28 of 50 Songs and Chapters Dedicated to the Friend I Lost Too Soon

"Take me with you."

Those were four words I never thought I'd say, but they're also the four words that got me out of the house he would've left me behind in otherwise.

Jewee was off to the set, as if our conversation in the middle of the night didn't happen.

It's dumb to have the desire to tag along with him after what he's put me through, but recalling what it was like to be left behind in this huge house of his all by myself, that is, along with the ghosts I've created that haunt me, I couldn't bear for it to become a set pattern.

Jewee had rejected the idea at first, but he owed me, and he couldn't pretend he didn't. Leaving me in the blue about something and seeing that I let him off the hook, things like this, he couldn't decide. Not by himself at least. He had to include me, exactly as he didn't include me in what I was supposed to know.

If he didn't want to bring me along, then he deserved the punishment. Stupidity puts you through hard situations.

Honestly, that goes for me too. Me and thinking that things are better the way they aren't strikes again. Now I'm surrounded by the very people that watched me run away from a party after a script-written kiss, and I've barely talked to any of them before. Jewee, I couldn't rely on. He was busy. Busy with the apparent love of his life in front of that camera.

That was the excuse of a reason I longed for before, but it didn't make me feel much better. I turned my back on it, sipping at my free cup of coffee, feeling lonely despite the crowd. I don't know if it makes sense, but I've ended up feeling lonelier surrounded by a bunch of people, than when I was by myself in his house.

Who is actually the stupider one between the two of us? Is it Jewee? Or am I acting like it is so I can feel better about myself? Or are we both naturally in possession of the classy low IQ?

Classy for him more like, because he was acting, and I was the nerd who did nothing but write. I'm just the plain and simple low IQ. Nothing snazzy about it.

"Jaiva, right? You're who made this entire movie possible?" It's a man. We're around the same age, I would guess. I saw him at the party, but we hardly ever had any sort of contact with each other. Eye contact never happened unless it was accidental. I didn't think any of it if it did happen. He was another person in the crowd, and that's the most I've thought about him.

Until now.

I nod at him, confirming my name. I'm not sure what to say. I haven't dealt with fans very well yet, but he's one of them. Well, he's acting like it and truthfully I'm flattered. Just not totally ready enough to know how to express that.

He notices and continues to fill in the quiet, his hand out to shake mine. I accept. He's a lot more social than I am. That's a good thing. I can follow the pathway he paves for me.

"I'm Ezekiel Bronze. You can call me Zeke," he introduces. I study him. He reminds me of Aiden. His short blond hair and his bright blue eyes call out to me, I almost see my childhood friend resurrected in front of me. He'd be better for the leading role than Jewee if we only factor in appearance.

Of course, more should go into it than that. If I knew more about his acting ability, I'd complain, but I don't. If I did, I'd probably be saying Hollywood is desperate to use the name of someone already famous to fill in the leading spot.

"I tried for Aiden's part, but I didn't get the role. I've had little roles here and there in commercials or quick minutes in movies or tv shows, but it's been nothing extravagant. I'll be playing Aiden's -- ahm, Jewee's role's best friend though, and it is the biggest role I've gotten so far. I heard this character and the leading lady are based after you since it flipped into a romance. So I was wondering, you know, if we could--" His speech is slow. He's stalling, and he doesn't finish. "Sorry I'm rambling," he rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

I encourage him on. I enjoy talking to him. Talking to someone not as cocky as Jewee could be sometimes was refreshing. "Hey, don't apologize. We're one in the same. I'm not someone you should be nervous around."

"Thanks," he sighs, relieved. He talks on a new note. "Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is I'm so grateful for the effort you put into your book and I hope you're proud of what it's become. I don't know if this is going to be my big break, but it's something and I'm so glad that I have this chance because of you. Your life-story inspired me a lot. Just know I believe in you and I'm a huge supporter of your journey. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner, and it's really a privilege to see you here."

"Sweet of you to say." I bow slightly when I said it. I don't know where it came from, but it happened, and when it did, I had to go with it. Terrified I was going to do something far more awkward than what I've already done, I walk off to a section of seats that are propped up against the wall, nodding at him, in case he wanted to follow. Yes, I wanted an escape route, but at the last moment I realized that could come off as rude, and I didn't want my first reputation sucking. That hurts feelings. I've been there, victim to it, much more recently than I'd like it to be.

Lots of people trusted those firsts, and a lot of time, they were right, but it wouldn't be that way with me. I think I'm a good person. I try my very hardest to be, and I'd like to have others think the same way about me.

