¯s for lesbians and other people who identify as a woman and loves women¡­¡± She doesn¡¯t budge, unbothered by what I¡¯m saying. ¡°You¡¯re straight.¡± ¡°Am I?¡± She orders another margarita and gives me this flirty look. ¡°Tell me, Cameron, what made you come to this decision? Who I am in the press or what Bridey told you?¡± I¡¯m dumbfounded, appalled. I can¡¯t tell whether she¡¯s mocking me or being serious. I thought I could trust her¡ªthat I¡¯d finally gotten her to open up to me¡ªbut now I¡¯m not so sure. I feel like I¡¯m constantly second-guessing her behavior and what kind of reaction she¡¯s looking for; I don¡¯t like that feeling. I like people I can predict. ¡°One thing I know for sure: I have not spoken with press since 2014 in a way that could possibly reveal anything about my life now. You can take this as you wish, but don¡¯t assume things about me to be true without asking.¡± ¡°Are you gay?¡± I ask it, but I¡¯m terrified of the answer. She sighs and traces around the rim of her glass with her index finger. ¡°There was a person I thought...I don¡¯t know. Things were complicated back then; I didn¡¯t really have much of a say in my life, so...I lost her. And I fell in love with her in the short time I¡¯d met her, in the kind of way that you find a pillow that always stays cool when you lay to sleep at night. Maybe I¡¯ll get to feel that feeling again, but I¡¯m not counting on it. I do know I don¡¯t care much about men. I don¡¯t want to fuck ¡®em, I don¡¯t want to fake it with ¡®em...and all anyone wants to cast me in are romances because I do the ¡®dumb blonde¡¯ thing well.¡± Olive takes a swig of margarita. ¡°If you want to drink, there¡¯s a hotel next door we can stay the night at. I always reserve a room just in case, so...tonight, just have fun.¡± She leaves, and I lose her in the crowd, but I stay at the bar and finish her drink. It¡¯s sour; it¡¯s been a while. Olive is more complicated than I expected¡ªnot so pink and white. I used to think she was just a spoiled rich kid who grew up on Mommy¡¯s money and the money she made from child acting, but there¡¯s something about people who are struggling with their sexuality that makes me feel like they may not be such a bad person after all. Olive wasn¡¯t purposely ignorant when we first met in Bridey¡¯s office¡ªshe¡¯s learning. I have great hope in people who are learning, because I believe people who are interested in learning are on a path to bettering themselves. Insert something that sounds smart here; Faye¡¯s the therapist. She could explain this concept much better than I can¡ªalways articulates better than I can. I sit there, watching her dance with another lady; the woman has short, dark hair, like my own. ¡°This seat taken?¡± I look to the seat Olive abandoned to find a face that looked too familiar for me to pass up: dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, an infinity tattoo on her left wrist. I know, I know¡ªI know she isn¡¯t my Ashley Schepp¡ªbut she¡¯ll do. Chapter 3: Olive We spend Saturday nights together at a quaint club called ¡°Kat¡¯s Bizness¡± now. I¡¯m not sure how much more I can let her into my life, because I¡¯m terrified if she sees too much of it she¡¯ll be horrified¡ªbut I know she needs to be able to do her job. She said it¡¯s hard for her right now and that she needs it, and I feel like I need to help her. It no longer feels like an obligation, but something I want to do because she¡¯s starting to grow on me. I was scared to show her this side of me. I feel like I¡¯m on set and constantly making bloopers. People like me...we don¡¯t really get friends. Instead, we get people who want to benefit from being connected to us, who may just want something from us and leave when it¡¯s all over. She may have signed an NDA, but I¡¯m still scared she might go behind my back and share the information I give her. Considering what happened last time, I trust my entourage will take care of things...but would it be so bad if people found out? If I didn¡¯t deny it for once and instead owned up to it? Every time the media dredges up another lesbian rumor and I have to lie, I feel like I¡¯m betraying my fans. The only reason I have so many ¡°Olives¡± is because I was honest with them to begin with. How are they going to feel when they find out my relationship with Patrick Nelson was fake¡ªthat it was for show-and-tell, to put an end to the rumors? I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they all unfollowed me. Of everything else, one thing I know to be certain is that I¡¯m not sure how much longer I can pull this off¡ªhow much longer I can live two separate lives, under two different names. Olive Dooley is me, but...she isn¡¯t who everyone else sees. She¡¯s more than that¡ªshe wants to be more than that. I don¡¯t know how to bridge the gap between the Olive Dooley the world knows and loves, and the Olive Dooley I feel like I am on the inside...doesn¡¯t she get a say, too? Doesn¡¯t she get to come