Influence - Sara Shepard Page 0,3

puppy rescue, people assumed she was really brave, when the reality was she barely had the confidence to speak up in class.

“Well, listen.” Jasmine touched Delilah’s shoulder. “Consider me and Fiona your welcoming committee. Anything you need, we’re here to help.”

“We love normal, grounded people on social,” Fiona added. “And we try to be, too!”

Jasmine nudged her. “You’re so not normal. You’re lost without a personal assistant!”

“Oh my God, it’s been four days,” Fiona moaned dramatically. “And I’m losing my mind.” She looked at Delilah. “Do you know a good personal assistant?”

“Ha!” Delilah laughed. She wasn’t really sure what a personal assistant did. “So where do you go to school?” Maybe they’d be going to the same place. She was pretty sure Fiona was under eighteen.

It took Fiona a moment to process Delilah’s question. “Oh, I don’t go to normal school anymore. I do online.” She giggled bemusedly. “Are you planning to go to regular school? Five days a week and all that?”

Delilah felt her cheeks flush. “Uh . . . yeah? My parents enrolled me somewhere called Ventura Prep.”

Jasmine gave her a knowing look. “Let’s see if that actually happens by the time fall rolls around.”

She was about to say something else when the sound of clicking heels echoed across the marble floors. The ions in the lobby rearranged as a new group stalked past. All faces turned to view the passing crowd—and who was at its center, a tall girl with glowing skin; bouncy, white-blond hair; and a curvy, flawless body. The dress she wore had cutouts just below the boobs and along her thighs, leaving little to the imagination.

The girl’s gaze flitted to Jasmine and Fiona. “Hey, guys,” she said in a blasé voice.

Jasmine’s and Fiona’s smiles didn’t reach their eyes. “Hi, Scarlet.”

Her identity came to Delilah like a bolt: Scarlet Leigh, aka @ScarletLetter. Delilah didn’t stalk Scarlet Leigh’s account religiously, but she was practically a Kardashian. She was on every Sexiest Girl Alive list, she’d received sponsorship deals for everything ranging from a small-batch whiskey maker to an airline that likely gave her free tickets to fly anywhere on their roster as long as she featured them in a post. Delilah even heard a rumor that Scarlet was auditioning for a comedy pilot.

Scarlet breezed into the ballroom. Jasmine turned to Fiona, making a face. “You okay, Fee?”

“I’m fine,” Fiona mumbled. “Scarlet and I aren’t, like, enemies or whatever.”

“In what universe?” Jasmine whispered. “That girl has it in for you! And it’s not even your fault!”

“What’s not your fault?” Delilah asked, feeling lost.

Fiona tapped her perfectly done acrylic nails on her phone three times. It seemed to be an unconscious habit. “Scarlet and I both went to Harvard-Westlake in tenth grade . . . and she claims I stole her boyfriend away.”

“That girl hates losing,” Jasmine muttered. Then her phone beeped. She glanced at it, then squeezed Delilah’s arm. “Listen, I have to run. I have a shoot in thirty minutes.”

“You’re . . . leaving?” Delilah hated the desperate tone of her voice.

“Yeah, but let’s hang out soon. And you should totally check out the stuff inside!” Jasmine gestured to the ballroom. “There’s awesome merch. And get your pictures with some other influencers! That’s the whole point of these things. Pics build your following.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Fiona said—she had to leave, too. “Let me get your number. Let’s keep in touch. Any questions, please text me. Okay?” And the girls were gone.

Delilah was suddenly alone in the bustling Evensong lobby. The conversation she’d just had was overwhelming. Did she really just chat with Jasmine Walters-Diaz and Fiona Jacobs? Days ago, she was sitting on Busy’s carpet, making vision boards about being a famous influencer . . . and now she was in the middle of that world?

She peered into the big ballroom of famous people and felt massive stage fright. She couldn’t do this alone. She wanted to hide in a booth at the restaurant next to the lobby, order fries and a Coke, and scroll on her phone until an hour passed and she could find her mom.

Which was exactly what she did.

It felt like heaven to sink down into a booth. She gave the waiter a huge smile when he came around to take her order. “Would you like the wine list?” he asked, barely looking at her.

“Um, what?” Did he not notice how young she was? “I—I mean . . . no. I’ll have . . .”

“I think she needs a purple