Page 101

“It was a joke!” I laughed.

“Wait, no, hold up, hold up!” Becka picked up her phone and I barely saw the background changing as she moved from her bed to her desk. “What if you were though?” she said, breathless.

“What if I was what?” My hand dropped from my face as I frowned down at my phone.

“My first client.”

“Becka, I was joking,” I protested.

Becka waved her hand impatiently. “Yeah, I know, I know. But what if you were?” she said in a tone so urgent it felt like she was trying to impart a movie plot to me without actually describing it.

“You could list me in your social media bio, and your professional contact page. Represented by Rebecca Hanson,” she said, looking off-screen and waving her hands in the air like she was drawing a box around the words.

“Yeah, okay,” I said sceptically, “but what good would that do?”

“Think about it! People follow you because of GVibes, which boosts your profile, and other people filter in to your page on top of that. You list me as your representation, suddenly people know who I am.”

“And that will do exactly what for you?” I asked, leaning my hip against the counter.

Becka shrugged. “Probably not much. But at best it gives me a little bit of credibility. At worst it gives me exactly what I have now. No loss for either of us. Think about it, Ky!”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” I scoffed. “Sure. Go nuts. I’ll put your name on my accounts.”

“No!” Becka said sharply, narrowing her eyes. “Let me do it properly.” She took a breath, nodding to herself. “Let me set some things up, and then–and then you can put me as your PR. Okay?” And for all her previous bravado, she suddenly sounded a little nervous. I had to resist the urge to poke fun at her.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, Becka. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Cool. And I’m gonna sort out your profile page. It looks terrible. And your website.”

“I don’t have a website,” I said calmly.

“Well, you should. I’ll make one for you.”

“Okay, Becka. I’ll leave it all to you. You wanna do my emails, too?” I joked.

“Why? Do you want me to? I can, if you want,” she said eagerly, as if I would be doing her a favour, instead of handing her a poisoned chalice.

I was not good at filing my emails. Or responding to them.

“Becka,” I laughed, “you don’t have to do all that.”

“No. Seriously, let me. I’ve got nothing else going on right now, and I–I kinda wanna see if I can. Can you please be my test subject?”

“Well, when you put it like that.” I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Why not. Saves me the effort of sifting through the spam.”

Becka clapped. “Yay! This is gonna be fun. You are now officially represented!”

“I’m not paying you,” I said wryly.

Becka waved a hand. “We’ll work out compensation at a later date.”

“The fuck we will,” I laughed.

I spent the rest of the morning in my hotel room trying to write, but I kept getting distracted. I kept compulsively picking up my phone, opening my social media, reading comments and staring at usernames like I might recognise them. I went back and looked at my Seoul photos. I tried to compare the view from our balcony to any that Ace and Lee might have posted from theirs, which had been a couple of floors above the apartment Jihoon and I had shared. I could see what the woman had meant. If I squinted and tilted my head to the side.

Deciding I needed to reconnect with the real world, I put on my shoes and headed out. The hotel wasn’t far from Hyde Park, so I took myself for a stroll to regain some perspective.

But my brain kept sticking on the interaction from the night before. It played on a loop in my head like a merry-go-round.