out and play? Doesn¡¯t her life and wants and opinions and needs matter? I feel like I am falling into a bottomless pit again, but this time I haven¡¯t anyone to pull me up¡ªto help me climb out and stay above ground. I have no one who knows and cares for the real Olive Dooley. I don¡¯t know how to get those kinds of people; you can¡¯t throw money at people and expect them to turn into the kind of people who care about you, because they instead turn into people who only care about the money. I don¡¯t know how to find that balance. When it was just me, my life was good. I kept to myself and spent time out with people. Now, I have someone else living in my house that I have to consider¡ªsomeone else in my space perceiving me and everything I do, for a book the world doesn¡¯t even need. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Every time I try to focus on one thing, I¡¯ll blink and be somewhere else, doing something else. I had a routine before Cameron moved in, and that worked. Now, that routine has had to change¡ªwhy is my sanity linked to that? I sleep enough. I can sleep anytime I want! I¡¯m not tired. I¡¯m not burnt out so much as I am stressed about staying a particular kind of way, because I don¡¯t want anyone else to know the sides of me that go bump in the night. How much work would I have to force myself to do to buy myself out? I look over the contract while sitting on my bed¡ªdoor shut¡ªand contemplate. I would need the royalties of three movies I starred in last year, six months from now. I could easily pay Cameron a decent salary for the year, simply to lay this all to rest. That would be better for me. Ever since we started living together, my mind has been out of itself. I have a migraine at least every other day and can¡¯t stay focused. One second, I¡¯m in the kitchen pouring a bowl of cereal; then I blink and almost drown because I¡¯m waking up in the bathtub after slipping. I had a routine that worked well for me so long as I stuck to it. Now, that routine is gone and I¡¯m putting all my energy into how someone else is seeing me. Cameron was basically hired to analyze me, so she can write about me, which means every single thing I do at home is now scrutinized. My phone buzzes. It¡¯s Patrick Nelson. He¡¯s not my type¡ªand not because I¡¯m gay¡ªbut because he looks like the kind of guy who¡¯d be Disney parents¡¯ worst nightmare, while his personality and behavior are their dream. I don¡¯t like how much attention his looks bring to him, but I started dating him because that attention caused people to wonder how in the world we worked so well together instead of whether certain rumors about me are true. Dating him has made my life so much easier. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± ¡°Does something have to be wrong for me to call you? Sometimes, I want to hear your voice in my ear, saying things just for me.¡± He started dating me for different reasons. ¡°Now you have. I¡¯m busy, so I¡¯m hanging up.¡± ¡°Wait¡ªI need you tomorrow night. I got invited to this thing and couldn¡¯t say no.¡± ¡°You couldn¡¯t say no or you didn¡¯t want to?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t it be both?¡± I do like how he says ¡°both¡± like it has an L in it. He reminds me of the kind of guy who¡ªif I had had a normal life¡ªwould¡¯ve lived next door and become either my best friend or worst enemy. Either way, maybe we¡¯d have ended up together. ¡°Fine. Anything else?¡± He promises to send a car for me tomorrow evening; the call ends. Patrick and I met when his band Kissing Prisons cameoed in one of my movies. He talked to me first, saying I was this and that¡ªI don¡¯t remember or wasn¡¯t paying attention. We haven¡¯t spent time together in two months because he¡¯s been touring. Honestly, I forget he exists until someone brings him up or he contacts me. Thinking about him too much, though, fills my heart with a warmth I don¡¯t understand. I don¡¯t even like it. Chapter 4: Cameron Olive stopped going out, save for the twice weekly trips to places she didn¡¯t tell Cameron. Faye began offering support groups after school for local high school students to help them cope with the stress that often accompanies the winter holidays. Worrying about other people was normal for Faye; it was not normal for Cameron, who¡¯d begun to feel more caregiver than ghostwriter to Olive Dooley. This week, Olive¡¯s lounging about in a shirt that hung off her shoulder, black camisole underneath, and grey sweats. She eats her cereal like a toddler lacking the motor development to always get the food in her mouth and doesn¡¯t care when it falls on her clothes. Olive and Cameron don¡¯t go to Kat¡¯s Bizness anymore. Olive looks like she¡¯s been dumped, but Cameron¡¯s too cautious to ask. She considered calling Bridey, but decided against it¡ªno reason talking to someone you couldn¡¯t stand about something you can¡¯t stand even more. Might Faye count as a therapist, even though she¡¯s family? Could she be a loophole? Cameron sits on the couch end opposite where Olive is slumped, eating popcorn with chopsticks and watching a medical drama. ¡°I saw this museum in town having a special display.