Page 7 of Everything About You

“And you know, Chip and Isaac are right. My name should be included! But article aside, I just don’t understand why Maison

Dauphine would do this. Why would they pit us against each other? What is this—the Hunger Games?”

Celeste has picked me up from Maison Dauphine like a Citrus Harbor Day School mom picking up a whining toddler.

She’s wearing a baby tee and denim skirt with white sneakers, paired with pink-lensed sunglasses that are definitely only

for appearances since they’re nearly translucent.

“Who is the rat here anyway?”

Celeste gawks. “Huh?”

“ à bon chat, bon rat! ” I exclaim. “There is no way I’m the rat. Right?”

“So this means you’re not going to dinner?”

“No, we are definitely not going to dinner. I have made it very clear to him that we are the furthest thing from going to

dinner.”

Celeste frowns. “This is devastating, Milo.”

“I know. And of all people to compete against.”

“Not that,” Celeste says. “You were going to go on a date with Rhodes Hamilton! Not only a date, you were going to go on a dinner date in Paris. This is literally, like, a Hallmark movie.” She winces. “Or it was .”

“It’s not a Hallmark movie, Celeste. I shouldn’t have to remind you that this charming thing he does is... it’s performance.

At the very least, he can’t stand that I’m not googly-eyed over him, and he probably wanted to prove he could make me fall

for him just like all his other poor victims.”

Celeste’s eyes are trained on the ends of her hair as she pulls at a split end. “Then it’s even more of a Hallmark movie.

Those types of guys are always—”

“Those movies are propaganda,” I say. “Because in real life, those types of guys are not going to change or surprise you or save the inn or end up being Santa Claus.”

“Do you want Rhodes to end up being Santa Claus?” Celeste asks very seriously.

“I am going to have to figure out how to take him down.”

“Milo, Milo, Milo. Do you hear yourself?”

Taking a deep breath as we stroll up the avenue, I nod. “I do. I hear myself, Celeste, and you know I would never play dirty.

There must be some fair, just way to squash him. You should see the way everyone fawns over him—”

Celeste stops walking, throwing her hand across my chest. “You are not squashing Rhodes Hamilton.”

“Like a bug,” I assure her.

Sure, this is a daunting task. And, to Celeste’s original point, it is a disappointment. A massive, earth-shattering disappointment.

This was supposed to be my perfect summer.

“Maybe instead of taking him down, you could just show them that you’re better suited for the job.”

Celeste is such an idealist sometimes.

“You’re right. In fact, I think that’s Sun Tzu verbatim. Right? Who needs war?” I roll my eyes.

“Okay, look, I get that you aren’t going to dinner. But I don’t know, it might be good to keep him as a friend. I’m sure Sun

Tzu has something about allies, right? Would it be such a terrible idea to have a friend in Paris?”

I shake my head. “Unfortunately, I just don’t know how to be his friend if we’re going to spend all day every day consciously

trying to outdo each other. I don’t know how that could be possible, and I just don’t think he can be trusted. Anyway, I already

have a friend in Paris, remember?”

We continue to walk for a bit, toward Avenue des Champs-élysées. I’m not sure what food is around, but when we get to the

giant five-way intersection—which I am completely uncertain how these cars even navigate—I pull out my phone and start to

look for nearby restaurants.

“What are we in the mood for?”

Celeste hums. “What?”

“For dinner?”

“Oh, right. I’m not sure. I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Did you already eat?” I glance up from my phone, studying her. “What did you end up doing today? I’m sorry, I was just droning

on and on about Rhodes and I didn’t even ask you a single question about your day. Tell me everything.”

She laughs, and I think I might recognize a bit of her nervous giggle.

Oh, god . What did you do, Celeste?

“I had a bit of a late lunch. I walked around the Jardin du Luxembourg, which was beautiful. I planned on making a TikTok,

but... Well, anyway, I wandered the city a bit after that. I went to this super-famous bookstore, Shakespeare and Company.

It was so cute. And then I saw Notre-Dame from the outside; I somehow ended up browsing around a tiny little outdoor produce

market....”

She’s saying all of this in a long, drawn-out, sort of whimsical way, and I know she is avoiding telling me part of it. But

what? And why?

“I did meet a guy.” Celeste pauses as we cross the street, concentrating on the crosswalk as if she’s considering how much

to divulge. “Nothing really came of it, but he was handsome and had the most amazing French accent. It was just a quintessential

romantic moment—a cute guy stopping next to me at the market to introduce himself.... Which, by the way, how ironic is

it that you were the one who was like ‘No romance in Paris!’ just yesterday, but then you got a guy’s number and were asked

on a dinner date first thing in the morning—hours before I was?” She pulls a face. “Sorry to bring that up again. Just thought

it was ironic.”

“So ironic,” I echo. “Okay, what is it? You’re doing that thing where you dance around something you don’t want to say.”

Celeste takes a deep breath once we’re on the other side of the road. “Right. I know. I have to tell you something.”

Of course I don’t know what to expect, but this has at least temporarily killed my appetite and added a giant pit in my stomach.

What the hell could Celeste have to tell me that has her acting so bizarre?

The anxiety from today, which I’ve barely processed, mixed with this sudden flood of nervous energy and jitters, makes me want to hurl into the nearest trash can.

“Celeste!”

She nods and nods, looking around as if to find the words. “I don’t want to—are you sure you don’t want to talk about Rhodes

for a bit first?”

“What is going on? You’re scaring me. Is it something bad?”

Again, she nods. “Yeah. I mean... it’s not good.”

