Spiral by Jacqueline Levine Page B

glares at me, and my interest is piqued the minute I read the subject line.
    Cherie.
    I blink. I squint at the screen and swallow. What about Cherie?
    Should I read it? I want to read it.
    I shouldn’t read it. I shake my head to myself, and I almost want to slam the laptop closed and walk away before I do something I shouldn’t. Almost.
    But I can’t stop myself. Hesitantly, I click on the email’s subject and open the message.
    From: Goldman, Jim ( [email protected] )
    To: Eva Goldman
    Subject: Cherie
    Did you see this? Should we talk to them?
    www.dirterazzi.com/articles/cherie-belle-new-love-affair-A-Romantic-Comedy / Sent from my iPhone
    Love affair? With who? Who’s
them
? I read and reread the link over and over to myself. Twinges of curiosity are overshadowed by flames of jealousy that resonate through my limbs. I want to look. The mere title of the article makes me furious. Now I know I shouldn’t go any further. I don’t want to know who she’s dating.
    So even Jim’s reading the gossip sites? What is wrong with everyone?
    My hands are sweating. My heart beats rapidly inside my chest. I don’t know why this is getting me this upset, but it is, and I get even angrier that I am so angry about Cherie’s stupid love affair and Jim’s gossip site prying.
    I am also mad that my thirst for the details of that article is begging to be quenched. My curious side begs,
If everyone is going ahead and reading about her and forwarding it around, why can’t I?
    No, I can’t do that,
I tell myself.
    I don’t want to know who she is dating. I didn’t want to know that she is dating someone at all.
    I pace between my window and my front door, trying to calm down, trying to count to ten, but none of it is working. I have to go for a run. I have to clear my head. I pull up the blinds of my window and scan the dark street for photographers. There are a few waiting in their cars beside our sidewalks, so I decide to go out of the back door.
    After pulling on my sneakers and my sweatshirt, I pound down the stairs and into the kitchen. Cherie is sitting at the table, painting bright pink polish on Britney’s fingernails, and the image of them sitting together, Cherie doting on her so lovingly, does something to melt my insides as I step closer. They both look up when I enter the room.
    “Jackie, look!” Britney is glowing, holding up a set of perfectly painted nails that match Cherie’s.
    “Nice,” I nearly grunt, trying to show approval with a small smile. Oblivious, Britney returns her attention to the table.
    “Hey,” Cherie says cheerily. I smile tightly. She is wearing an over-sized sweater that swallows her whole upper body and tiny shorts that do very little to cover her legs, which are long and thin. Her hair is held in one long ponytail that drapes over her shoulder. Her green eyes look so big on her drawn, hollowed face, but she’s still as pretty as pretty can get. I don’t know if it’s because she is a celebrity or if I’m just that attracted to her, but she gives me those butterflies like movies and books always talk about. It’s really annoying, and I hate it.
    “Hi.” I head straight for the refrigerator and pull out a water bottle, trying not to stare at her.
    “Where are you headed?” she asks with pep.
    “For a run,” I say quickly. I feel bad speaking so brusquely to her, but I feel like a thousand curses will fly out of my mouth right now if I open it too much.
    She glances at the clock and then back at me. “It’s almost 8 o’clock at night.”
    I shrug, growing irritated. “So?”
    Cherie squints at me. “Is everything okay?”
    I hate being such an easy read. “Yeah, fine. Just want to work out, that’s all.”
    “You just seem…I don’t know, angry or something.” Her face falls. “I hope I wasn’t prying too much before, you know.” She thinks I’m mad at her, I’ll bet. I’m not, but maybe I sort of am. I shouldn’t be though, and I’m definitely not