I jumped awake. Vaughn’s Blackberry was buzzing, knocking the hard Formica surface of my desk. I pushed some hair out of my eyes and rubbed them. Mascara particles crumbled under my fingertips. I must have fallen asleep without washing my makeup off, breaking my mom’s number one pageant girl law of beauty. I picked up Vaughn’s Blackberry, silencing it. Who would be calling her anyway, if not me? It occurred to me her mother could be concerned. The clock read 1:08 p.m., and she probably hadn’t heard from Vaughn since yesterday afternoon. I checked the call log and my heart nearly stopped.
It was Austin. The hot photographer.
I froze. My hands quaked. I noticed she had a few messages as well, which I knew better than to assume were from her mom. Darlene could barely work their microwave. I turned to Vaughn, who was deep in slumber, a dainty puddle of drool spread across my pillow and haloed her gaping mouth. I scanned the menu to retrieve the messages. Vaughn wouldn’t mind—she’d do the same thing if it were the other way around.
You guys work fast.
My instincts were correct. It was from Austin Green. But what was he talking about? KissnTell? There was no way our photos had swept the nation that quickly. Was there?
Hey, can you send me A’s #? I’d like to congratulate her too.
I smiled and felt my face burn up as I typed my number. I debated adding a smiley face but decided against it, in case it was too immature. I stared at his name for a moment. Austin Green. I liked the way it looked on the screen. I placed her phone carefully back on my desk, sat down, and opened my laptop. I checked Perez. On the second page, sandwiched between Chad Kroeger and Avril Lavigne’s wacky red carpet moment and the quote of the day from Selena Gomez, was our story with our logo plastered across the page.
“Holy shit,” I marveled. Vaughn tossed and turned a little, groaning. “Vaughn,” I said, “you’ve got to wake up. You’re not gonna believe this.” She rolled toward me, blinking. I hurried over to the edge of the bed with the laptop, turning it to her. As soon as she laid eyes on her photo on Perez Hilton, she scrambled upright, her eyes wide.
“Omg,” she said. “It actually worked.”
I nodded, grinning. “I think this means KissnTell.com is officially open for business.” She ripped the laptop from my hands. “Let’s see who else picked it up,” she said, creating an advanced Google search. I bit my thumb anxiously.
“By the way,” I started shyly. Vaughn glanced at me quickly and then back to the screen. “I’m surprised your phone didn’t wake you up this morning. It was blowing up.”
“My mom?” she asked.
I shook my head. “That’s what I thought too but …”
She looked up at me, confused. “What?”
“It was Austin,” I said, blushing like crazy.
She smiled. “Did you talk to him?”
“No,” I sighed. “I missed it. But he asked you for my number, and I gave it to him,” I mustered.
Vaughn clapped her hands together enthusiastically. “That’s amazing!” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.
“Okay, okay,” I said, prying her off me. “Hit search.” I nodded to Google.
She took a deep breath and hit the button. Of course, Perez came up. But there were so many others: The Superficial, Just Jared, Hollywood Tuna, TMZ, all of which marveled at Baron’s face-sucking abilities. Some of them, though, also speculated about KissnTell. They wondered who was behind the new, mysterious site with only one, albeit ridiculously juicy, post. Before we could process the news, my phone started buzzing. Then Vaughn’s phone buzzed too.
Neither of us ever received calls except from one another and, occasionally, our mothers. It was a veritable high-stress symphony. I leapt over our handbags, strewn across the carpet, and grabbed my phone from the bookshelf. I pointed to Vaughn’s, exactly where I’d left it on my desk. We answered at the same time:
“Hello?” we said.
“Anais?” said a man’s voice, which I immediately knew belonged to Austin.
“Hi,” I croaked.
“What do I look like?” Vaughn asked, confused, as though the person on the other end of the line had just asked her that question. I frowned at her.
“It’s Austin. The photographer? From last night?”
“I know,” I said, smiling. He laughed lightly. I heard Vaughn faltering, trying to describe herself.
“Well, look,” Austin started, “I just called to say congratulations. Your story’s everywhere.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “I didn’t really know what I was doing.”
