Page 72 of Goode to Be Bad

That cut me to the bone.

Yet I couldn’t penetrate my own emotional walls. I couldn’t fathom giving him that emotion back.

I couldn’t tell him my secret.

It was too painful. Too dark. Too horrifying.

I was sitting on a bench and massaging my blistered feet, not paying much attention to the people walking past.

“Lexie?” a small female voice asked in a thick accent. “You singer?”

I looked over, and a teenage girl was standing off to one side, phone in her hand, and a hopeful, joyful expression on her face. I had no clue how to react. I managed a small smile and said “Um. Yeah—yes, I’m Lexie.”

“Selfie?” She held up her phone. “Please? You take selfie?”

God, it was embarrassing—she knew more of my language than I did hers. I knew “Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto” and that was about it, and only a vague idea thatdomo arigatomight mean thank you. Possibly.

She could communicate with me.

I smiled. “Um. Sure?”

She squealed, waved at a group of girls standing nearby, giggling and taking photos. They all hustled to stand near me and the girl snapped about fifty photos in several bursts. “Thank you!” she said, facing me and giving me a short bow.

“You’re…you’re welcome.” Baffled at the interaction, I almost missed the opportunity. “Wait!”

The girl, now in the ring of her friends, turned around. “Hai?”

“Um.” I had no idea how much English she’d understand, but I knew this was my only chance. “Can you tag Myles?”

“Tag?” She held up the phone. “Twitter?”

I nodded. “Tag Myles North.”

She lit up. “Okay!”

I pointed at the nearby intersection. “And a photo of the street signs?”

She was baffled, but agreeable “Okay?” it sounded likeohh-KEHH. She took a photo of the intersection. “Tag?”

I nodded again. “Thank you.”

She was thinking. “You lose place?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m lost.”

She spoke in rapid-fire Japanese, took me by the arm and hauled me to a nearby cafe filled with people. She was taking a video and jabbering rapidly, showing the cafe, the windows, the intersection, me, her friends, and then suddenly I had a pink drink in my hand and I was sitting with the group of Japanese teenagers who were all staring at me like I wassomeone, chattering to each other and giggling behind their hands, whispering. The girl who’d approached me sat beside me, showed me her phone.

Her social media stream was on the screen, and she tapped her latest posts—the photo of us, the street sign, and then her video—the likes, shares, and the retweet numbers were shockingly high considering how recently she’d posted it. I was impressed. And that was when I saw what she was pointing to: a comment under the video. A tiny thumbnail pic of Myles from one of his album covers, with his name and blue checkmark. “Thank you! And tell her to stay put!”This was in English on a feed dominated by her native Japanese characters.

I felt an absurd burst of relief, so powerful that I compulsively hugged the girl. “Thank you! Oh god, thank you so much!”

She was surprised by my hug, uncomfortable. Stiff, awkward. She shifted away from me, smiling and laughing, but obviously deeply uncomfortable. “Ohh…okay!”

I moved away. “Sorry.” I grinned sheepishly. “What’s your name?”

She nodded, looking anywhere but at me. “Okay, okay.” She finally met my eyes, my gaffe forgiven. “Emiko.”

“I just…thank you, Emiko. Thank you.”