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CHAPTER TWELVE

Olive

Berlin’s bubble popsloudly, pulling my attention from the snacks to her sprawled across my bed. She chews her nasty Hubba Bubba gum, which has to be flavorless at this point, and lowers her phone with her nose scrunched in disgust.

“These are honestly ridiculous,” she says as she scrolls through the comments on Bodhi’s photo, her bright lavender hair falling out of the bun she put it in when she got here. I don’t know what he was thinking when he posted it, and I wish he would have asked me first, but what’s done is done.

“They aren’t going to get any better,” I point out to the girl I met in class last year. She was outgoing and bubbly, and we bonded over books. She became part of my small circle at Lindon, alongside Skylar. We made our own little book club, buddy reading different titles together and discussing them over snacks and wine at one of our places. It’s kind of nice. Especially because, unlike my mother, we actuallyreadthe books.

I saw the first few comments on Bodhi’s post and refused to see the rest. They were all some iteration of the last, so I didn’t see the need to waste time seeing strangers’ opinions of me. Screw them.

My friend, who spends an awful lot of time in my dorm considering she has her own apartment off campus, sits up. “It’s so stupid. Do these people have nothing better to do with their lives?”

Evidently not. “No. Now can you stop? I already asked Bodhi if he can turn the comments off. Apparently, it’s not that simple.”

Berlin blinks. “Ugh. Yes, it is. It’s like a few clicks.”

“Well, his agent disagrees.” I rejoin her on the bed with a bag of white cheddar popcorn. “In the meantime, let’s not doom scroll. I don’t feel like reading about the ‘charity work’ Bodhi is being praised for just by touching me. It’s like they think I’m diseased or something.”

“Like when Princess Diana was praised for shaking hands with an AIDS patient,” Berlin comments sympathetically.

I stare at her. “How do you even know that? That was before either of us were born.”

“I watchThe Crown,” she answers, a silent “duh” tacked onto the end of the sentence. “I’m telling you, you’d love that show. Even Skylar has finally started watching it.”

They’ve tried getting me to watch it with them, but I was never that interested in the royal family. “I’ll stick to sports and K-dramas.”

Berlin scoffs. “You owe me at least one episode for making me watchBob’s Burgerswith you.”

“And now you love that show,” I point out. “I think you should be thanking me. You said yourself that you relate to Tina.”

She throws a piece of popcorn at my face and watches it bounce into my lap. “Who doesn’t relate to that awkward, butt-loving teenager? I also write spicy fan fiction. It’s a crossover plot about Harry Styles meeting Hermonie and falling in love.”

“Poor Ron,” I sympathize half-heartedly.

She shrugs. “In my world, he winds up with Lavender, so he’ll be fine.”

I’m about to burst her metaphorical bubble. And maybe her real one. “Doesn’t Lavender die in the series?”

“It’sfiction,” she quickly defends. “And if you want to be technical, people argue that she doesn’t die in the books. So, ha!”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say.” I get back to the main point of this conversation. “Anyway, Bodhi apologized for posting it and said he would get his agent to turn the comments off on the post, but his agent thinks this is a good thing.”

Berlin gapes. “Good for who?”

“Bodhi,” I reply with a shrug. It makes sense. I may be getting ripped apart, but he looks like a saint. It sucks, but it’s out of my control. “It’s the nature of the game. Don’t worry about it.”

Berlin, unfortunately,isworrying about it. “If I ever meet that asshole, I’m going to throat punch him with a sock full of frozen butter. Mark my words, Olive. He won’t see it coming.”

The city girl in her is shining through. “You may be able to get away with that in Brooklyn, but not here. And it’s not the end of the world.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

Bodhi offered to fire his agent for me, but I told him not to be stupid. It was a sweet sentiment, but he needed him more than my pride does. And, from a business perspective, I get where the guy is coming from. There’s no such thing as bad press. Unless you’re the person being torn up. But I’d like to think my pride is stronger than some keyboard warrior’s unfiltered thoughts of me.

I check my phone and snort. “His ears must be ringing,” I tell Berlin, showing her Bodhi’s name pop up on my screen. He gave me his number when we were at Dave and Buster’s so he could send me some of the photos. Sebastian didn’t look happy about it.

When I swipe to answer, it’s not me who speaks up first.