“Whatever you did was exactly right,” he said.
“You mean tonight?” I heard Vaughn exclaim, looking to me, wide-eyed, trying to get my attention.
“Um, could you hold on a second?” I asked Austin.
“Sure,” he said. I muted the call and gave Vaughn my best what the hell face.
“No, sounds great,” she was saying, nodding profusely. “We’ll be there.”
“What? Where?” I exclaimed.
“You, too,” she said, hanging up. She jumped up and down. “That was Baron Fucking Caldwell. He just invited us to meet him at Greystone Manor tonight!”
“Why’d he ask you what you looked like?” I asked.
Vaughn shrugged. “He wanted to make sure he was calling the right person.”
“He got so many numbers last night, he didn’t know which was yours?”
“He’s Baron Fucking Caldwell!” she retorted.
I sighed and unmuted Austin. “Sorry about that,” I said.
“It was nothing,” he said casually. It must have been the way he said it. Suddenly, I felt so lightheaded.
“Hey, I should tell you,” I started, making eye contact with Vaughn for strength, “we’re heading to Greystone Manor tonight and then maybe to an after-party at Baron Caldwell’s.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Would you be interested in that? For, uh, business purposes?”
“Sure,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re headed over there.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Okay,” he said. “And congratulations again.”
I hung up and threw my Blackberry on the bed, scratching my forehead.
“Is he coming?” Vaughn asked. I nodded. She pranced in circles about my room. I got back into bed and flicked on the TV, settling on a rerun of Jersey Shore.
Everything started to sink in. I had homework, a lot of it, which needed to get done otherwise I’d fall behind, my grades would slide, and I’d get rejected from all of my top colleges. Now that the blogosphere was aware of KissnTell, we had to strike while the iron was hot and land a really big story, or at the very least, maintain the site so we could continue to drive traffic and maybe, hopefully make some money for my college fund. On top of it, I had to figure out how to navigate the treacherous landscape of romance. I knew nothing about boys, or how you’re supposed to act when you like one, and I really liked this one. I didn’t want to inadvertently sabotage it.
Vaughn stood before my closet, periodically ripping articles from their hangers and throwing them to the floor. I muted The Situation.
“What are you doing?” I asked, flummoxed.
“Making a pile of stuff I can work with,” she replied without turning away from the sparse rack of clothes. I sighed. She bit her nails. “I’m thinking I can re-wear my denim leggings and the shoes and just find another top … not sure what to do with you, though.” I rolled my eyes. Her phone blared once again. She gasped, surprised by the noise. She picked it up.
“Fuck, it’s my mom,” she said.
“She probably wants the car back. What should I do?”
I shrugged. “Answer it,” I said.
She sighed and picked up the phone. “Hey,” she groaned into the receiver, unenthused. “It was good … Uh-huh … I don’t know, I was thinking I’d spend the night again … Moooom! Come on! Why not? But I need the car! You have another one!” She sighed, kicking the carpet. “Fine, I’ll return the car, but I’m sleeping over … I do spend time with you! I do not only talk to you to ask for stuff! Well, isn’t it your job as like, parents, to like, provide for me?” Vaughn stomped her foot. I could hear Darlene shouting on the other end of the line in her thick, Brooklyn accent. “Okay, okay,” Vaughn sighed. “I’ll be back first thing on Sunday … Family dinner, sure … Okay … Bye.” She hung up, tossing the phone on the floor.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I have to return the car,” she said, glum. “Do you think Austin would give us a ride to Greystone Manor?”
I shrugged.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“I just don’t know if I can pull this off …” I murmured.
“Of course you can!” she pleaded, approaching the bed. She sat down next to me and stroked my hair. “We’re the smartest people we know,” she said. “We can handle it.”
I nodded, taking a deep breath.
She was right. I needed to calm down. It’s just that we were growing up so fast. I mean, not compared to the other Cranbrook kids; but for us, this all happened very quickly. Vaughn had her first kiss. I had my first crush. And we were an Internet sensation. I wanted it all to slow down so I could appreciate it. Unfortunately, I was about to learn, there was nothing slow about this town.