The Real Evie Chase - Book cover

The Real Evie Chase

Riss Concetta

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EVIE

Three Years Earlier:

I didn’t understand what was happening.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I stood there, clutching my lunch tray in shaking hands.

The sun beat down on my shoulders, while the September wind sent a shiver down my spine.

The pounding of my heart throbbed in my ears as curious eyes bore into me and laughter slithered through the crowd.

All I had done was step onto the courtyard grass, when everyone fell into hysterics. Even with Valerie right beside me, I was completely singled out.

The spotlight was on me, and there was no way to escape its scorching heat.

“Ev-e-lyn,” a sweet voice cooed as a blonde figure lifted herself off one of the stone tables and came toward me.

Grace—the girl I’d once viewed as a really close friend, and who was currently my best friend’s girlfriend.

Wait. Adam.

Where was he?

I was just with him fifteen minutes before, walking down the hall to the cafeteria to grab food before we went our separate ways.

He had to be somewhere out here—this was where he usually ate lunch, with his other, more popular friends.

Lunch at school was one of the few times the two of us weren’t together.

Reluctantly, I brought my attention back to Grace.

She cleared her throat while pulling a piece of paper from her back pocket.

With a smile, she glanced first up at me and then to either side of her before reading aloud:

“‘Raven hair, chocolate eyes, a love for you I can’t disguise.Something about us feels like fate, but all I’m feeling is heartbreak.If only you could see that it’s you and me. Me and you.If only you could see that I do everything for you while she—’”

My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach, and I cringed. I tried my best to tune her out, but those were MY words.

That was my song.

“Wait, no. Grace, stop!”

I dropped my tray onto the trashcan nearby and charged over to tear the paper from her manicured fingers.

As I got closer, Grace spoke the last line of the chorus.

“‘And, baby, it’s you. With me is just—” She let out a loud guffaw. “just where you belong.’ This is impressive, Evelyn,” Grace mocked when she looked back up at me. “Truly inspiring.”

Her comment was followed by a rumble of laughter.

It felt like someone had punched me repeatedly in the gut.

When the two of us finally came nose to nose, I tried to grab the page from her, to no avail.

“Where did you get this?” I demanded.

That song was never meant to be seen by anyone—ever. None of my songs were meant to be heard.

I kept them hidden in the depths of my room in an old notebook buried under all of my socks.

Grace shouldn’t have had any idea that the notebook even existed.

No one knew it existed, except for...

Adam.

“Who’s it about, Evelyn?” Grace asked. “Oh, wait.” She held the sheet up and pointed to the paragraph written above the song. “You spelled it all out right there.”

“Give it back.” I attempted to take the paper from her again, but she yanked it away.

“I’ll give it back if you say it. Who’d you write this about? Who’s the ‘love of your life’? The guy who doesn’t see how much the two of you are ‘meant to be’?”

It felt harder and harder to breathe, like the embarrassment was suffocating me. I knew where feelings like this would eventually lead.

In fear, I surveyed the crowd again.

Where was Adam?

Usually, the two of us didn’t need words. Seven years as best friends and having known each other since we were in diapers had us totally in sync, despite being so different.

He was charming, confident, and popular, and I had a proclivity for awkward situations.

I was too shy for my own good sometimes, and considered myself lucky if people remembered my actual name.

But our friendship worked. We worked.

And right now, I needed him to back me up. I needed him to be there for me, like we’d always promised we would for each other.

Where was he?

***

Present day:

I came to in a cold sweat on the bathroom floor, with Pam looming over me.

But there was another presence—another pair of arms cradling me, protecting me. A comforting hand dabbing at my forehead with a cloth.

I turned my pounding head around…

Mom.

Trusty and reliable. Simultaneously a parent, a manager, and a whole slew of other professions—teacher, life coach, stylist, and—currently—nurse.

My sisters and I often referred to her as our momager. Managing our careers was how she demonstrated her love.

Physical affection, on the other hand, was not one of Hillary Chase’s natural tendencies.

