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Epilogue
Gatsby & Daisy’s Playlist
The Jazz Age: Daisy & Gatsby
Excerpt from Charming Devil
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
The flash of green light from my phone is tempting me.
I should be asleep. Ever since I graduated from UNC, I’ve been staying up way too late. It’s after 2:00 a.m., and I already told myself I was done for the night.
The ceiling fan glides soundlessly overhead, round and round, big, leaf-shaped paddles pushing the artificially chill air through the room. I stare at it, pointedly ignoring that seductive text notification.
No more phone, Daisy. No more scrolling through social media checking up on everyone I know, all the faces of people I used to see every day who have abruptly scattered to this city and that, thrilled to start their exciting new jobs. No one warns you how much it hurts when the people you studied with, ate with, and partied with for four years are just—gone.
Me? I’m taking a gap year. Or a gap summer, I guess. My parents said I could come home for a few months and rest before I start looking for a job and an apartment.
I haven’t told them yet how much I hated college, how close I came to failing. How terrified I am of forging my own path. There’s an empty, echoing hollow inside me where my life plan should be, and it’s not a place I like to visit.
The distraction of my phone could help me with that, could stop me wondering why, oh why I chose to be a communication studies major.
Because I didn’t know what the hell else to do, that’s why.
For a while in high school, I wanted to be a lawyer—the kind that actually helps people who are suffering. I thought I’d join the debate team, get some experience, maybe major in pre-law. But my mild-mannered, easygoing dad shut down the debate team idea so hard, I never brought it up again.
“Our voices have power, Daisy,” he told me. “And I want yours to be heard, but in the right way. You’ve got to be careful how you use it.”
He wouldn’t say any more on the subject. But it felt like a weird echo of things my grandma used to tell me when I was really little, before she passed. “You’ve got the gift of persuasion, ladybug. It’ll only get stronger as you grow.”
She always seemed as if she wanted expand on the topic, but my dad would hustle back into the room, asking brightly what we’d been talking about. He never left the two of us alone very long.
That’s as weird as my family gets, so I guess I’m lucky. Except for the fact that my dad’s veto of the debate team and his clear aversion to the idea of me being a lawyer left me with a bland, all-but-useless major, and I don’t know what to fucking do with it.
Turning my head on the pillow, I glance at the green light, and it winks back at me. There’s some juicy little tidbit waiting, and if I don’t check it, I won’t be able to sleep.
I claw the phone off my nightstand with a sigh of defeat. A swipe and the press of a finger, and I’m in.
A bunch of texts from Jordan Baker fill the screen. Went to the BEST party tonight. You wouldn’t believe this guy’s place. He’s our age, but he’s a billionaire. I’m talking a whole room just for VR tech, five-star catering, pools and a lazy river, goodie bags packed with high-end stuff. Next week he’s having another party and you HAVE to come.
Jordan Baker—the girl who decided to skip college. I knew her back in high school, when she was building her TikTok audience. Now she has millions of followers and patrons. People worship her parkour vids, so they invite her to all kinds of things. Best of all, she makes plenty of money with her stunts, so she doesn’t have to chain herself to a desk all day.
Jordan and I kept in touch, off and on, although after four years apart I’m not sure we can say we’re friends anymore. Even back in high school we used to argue a lot, mostly about the increasing riskiness of her stunt work. Still, I’m touched that she’s inviting me, that she wants to reconnect.
This party could be just what I need to get past what happened with Tom.