Zeke followed. Despite the original intention to escape, I felt good about it. That meant out of his own will, he was spending his time with me. It didn't start off of a certain basis, like me bond with Jewee did. From the beginning, both of us were real. Nobody was idolized, mostly. People didn't know me extremely well -- I wasn't out there in this world entirely, and that meant that we can learn about each other from scratch, the way it's supposed to be done.

But it turns out, that'd subside rapidly. I'm more of a celebrity than I thought I was. People think they know me better than I know myself. Jewee was right. Paparazzi and eager journalists twist everything. At least Zeke wasn't judging. He was clarifying, which is what you have to do to get over things like this, it seems. Shutting up and assuming makes things worse.

I guess I'll have to face this head on. Best to get them back on the right track rather than pretend I know nothing about it. The few seconds of silence indicate that he's just as nervous as I am.

At least we're both human. That's proven.

"I don't mean to overstep any boundaries, but can I ask you a question?" He begins, sitting down on the cushioned bench I've chosen to rest my feet. He barely leaves me space, but I don't complain. It doesn't amount to that much, in comparison to proving I'm listening to him.

"Depends?" I say. My brain is pacing over how he's going to word it or what he could possibly have to say, but I force myself to snap out of it. It's fake, but until I've actually gotten to feeling somewhat confident about these things, I'll have to fake it. "Kidding. Yeah, sure. Shoot away."

"I noticed Jewee followed after you when you left the party, and I saw his car pull away from the curb. The two of you are living together, aren't you? I heard that from Talia."

"We're not really living together." I sweat like I'm lying, but it's the truth. "I'm just here until these projects get wrapped up. When this is up, I'll probably head back to my hometown or if I stick around I'll go somewhere else."

"So is there anything going on between you guys?"

"No. Nothing."

"But didn't you two kiss?"

"Huh?" I can't form words. I'm in shock. My jaw is centimeters from the floor.

He repeats himself as if I really didn't hear him. "Didn't you kiss? When you left the party."

"H-how--?" I stutter. "How do you know about that?"

Zeke pulls out his phone from his jacket pocket. Scrolling through it, he shows me a photo, not from his gallery, but from text message. Someone sent it to him. I can't catch the name. Whoever it's from, they caught Jewee and I in his car, making out.

"My classmate from high school is paparazzi. We were close back then, but not anymore. The thing is, when I got this role, he's been really into catching up with Kyler and his life, since we'll be working together. It's not good of him -- I know it's an invasion of privacy and I told him not to share the story. He won't be either, I assure you, but I can't help but be curious if there's something going on between the two of you. It seems like there is. You don't have to answer, but--."

"There's nothing going on," I insist. It cuts him off and he's in shock, but he doesn't try to add anything. He's expecting me to talk. "I'll be real with you. I don't know what that kiss was about either. I pestered him all night about it and he won't explain what it was about or why, and it's upsetting to me. It's like he's playing around with me or acting like I'm some sort of joke that doesn't hold much worth. He's probably laughing about me behind my back all the time. We started off rocky. We hated each other and now this-- yeah, I don't know. It's bothersome. I think he's out to destroy me."

He nods slowly as I try to understand my own head. I'm spilling myself out to a person I barely met. It feels weird, but I also feel lighter. "I believe you," he finally mentions.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I mean, I have no idea what his intentions are. I'm not going to judge him, but a lot of celebrities -- even the ones we wouldn't expect -- are kind of wild and crazy in every bad way. I've seen some of it myself sometimes. You're a girl with a good reputation just getting out into the spotlight, and your life is still a blank canvas right now with how you want to handle the stardom. Stories leaking for people to judge can make or break your career, and he already has everything he needs. I don't think he's afraid of anything."

I shrug. I'm not sure what to think of it. "It's kinda freaky," I admit.

"Him or this new life you've come into?"

I laugh. "Both," I tell him. He laughs too. We laugh back into silence.

"Well," he speaks up after what feels like an hour, but has to be a minute max. "How about we act like it never happened? Just delete it. If it's nothing to you then it's nothing."

"I hope it's that easy."

"It is," he shakes his head like he's an expert. He's become my therapist. A person to share my secrets with and to get things off my chest, but it seems to me that that's possible because he's been there himself before. I don't ask about it though. I don't want to pry. If there's another chance to take a stab at that, then maybe I will, but not this time.

He goes on. "But not as easy as asking you out sometime? Ignore me being nervous, but could we go get a drink whenever you're free?"

My mouth is open agape. I'm turning red. "Oh? Sure, yeah. Maybe. Why not? Sounds fun."

"Good," he breathes out, scribbling on a scrap piece of paper. "I'll just give you my number and you can contact me whenever you want to. Deal?"

"Deal," I agree, accepting it.

I think we have a lot more in common than what's shown at the surface. On the inside, we have connections that I don't have with every person that walks the street.

Cute. I'm here for it.