The Rule of Thirds

Chapter Fourteen

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5: 28 HOURS UNTIL VANTAGE POINT

Dace’s groaning wakes me up the next morning. “My head . . .” she moans, and for a moment I forget about last night. Then I remember everything.

“Adviiiiiiilllll.” I get her a glass of water from the bathroom. Thankfully Mom got up early to work the 7 a.m. shift and she obviously didn’t even realize Dace was here.

Dace moans some more. “Ohhhhh . . .” she says as I climb back in bed.

“Hey, we didn’t talk about the fashion show,” I say.

More groaning.

“You got my text.”

She nods, running her fingers through the ends of her hair.

“Why’d you sneak away without talking to me?” She looks at me in disbelief.

“That’s what you care about? Not that you saw me in a mall fashion show?”

“Of course that was a surprise, but all I care about is our friendship.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “I was so embarrassed that you saw me and that I lied to you . . .”

“What’s going on?” It’s so unlike Dace to be like this. She’s usually the strong, confident one.

“Come on,” she moans. “I went on and on about how I wasn’t doing mall shows anymore because they’re the death of any real modeling career and how I’m better than that and I get the new agent and then you catch me in my lie?”

“But I don’t get it . . .”

She’s staring at the comforter. “I can’t do anything more than mall shows. That’s what the new agent says, just like the old agent said. It’s my destiny. Mall model forever . . .” Tears start down her face and she sniffs, still staring at the comforter. Then she starts to cry. Really cry. I’ve never seen her like this. Tears uncontrollable, face blotchy, black eye makeup smearing down her cheeks. Her nose run- ning and her breath catching. But I get it. Modeling is her life. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if someone told me I wasn’t talented enough to go to Tisch. But I also don’t believe that Dace’s career is over. She is talented. Surely those two agents don’t know every- thing there is to know. I reach over to hug her. I pull her into me and she buries her head in my chest. I smooth her hair, the way Mom does to me.

“That’s not true,” I reassure her.
“But it is.” Her voice is muffled in my tank top.

“I’m over the hill. And there’s nothing else I want to do. I’m going to have to face reality. Live the American Dream and work at the dollar store.”

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure you will never have to work at the dollar store—unless you get hired by a mag for some ironic haute couture shoot in one.”

“You don’t get it. You’re legitimately good at what you love to do. You’re going to be a photographer, just like you’ve always wanted. But I don’t have a backup plan.”

“Listen to me,” I say, handing her a wad of Kleenex. “You don’t need a backup plan. You’re not going to be a model. You are a model. We just need a better plan. And we’re going to figure it out.”

“We are?”

I nod. “And I already know what we’re going to do.”

“What?” Dace rubs her mascara-smudged eyes.

“I’m going to win that competition—somehow— and get into the Tisch camp. And you’re going to come with me and find yourself an agent in New York. One who gets you real go-sees for real jobs. Deal?”

She nods. “Oh, one other thing I should probably mention.”

“What? Last night while you were drunk you binged on entire Fudgee-O’s rather than tossing the wafers?” I say, pointing to the near-empty bag on the floor. “It’s OK. You’re allowed.”

She shakes her head. “I still have my V-card.” “What?”

“I lied. I don’t know why. Asher and I didn’t do it. I mean, he wanted to and I sort of wanted to but then he passed out. And when you told me about Cole and how he was fooling around with some random chick—and I actually liked him better than Asher. What an ass. I don’t know why I lied. I just felt stupid. And I wanted Cole to hear the Asher rumor somehow, to make him think I didn’t care about him—even though I did.”

“But why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it really even had anything to do with you. I was just feeling like such a failure about everything and I didn’t want to tell you how badly modeling was going because I felt like we had this plan for our lives and I was letting you down. I thought that you’d make it big and you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

I shake my head. “I’ll always need you—whether we’re super famous or both working at the dollar store.”

“Could you even imagine? Us, at the dollar store?” She giggles, and so do I. Then reality sets in. All my first-choice photos are gone. Maybe I can use alternates from those same shoots. At least I have the ones on my camera . . .

I unplug the charger from the outlet by my desk and pop the battery in my camera. “I took some pics of you in the show. You look really good.”

“Ugh,” Dace says, but moves to the end of the bed as I turn my camera on and press the playback button. The screen is black.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Dace is standing over my shoulder. I flip the power button on and off again, but the screen’s still blank. I open the tiny door that holds the data card. It’s empty.

“He even stole my data card! I’m screwed.”