CHAPTER ONE
Penny
“Don’t you usually make it up?” Juliana takes a sip of her coffee, pausing when I flash her a look. “Sorry, what did I say?”
I quickly offer her a smile, sliding my finger around the rim of my empty mug. Beyond the break room, the office is a hub of activity, tapping keys and raised voices as employees arrange media appearances, PR strategies, and generally keep the office running smoothly.
I’m an admin assistant, the lowest of the low in this giant media conglomerate, but I still feel a faint shiver of pride at the way everyone pitches in, doing their best to make the company as successful as possible.
It sure as heck beats waitressing… at least at the restaurant where I worked last year, where the manager was the grumpiest, cruelest man I’ve ever met.
I shake my head, jolting back to the conversation with Juliana. “You’re right. A lot of my advice isn’t based on personal experiences. But I’m not sure I’d say I make it up.”
Juliana nods. She’s a few years older than me at twenty-eight, with long dark hair almost black. She wears her curves easily, owning them in her form-hugging outfits, whereas I do my best to cover mine with baggy clothes.
It’s not that I’m ashamed but I don’t want to single myself out as a mark for bullying.
I try to push that feeling away. I’m twenty. High school is a long way away. There’s no reason for me to think anybody would spontaneously start bullying me.
But life is like that, I guess. Some memories leave a stain.
Juliana smiles. “Why can’t you do the same here?”
We’re talking about my advice blog, Tell Me Everything, which has accumulated a respectable following ever since I started it just last year. I made the website one afternoon on a whim, never dreaming it would grow so quickly to ten thousand loyal readers.
People email in with all sorts of problems, from work stress to relationship advice. The latter is the most awkward because I’ve never even had a real relationship, never had a real date.
So why the heck did I start an advice blog?
I’ve asked myself the same question many times, mostly when I’m lying awake at night, unable to sleep as my mind swims with ideas about my dream career, becoming a talk show host, perhaps as an offshoot of my website.
Tall dreams for a girl who can barely look her friend in the eye.
What freaking planet am I on?
“I’m getting tired of talking out of my ass,” I mutter.
“Hey.” Juliana frowns. “Don’t you dare start throwing a pity party. You don’t talk out of your ass. You’re clearly an empathetic person. I couldn’t do what you do. When you give your advice, Penny, it’s like you become that person. At that point, you don’t need to have lived exactly what they have.”
I shrug, nodding, even as her words expand that hollow feeling in my chest. Last night, somebody wrote a long message, asking for advice about her first date with a long-time crush.
Leaning over my laptop, I’d poised my fingertips over the keys. Normally, I took a few minutes, or up to an hour, to ponder their situation. I do a mental exercise where I really think through their message, imagining myself in their place, brainstorming the best course of action.
It’s much easier when you’re on the outside, free from the confusion of the situation, able to view it objectively.
“I’ve never even been on a date,” I whispered under my breath, dropping my hands, and staring at the message.
The word fraud rose inside my head jackhammering in my chest, making my heart thud.
Juliana sighs. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. It’s not like I can just ask a random stranger out on a date.”
“Why not?”
I laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “I feel like I’ll die of embarrassment just thinking about it.”
“Oh, Penny.” Juliana’s wedding and engagement rings brush against her coffee mug, making a metal clinking sound, reminding me that she’s living a life worlds away from mine. “I don’t think that’s true at all. Just turn on your babble charm.”
I giggle, this time more genuine. Babble charm is what Juliana branded it when we first met, around ten months ago. I was so nervous when I started working here, I couldn’t stop talking, blurting out sentence after sentence, not even conscious of what I was saying.
I thought I came across as the biggest dork in the universe, but Juliana said I was endearing.
“Maybe I’ll shut the blog down,” I mutter.
“Why?” Juliana demands.
“It’s not fair on my readers, acting like I know what’s best for them when I don’t even know what’s best for myself.”
Juliana leans forwards, her eyes narrowing. “Are you okay? You’ve seemed a little off all day.”
My heart pounds harder in my chest. I think about not telling her, but she’s obviously noticed something, and Juliana is my best work friend. Heck, considering how few I have – basically Juliana and my sister – I could say she’s my best friend, period.