“Celeste, for the love of god. Have you never had someone deliver bad news to you? This is the worst, most drawn-out way—please

just tell me what the hell is going on.”

Poking her tongue in her cheek, she shuts her eyes. “I have to go home.”

“What?” I give her a once-over. “Are you okay? Do you not feel well? I can get us a car, I bet it’s, like, a five-minute drive

from here. Can’t be more than ten.”

“No, I don’t mean home, like my aunt’s apartment. I mean home. Home , home. Citrus Harbor.” When she opens her eyes, they’re filled with tears and her brow scrunches up tight, lip quivering.

“I was so excited for our summer in Paris, you know that. I don’t want to leave you, and I thought you’d have the best day

of your entire life today and it’d be easier to tell you, but then... I know this is all a lot harder than you expected,

and I’m so sorry.”

I stare at Celeste, drawing in a breath through my mouth, but my chest is so tight, my lungs barely expand at all.

My jaw and chin feel numb, like there isn’t enough skin to stretch across the bone.

My throat is closing, and everything is going hazy.

Paris softens, like it’s trapped behind a blurry lens.

Now, involuntarily, I think my eyes might be filling with tears too.

How did today go from the most exciting to the absolute worst? How did everything go to shit so incredibly quickly?

“I don’t... I don’t understand. Everything was fine this morning?”

She bobs her head up and down quickly, wiping away tears from her cheeks. “It was. Everything was great. But Gran isn’t doing

well. Like, she’s really not doing well. And I can’t...” She stifles a sob, holding her hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, Celeste, I’m sorry.” I pull her in for a hug, and she pats my back. “I am so sorry. Okay. Of course. Right. We’ll

go back and—”

Celeste pulls away from our hug and leans back, hands on my arms. “Milo, no. We’re not going back. You have to stay in Paris and do what you came to do.”

I shake my head. “I can’t just let you go back alone.”

She waves that off, sniffling. “Yes, you can. And you will. I’ll be okay. I just have to go be with my family. And when you

get back... I mean, even when you get a big job with Maison Dauphine, you’ll come back home before you move here, right?”

This tidal wave of emotions has thrown me, and I suddenly have no recollection of my goals or plans or hopes for the future.

I nod, though, because I figure I’ll go back, at least to pack my things.

“Celeste, I really don’t think you should go back alone. I want to be there for you. This is a big deal.”

Lips turned down into a deep frown, she lifts her shoulders.

“It is what it is, Milo. And I love you so much for wanting to be there for me, but what would really make me the happiest is to FaceTime you and see your spectacular view and some really pretty clothes and still feel like I get to go on this big, once-in-a-lifetime adventure with you.”

I really don’t even know how to process this. I’m certainly crying now. For Gran, and for Celeste and her family, and for

this special summer that we were going to share. All the memories we were going to make together.

“I don’t know if I can even do it alone,” I admit.

Celeste shakes her head. “You can. Milo, please. You can literally do anything. And you know that. You’re Milo the Great.

When you set your mind to something, you make it happen. You inspire me all the time, and I know you’re going to inspire me

this summer.”

My nose is running now, and I am turning into somewhat of a hysterical mess on the sidewalk. Celeste is also crying, and between

the two of us, we must look absolutely batshit.

“Only we would have a dramatic sob fest on the Champs-élysées,” I say.

She laughs, wiping her face again. “I know. This is so us.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she says. “First thing in the morning. My mom is already driving to Orlando now, so she’ll be ready to pick me

up from the airport.”

I exhale. “Oh god. Tomorrow.”

Celeste squeezes my arm. “Aunt Angela obviously says nothing changes with the apartment. It’s all yours.”

Swallowing, I try to continue with some deep breaths to stop crying like a toddler. “All right. I’m going to have to think about this. I don’t know. Look, I hear what you’re saying, but I don’t know if I can stay here by myself. I don’t know if I even should, honestly.”

“What do you mean, if you should ? Of course you should.”

I shrug. “I won’t have you—I won’t have anybody here. It just sounds a bit... well, there’s also the fact that I might

be spinning my wheels with Maison Dauphine. You’re right, anyway, I’m not going to squash Rhodes Hamilton. He’s unsquashable.

They all love him, and he’s going to work the resort show, and that job is probably already his. He’s Rhodes Hamilton . There is no competing with him. This is a losing battle.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Celeste says, her expression hardening a bit. “I honestly don’t. You never give up, Milo.”

“Maybe sometimes that isn’t a good thing.”

“Do you remember when you tried to do the leg-press machine at the gym and you hurt your glute because you jumped ahead and

did, like, an absurd number of weights? And Coach Marshall told you to sit out the tennis match, even though it was a huge

deal? Remember, you were playing that guy from Miami? With the youth records?”

I groan. “This isn’t like that—”

“You beat that other kid to a pulp on that court, and you didn’t even look like you were in any pain at all.”

“But I was. And I had to rest for a week and a half after that.”

“You won, though! And you recovered, and then you kept winning.”

“Stubbornly competing through injury is not quite the metaphor I—”

She folds her arms. “I think it is. It seems like right now, your ego is injured because you believe you’re somehow less than Rhodes Hamilton.

And while I very much would like to see you have a friend and an ally in Paris—and while I would like it to be Rhodes Hamilton because I can only imagine the kind of invites he’d give us—I know you could squash him if you had to.

Even if the odds were stacked against you. ”

Celeste might be right.

But she might be wrong.

“I’m going to see how things go, and if this is just going to be some massive disappointment, I’m going to nip it in the bud

and concede.”