¡± Olive looks at Cameron for a moment, then back at the TV. ¡°If you want to come with me¡ª¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± she replies, sharp and stinging. ¡°If I¡¯ve done something to offend you¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s not you, Cam, it¡¯s me. I don¡¯t feel like doing anything. I enjoy my time alone, used to have it, and now I don¡¯t. Surprise, surprise¡ªOlive Dooley is an introvert! And this introvert has been going places with someone constantly.¡± Cameron nods. ¡°Okay¡­¡± She¡¯s so alone¡­ She knows. Cameron knows she¡¯s pitying a person whose entire life is under a microscope and that she has no right to push her into doing things she feels uncomfortable about, but she also has obligations she can¡¯t fulfill if there¡¯s no Olive. She doesn¡¯t say anything, for she knows all too well that the last thing Olive wants anyone to do is pity her. Regardless, she scoots closer and removes the bowl of popcorn from Olive¡¯s lap. ¡°You need to at least sit up, though.¡± Instant regret. Olive¡¯s side-eye is proof enough that this was the absolute worst course of action, and Cameron doesn¡¯t have words to explain herself¡ªdoesn¡¯t know how. Why?! Olive doesn¡¯t hit or yell at Cameron in response. She sits up, takes the popcorn back, and returns to her show. It¡¯s during times like this when Olive reminds Cameron of the woman she longs for the most: Ashley, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, who couldn¡¯t stand pink¡ªa complete opposite of Olive Dooley, who was all about pink. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. Cameron¡¯s Ashley, though, left her alone in a hotel room the day before Thanksgiving with her family. ???????????????? ¡°You could¡¯ve helped,¡± Olive says as she drops the last stack of VHS tapes on the floor in front of the coffee table. In Cameron¡¯s defense, Olive hadn¡¯t asked¡ªnor had she told Cameron what she was doing¡ªin the first place. ¡°The early ones you can watch yourself¡ªmostly commercials. There are behind-the-scenes clips after, because it¡¯s not uncommon for them to keep rolling in case we did something cute. You can¡¯t always capture babies behaving cutely on camera; a lot of it is left to chance. There¡¯s chatter by the adults about us; you might find something useful.¡± Oh. This is for the book. Cameron pulled a tape from the box marked Toddlerkins. ¡°Episode one hundred two?¡± Olive nods. ¡°Yeah. There were episodes for two and a half years. It was like¡­I mean, I don¡¯t have an example, but it was ¡®very British and very adorable¡¯, according to the media. My mum¡¯s friend wrote it, so I was in it.¡± If a random paparazzo heard her say that, they might assume she was happy and pleased, but Cameron knows her better now. The smile Olive donned as she shared how she got into Toddlerkins is fake; Olive¡¯s trained herself so well that Cameron can¡¯t tell whether Olive realizes. It¡¯s subtle, but not for anyone who lives with her long enough. Faye taught her sister too much about psychology for these little oddities in Olive¡¯s behavior to go undetected; she can¡¯t be sly in such company. ¡°I thought we might start watching things from when I was older, when I could remember things better and fill you in on them.¡± She holds up Family Holiday, the case of which features a girl no older than five wearing white pantyhose, red shoes, and a red-and-white dress; a bow is in curly, blonde hair, and she¡¯s holding a curly, brown teddy bear; her left hand is held by a man in a suit. She must¡¯ve noticed Cameron¡¯s frown at the standstill between what looked like the parents, because next she says, ¡°It¡¯s about a little named Eloise, caught between the messy divorce of her parents. It was actually inspired by What Maisie Knew, which is equally sad. In the end, the father¡¯s best friend parts ways with him and adopts Eloise. Both parents are terrible, neglectful¡­¡± she trails off; her countenance throws Cameron off. This is new¡ªvulnerable. Cameron contemplates nurturing it so she can reach deep and pluck out all the bits she can for the book. This is what makes good writing. This is the type of nonfiction people ache to read and struggle to put down: the kind that travels into the depths of one¡¯s soul and reveals shocking pieces of who exactly that person is. In favor of building better trust with Olive, Cameron decides not to. ¡°We don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine!¡± She¡¯s quick, her tone slightly deeper and more neutral in geographic origin. Olive let Cameron in, accepting her place in her life now, but continues to hide her emotions¡ªas if letting Cameron see too much is going to end badly for her. ¡°This is work.¡± She smiles. Olive, you don¡¯t fool me anymore.