“You might be on your own.” Gabby snickered, leaning away. “Maybe I’ll get popcorn and watch this mess—”
“Hey, Ethan.”
Gabby, Nittha, and I all jumped as a short white girl with a chin-length bob and perfectly applied winged eyeliner detached herself from the group of kids close to the pool and planted herself firmly in front of Ethan.
“Who is that?” Gabby said, sounding unreasonably offended that anyone would interrupt the potential train wreck she’d been waiting for.
“Emmie Kristoff,” Nittha breathed, as if that name would mean anything to Gabby or me. It didn’t. Still watching, Nittha’s eyes went wide as Ethan’s face sank. “I can’t believe she’s here. And talking to him.”
“Again, who is that?” I asked, echoing Gabby before I could stop myself. I was not supposed to be interested in Ethan or his life. And I was definitely not supposed to care about anyone who put their hand on his arm in a way that implied comfort or familiarity, which Emmie was currently doing.
“She started out as a super popular BookToker, but she’s branched out. Like posting about handbags, makeup, travel, you name it—she markets it all now.” Nittha shot me a smug expression. Apparently, my interest had not gone unnoticed. “She’s also Ethan’s ex.”
I wanted to look away but couldn’t. Whatever Emmie had said, Ethan didn’t appear happy. If anything, it seemed like talking to her was draining his battery.
“So, what happened with them?” Gabby half whispered.
“I don’t know all the details yet, but I know they broke up because she cheated on him, and the internet is upset.”
“I can’t imagine having to break up in the public eye,” I whispered as Emmie reached out to touch Ethan again. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaning ever so slightly away from her hand. I couldn’t see Emmie’s face from this angle, but she must have noticed him flinch, because she froze mid-gesture. She said something, and Ethan sagged. Not enough tobe noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him. In fact, if you’d never met him and you saw his face, you’d think he was having a conversation about the weather. But even with what little I knew about him, something seemed wrong.
Gabby shook her head. “I guess it’s the hazard of dating someone in our line of work, but—”
“Friends, if I may have your attention, please.” The sound of the DJ’s voice cutting through the moment made half the people on the terrace jump. I glanced over at the DJ, who was signaling for everyone to quiet down, and then quickly back at Ethan and Emmie. Ethan turned to walk toward where his grandma was seated. Then, standing beside her, he resolutely faced the DJ booth. Emmie continued to watch him from a distance. So much for figuring out what they were talking about…Not that it was any of my business.
“I’ll get back to the music in a minute, but before I do, I want to invite our fearless leader and founder of TrendCon to the stage. Everyone, please give it up for Mr. Kelly ‘Sparkles’ Chemerinsky.” The DJ put “Sparkles” in air quotes as he referred to maybe the internet’s first and biggest influencer. A stout, middle-aged white man in a loud suit jacket, with hair that was a little too disheveled to be casual, jogged onstage and took themic.
“Hey, hey, hey! How’s it going, party people?”
The terrace of people erupted into cheers, and I caught Gabby’s eye. Both of us started to roll our eyes.Party peoplefelt like a bit of a misnomer for a group of roughly a hundred and fifty people on a business trip.
“Some of you may know that I have a little thing going on where I like to make people’s day. And I want to do that again, here, at TrendCon.”
The room went silent. Sparkles was notorious for doing things like hiding ten thousand dollars somewhere and letting a hotel clerk find it, or partnering with a car manufacturer to give away cars to an entire bus of people. A small part of me wondered if we were all about to get five hundred dollars’ worth of credits to a ritzy hotel restaurant. Next to me, Nittha held her breath.
“This year, I’m announcing my biggest influencer prize yet.” The terrace was so still you could have heard a pin drop. Sparkles scanned the room, keeping everyone on edge for way longer than seemed even remotely reasonable, then shouted, “One hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the person who makes the best video about this year’s con and Las Vegas!”
It felt like someone had shut off the volume on the terrace. I could tell that people were talking. Some of them looked excited, others disinterested, likely already making more than that on sponsored videos. The rest seemed disappointed. They were probably the weirdos hoping for a scavenger hunt or some other physical activity.
Whatever. None of them mattered. I wanted that prize.
No. Ineededthat prize. With that kind of money, I could make the sort of movie that film schools couldn’t ignore. Maybe as important: If I could win that prize, my parents would be done encouraging me to go to business school or join my mom’s sorority to build “lifelong connections.” A prize like that wasn’tjust money. It was an endorsement. This prize would prove that I could support myself. Something that would make my parents see me, exactly as BamBam said they would.
“Now, I’d like to invite some friends on the stage with me. Jasmine Ortiz, mayor of Las Vegas; Eric Vanderway, owner of the Stonereel Resort; and Lenny Hampstead, the most famous Elvis in town. If you’re getting married here this week, Lenny is your guy,” Sparkles said as a stiff-looking woman in a pantsuit who used a lot of hairspray, a man wearing sunglasses in the dark and with a neck that had been done so many times it looked stretched tighter than a drum, and a, well, man dressed as Elvis jogged onto the stage.
Sparkles cleared his throat, then waited for the crowd to quiet before he continued, “Some logistics, and before I forget, please visit the contest website as well for a full listing of rules and other legal jargon. To claim the prize, you’ll need to post a video that’s no more than a minute and a half on your channels with the hashtag TrendConSparkles—”
“Stupid hashtag.” Gabby laughed. I gave her a quiet-I’m-trying-to-listen face.
“—winners will be announced at local screenings held on a Saturday two weeks after the con ends. Be sure to sign up for your region’s specific TrendCon newsletter and follow my TrendCon YouTube channel for contest updates.”
Next to me, Gabby snorted at the plug for Sparkles’s other businesses, but this time she didn’t try to talk to me. Usually, I found it exhausting to sit through his pitches, too—Sparkles also led a creator academy, content studio, and networking groups that people could pay to join—but today, I didn’t care.
“Our collective audiences will vote for the top three videos. Then myself and our esteemed judges’ panel will pick a winner. The winning video will also be run as an ad by the Las Vegas tourism board and be seen by millions of people for the next year. Good luck, everyone!” The room erupted into more cheers as Sparkles jogged offstage waving and smiling and the DJ kicked the music up again. Everyone around me went back to enjoying themselves, but I couldn’t.
Just as quickly as Sparkles had given me hope, he’d thrown a wrench in my plans. If people’s followers could vote, there was no way I’d win. A video like this was as much a popularity contest as it was about art, and without a social media following, I couldn’t even pretend to be popular. For the first time in my life, I wished I had even one account. But maybe that didn’t matter. All I needed was a partner. And I was sharing a room with mine—she just didn’t know it yet.
Day 2: Raising the Stakes
