I can’t just mope around, constantly looking at my phone and wondering if he’s going to text or call. That’s going to drive me crazy.
“I need to do something with myself,” I tell Margot, but she just yawns. If only I could be as content as she is with afternoon naps in patches of yellow sunlight.
Half an hour later, I’m in my yoga pants and an old T-shirt, unrolling my worn green yoga mat in front of the TV. Yoga usually helps me center myself, and I need to do something about this lonely ache in my chest before it swallows me whole.
I select an intermediate yoga practice and start moving through the poses, syncing my breath to each movement until I’m flowing without thinking. And it feels amazing. Finally, I’m not thinking about Dex, not wishing he were on my couch with a controller in his hands. I’m just in my body, breathing through each asana, feeling my feet on the mat and the sun on my face.
But then my phone starts to ring, completely shattering my focus. I’d typically silence it, but my mind’s been . . . elsewhere.
A little spark of hope flares to life in my chest.
Is it him?
I hop up and run into the kitchen, then reach to grab my phone off the table. As soon as I turn it over, my hope goes out.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Have you seen what’s going on?” Her voice is so exasperated that I take a moment to blink in surprise.
“What do you mean?”
There’s rapid tapping on the other end of the line, and then my phone chimes with a new text message. “A girlfriend of mine from the pickleball club sent that to me.”
“Hang on.” I put her on speaker, then pull up the new message.
A photo fills my screen, and a big bold headline underneath it reads, Who’s Dex Reid’s New Girl?
The breath leaves my chest in one whoosh when I realize the girl in the picture is me. It’s from the night at the club, when we stepped out the back entrance of Velvet only to be bombarded by paparazzi. Dex has his arm around my shoulders, and my bare legs are stark in contrast to his tight white jeans, the chain hanging off his hip reflecting in the blinding lights.
“Oh my god,” I whisper when I scroll down and see that the journalist has written an entire article about me, Dex, and our song, “Ghost.”
“Did you tell them all of this?” Mom asks.
Quickly skimming the article, I’m shocked to find they’ve dug up information about where I grew up, the schools I attended, and even that I play professionally with the LA Orchestra. I suppose most of this would be relatively easy to find if someone really wanted to know about me, but seeing it splashed across a gossip column makes my stomach turn.
And that’s not all the journalist has to say. She goes on to speculate about my relationship with Dex, then makes my heart sink when she compares me to Dex’s ex, Serena White. I read on, and tears prick the corners of my eyes.
In the aftermath of his highly publicized breakup with Hollywood starlet Serena White, the spotlight has shifted once again onto Loaded God Complex’s leading man, Dex Reid. Known for his string of glamorous romances, the singer’s latest choice of companion has left many scratching their heads.
Unlike the sultry socialites who’ve graced Dex Reid’s arm in the past, classical violinist Nora Miller has raised eyebrows and ignited a storm of debate across social media platforms.
While some are quick to dismiss their night out as nothing more than platonic, others question the singer’s intentions, suggesting that his association with Miller may actually be a rebound in the wake of his recent breakup.
What do you think? Comment down below and tell us, How far has Dex Reid really fallen?
“They’re comparing me to Serena White,” I say into the phone, and a tear tracks down my cheek.
“Oh, honey, that’s just gossip. I thought you knew about this.”
“No! Of course not! How would I?”
There’s a brief pause, and I know my mom is leaving something left unsaid.
“What is it?” I ask, voice low.
“You should check your Tribe.”
A stone lands in my stomach.
Oh my god.
Putting my mom on speakerphone, I quickly tap the Tribe widget on my phone screen. It’s been so long since I last used it, it takes thirty seconds to update, but those seconds feel like minutes.
Finally, the app loads, and up in the right-hand corner, which usually has one or two notifications from friends who’ve liked my pictures of Margot, the number reads 999+.
And I make the mistake of tapping it.
Instantly, I’m bombarded with likes and comments on my photos. Some of them are sweet, but my brain barely registers the nice things people have to say; instead, it homes in on all the hate.
I scroll to the picture of Margot that Dex liked, and the comment he left on the photo has thousands of replies. People are carrying out full conversations, speculating about what I mean to Dex, then others swoop in to assure everyone there’s no way he’d be into someone like me.
@LunarLioness: All I can say is EW.
@Dex’s_Girl: Def not Dex Reid material.
@Olivia Isabella: At least her cat is cute.
More notifications come in, and when I click on one, it pulls up the picture of me, Jordan, and Alisha just before we left the house for our night out. Similarly, it has thousands of comments, and I wonder briefly if Jordan and Alisha are getting bombarded with hate now that they’re associated with me.
