“I guess it’s my turn,” Cici said, taking a deep breath and turning to face the others. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’m pretty sure I know why I’m here.” She lifted her chin. “It’s because I make people feel bad about themselves.”
Across the room, Warix guffawed and sprayed a mouthful of Diet Hillside Dew onto the conservatory floor.
Sofia glared at him.
“Sorry,” Warix said. He smiled that sharky smile as he wiped his chin. “Do go on, please.”
Cici didn’t acknowledge him. “I get a lot of haters. Men who tell me I’m so beautiful, but then when I don’t respond or when I don’t respond the way they want, they cuss me out. Tell me I’m being stuck-up or whatever.” Her tan shoulders bobbed once, dismissing the mean comments. “That’s part of being a woman online, unfortunately. Worse than that though are all the girls who come at me, telling me I’m beautiful.”
“‘Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful’?” Sean mocked. Plum could tell he was quoting something, but she didn’t know what. “Really? That’s what you think you’ve done wrong? Be pretty?”
“No, it’s not that.” Cici gave him a dirty look, then got more serious. “They hate themselves. They’ll start out saying, ‘You’re so beautiful, oh, I love your hair,’ or ‘Your eyes are so pretty.’ Stuff like that.” Cici sighed and looked at her hands. “Then they’ll just start talking about everything they hate about themselves. It’s like my videos feed self-loathing. They’ll say they’re ugly or they’re fat.”
“I mean, they probably are,” Warix said consolingly.
Marlowe whirled on him. “Shut up, you pig!”
Cici just ignored him. She carefully swiped a pink fingernail under her eyes, removing gathering tears before they could wreak havoc on her mascara. “I love makeup. I do. I love doing tutorials and videos. But sometimes I think my videos are doing more harm than good.”
“Huh,” Sofia said. There was an assessing look in her eyes.
“I didn’t make the world, I just live in it. But sometimes I think I should be doing a better job moving through it. You know? And I should do a better job talking about it. About body positivity and just . . . everything.” Her big brown eyes circled the smaller, more supportive group.
“Wow,” Jude said sincerely. He gave his head a little shake, flopping his hair over his eyes in a very practiced way. “I don’t understand a lot of what you just said,” Jude admitted. “But it sounded really important.” He brought his hands up and pressed his fingertips together into a vague prayer-hands shape. “Thank you for that, for your truth and stuff.”
There was a mocking snort behind them.
No one turned to see who it was.
It sounded like Dude. Or Warix.
Or Sean.
“Fine, okay, I’ll go.” Shelley put both hands on her hips and spoke in a rush. “I’m probably here because I stole a bunch of my posts from what I thought was a defunct website, okay? I’m not proud of it.”
“Wait, wait.” Sean moved rapidly in spite of all the scotch he’d been drinking. “You’re telling me that you, Little Miss True Belief, stole your BS?”
“No! Well, yes. Some, okay? I’m sorry I did it. I paid some fees. It’s done and in the past now.”
“Well, maybe not, if that’s why you’re here.” Sean drained his glass.
“In my defense, if you’d like to know, I found this very obscure old website. It was so cool, mainly about Santeria—but the website was clearly over. I mean, you should have seen it, it was practically an antique, okay? Such bad design, too much text, horrible fonts, the whole deal.”
Marlowe glanced at Plum, her eyebrows lowered over a frown. Plum knew why: it was Shelley’s casual mention of Santeria, and the inevitable conclusion that Shelley had helped herself, cherry-picking from a tradition that wasn’t her birthright, likely without sensitivity or respect.
Worse, that she had actually profited off it.
“Sure, but you didn’t steal the website design,” Warix said from the sofa.
Shelley turned. “I’m just saying I thought no one would be hurt!”
“No, you thought no one would notice,” Cici said softly.
Shelley looked dismayed. “Yeah, okay, that’s right. The woman whose website it was, I found out she was dead. So I didn’t think it was a big deal. But her daughter found my blog, and . . . it got ugly.” She shook her head. “I tried to apologize! And I told her I’d pay for the use of her mom’s writings—and I totally did! But it wasn’t enough. The daughter, she said some really nasty things about me.”
“Like what?” Jalen asked, moving closer and looking like he was trying to be inconspicuous with his cell phone placement.
“She said I shouldn’t use any of Santeria, not just her mother’s writings. Because I wasn’t serious about it. Like that was her call to make! She said that I was appropriating the work of her mother, the traditions of her ancestors, and was being disrespectful, and she wouldn’t listen to me about what I intended, and anyway. It was a real pain in the ass.”
Plum felt like her neck might get a cramp because she kept having to tip her head to make sure she was hearing Shelley correctly. Shelley, who didn’t actually sound sorry about what she did but more affronted that anyone had called her to account.
“Gross,” Marlowe said flatly.
“So . . .” Shelley announced into the uncomfortable silence of everyone looking at her. “That was a few months ago, and it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” She gave a little sniff. “Until now. Like you’re all so pure!” She stomped away and flopped down on a settee. “Does anyone else have anything to share?” Shelley asked, her voice high, shivery with tension, eager for anyone else to admit their fault next.
Jude’s hand edged into the air. “Um.” His voice was nervous. “I’m the only one who hasn’t gone.”
“Go on, kid,” Dude encouraged.
Jude couldn’t take his eyes off the marble tiles between his feet. “You’re going to hate me,” he whispered. A shimmering of bright tears gathered in his blue eyes. “It’s so bad.” Jude nearly twisted his hands together. “You don’t know, okay? It’s the worst thing.”
“It’s okay,” Plum said gently. “We’ve all done something wrong.” There didn’t appear to be a common thread among them, but maybe Jude’s transgression would be the one that linked them together. She had to find out. If there was even the slightest chance it could save them. Could save Sofia. And Marlowe.
“Ohhhhkaaaaay,” Jude breathed. “King—my manager—was going to drop me as a client, so . . . I bought some of my followers.”