Which was why I was surprised to find her rocking me there on the floor.

Fortunately, she had been in the same building, managing a separate shoot with Addison.

I thanked my lucky stars she could be there with me, even if the current coddling and concern felt a bit suffocating.

“Evelyn,” she breathed.

She glanced up at Pam. “Could you give us a moment?”

Pam stifled a sigh, still visibly in work mode, but exited respectfully.

While both women shared power over my career, Mom always got the final say.

Once we were alone, she narrowed her eyes at me and said sternly, “We’re wiping your schedule for the rest of the day. You can go home to relax. I’ll have Mickey drive you.”

Frantically, I tried sitting up, but she held me tighter.

“But the premiere—” I started to protest.

I so rarely had the opportunity to catch up with my older sister; I wanted to go see and support her.

My mother was not having it.

“Evelyn, you’re clearly far too stressed out for something like that tonight.”

Stressed. Sure. That’s all, I doubted my own thoughts.

“You’re juggling so many roles and responsibilities right now. You have your upcoming album, the tour…”

“I’ll just deal with all that when it gets here. But for now, I’m fine,” I said in the most convincing tone I could muster, “and I’m going to the premiere.”

Though clearly still uneasy, my mom loosened her grip enough to let me wiggle away and stand up slowly, fending off wooziness.

“You don’t look fine,” she remarked as I made my way weakly to the mirror.

I ran my hand over my hair, fixing up my appearance and deciding not to respond.

Do I really feel fine?

No, but I have an obligation, right?

Not only to my family, but to my fans and my career.

Ideally, I would simply be able to detach myself from my feelings far enough to make it through the night. Disassociate, like I’d done before.

If I could keep my mind from spiraling back to that day in the courtyard freshman year…

To Adam. To Grace.

Why am I even thinking about them? It’s been three years.

What’s wrong with me?

Pam chose then to step back inside the bathroom.

“How’s she doing?” she asked my mom, stirring a groan from me.

Sometimes I hated how they all talked about me, around me, and over me, as if I weren’t even in the space.

I’m seventeen years old! I wished I could scream. ~I can speak for myself!~

“She claims she feels well enough to attend the premiere tonight,” Mom reported, sounding hesitant.

“Oh, wonderful, thank goodness.”

The door flew open again—almost off its hinges this time—admitting Damon, camera in hand.

Oh, come on, I thought.

Mom rolled her eyes, demonstrating my annoyance. “Jesus!”

“We need to redo all the shots we just got,” he announced, probably more dramatically than necessary.

Pam exploded. “Are you kidding me?! You think we have the time for that?! We have to get Evie ready for the premiere and—”

“Her eyes, though—just check these out real fast,” he persisted, offering a view of the camera screen. “Her gaze is all empty and spacey. It looks weird. Kinda freaky.”

Pam sighed. “He’s right,” she conceded.

Frustrated, but always ready for action, my publicist clasped her hands together.

“All right, then. Let’s all just rush back to the room and speed through another round, all hands on deck, and—”

“Enough!” Mom suddenly cried out.

She swung her arms wide, quieting both of them. Even my buzzing thoughts fell silent under her booming voice.

“That’s it. We are done for the day. We’re shutting this down and heading home—”

“No!” I objected with far more intensity than I’d intended.

Every face swiveled toward me, just like they had in the schoolyard that afternoon.

Spotlight on me. Burning hot.

It seemed to chase and find me wherever I darted, whether in a crowded Connecticut courtyard or a cramped bathroom in L.A.

But in this instance, I would take advantage of the attention. Use it to voice my own choice, even if that choice meant further stress for me.

It was what would benefit more people overall.

Plus, if I had any hope of rebuilding my crumbled support system, I needed to start with my relationships to my siblings.

And that would require loyalty, no matter the cost.

“I’m going to the premiere,” I stated plainly. “For my sister.”

But deep down, I was still filled with doubt. This was the worst panic attack I’d had in years.

Could I keep my anxiety under control long enough to get through the night?

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