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  Eeeee! That’s me! Jimmy Fallon is on TV talking about little old me!

  “Oh, that. No, that’s over, actually. And it was just a fling, nothing serious. I mean, she’s not a serious girl anyway. She’s just one of those YouTubers; they’re pretty much the least interesting people in the entertainment industry. If you can even call what they do ‘entertainment.’ It was nothing and she was a nobody.”

  Wait, what? My face falls and my heart does a staccato beat out of my chest.

  It was nothing and she was a nobody.

  I literally can’t believe what I’ve just heard. I must be imagining this. I have to be imagining this.

  “Whoa, that’s pretty harsh,” Jimmy says just before I slam my finger against the off button.

  In a tingling, light-headed, out-of-body state, I grab my phone. It’s hard to steady my trembling fingers as I clumsily bang out on the touch pad:

  What the hell is going on? Why the HELL would you say that about me?

  This time he writes back within thirty minutes:

  You kissed some other guy. You cheated on me. I saw the photo. We’re over. Don’t contact me again.

  My heart drops to my stomach, and for a moment I’m certain I’m going to faint. Maybe even die. It feels like I’ve been smacked in the face with a pile of bricks. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, I think over and over while the world spins around me, crumbling. I feel the rug being pulled out from underneath me, and suddenly I’m standing on nothing. I’m falling into this vast darkness endlessly, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

  I throw my phone across the room. I have to get those words as far away from me as I possibly can. The wall opposite my bed doesn’t feel far enough. I get under my blankets and hide from the world, hot tears pouring down my cheeks. I can’t tell if I’m hiding because of my shame or because of my anger at the world for turning its back on me. Gwen was right: this thing with Dalton could never last. Maybe what we had was real, but he’s written me off now. It’s all over.

  Gwen, I think then from beneath a pile of satin blends and down feathers. This is her fault. She tweeted that photo. Sure, Ashley took it, but it was Gwen who put it out into the world. What an evil bitch. She wanted to ruin my life? Well, she did, she ruined it good. If it weren’t for stupid Gwen, everything would still be fine, Dalton would still want to be with me; he’d know I’m a loyal person and not some cheater.

  Okay, I think, stay calm, this is good, all I have to do is explain the whole thing to him. Once he understands the situation and that I did NOT kiss Jack, he’ll forgive me. He has to.

  I haul myself out of bed to retrieve my poor little phone from across the room. Unlike my heart, the damage done to my brand-new phone is minimal. I’m about to begin my explanation to Dalton when I see his text again and it hits me: He didn’t even reach out to me to find out if the picture was real. It could have been 100 percent fake—people doctor photos all the time—but he didn’t bother to ask me about it. That means he doesn’t trust me to tell him the truth, he didn’t care enough to figure out the truth, or he was looking for an excuse to dump me. Either that or he’s just a moron. I don’t like any of these options. And what’s more: without asking me if the photo was real, he went on national television and actively, intentionally went out of his way to hit me where it hurts. He knew I’d be watching and he knew how much it would sting to be called those things on national television. What an asshole!

  My devastation morphs into anger. Anger at Dalton for using my insecurities to hit me where it hurts, but also anger at Gwen for deviously taking me down, and anger at Jack for never telling me how he felt back in junior high, and for even suggesting we go to Ben & Jerry’s. I’m angry at Ben & Jerry’s and Triple A and my car battery and Twitter and Pretty Little Liars and myself. The anger swirls hot in my head and then switches back to devastating sadness. These are too many emotions to be feeling all at once. I can’t handle this on my own. There’s only one person who can help me now.

  “MOM!!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and in seconds she’s by my side.

  My mom, who is a literal angel, brings me a pint of mint chocolate cookie ice cream and sits with me on my bed while I cry out the whole story from beginning to end.

  “Honey,” she croons as she rubs my back in small, soothing circles, like she used to do when I was little and would get sick. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being cyberbullied?”

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal.” I sniffle. “I didn’t think it would turn into anything.”

  “You should never keep that sort of thing to yourself. No one should have to deal with bullies alone.”

  “I’m just so disappointed, Mom. He wasn’t who I thought he was at all. He wasn’t a jerk, he really wasn’t.”

  “How people act when they’re hurt is an important indicator of who they are,” she says sagely. “It’s just a good thing this happened so early on, before you gave away a big part of your life to him.”

  “I guess you’re right. But I was so excited about our relationship, and now I just feel like I have nothing to look forward to.”

  “I can think of one thing you have to look forward to.”

  “What?”

  My mom beams. “I’ll give you a hint: you went last year and had the best time of your life, and it’s coming up in less than a week.”

  “Oh my God!” I clap my hands, smiling for the first time in hours. “Coachella!”

  “There you go!” My mom kisses the top of my head and leaves me to be with my thoughts.

  Wait, my mood falls and so does my face, how will I possibly have fun at Coachella if I haven’t made up with Ellie? My stomach clenches with panic at the thought of not having my best friend with me at Coachella. It will be nothing without her. What if she never forgives me?

  I take out my phone and type:

  Ellie, can I please, PLEASE talk to you? I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.

  To my absolute horror, she writes back instantly:

  Well, that works out well, because I can’t begin to listen.

  * * *

  TUTORIAL #8

  What to Wear to a Music Festival

  I don’t know about you guys, but I want to go to tons of music festivals this year, the very most exciting one of course being COACHELLA!! Sometimes it can be kinda overwhelming trying to think up the perfect outfits to wear to these festivals, so I thought I’d help y’all out by giving you some ideas!

  1. Outfit number uno is a cute red dress from Urban Outfitters that’s pretty short and has a cool white flower sort of bandana pattern on it. I’d pair it with a white lace choker and a bunch of bracelets, a suede hat, and boots from Forever 21. The key to all these outfits is going to be lots of layers. Layer on as much jewelry and as many other accessories you can think of, because that’s what pulls the whole outfit together.

  2. The majority of music festivals are going to be really hot, so sometimes it’s a good idea to just wear a bathing suit top with some high-waisted shorts and again, accessories! Try a wraparound headband or an upper arm bracelet, that sort of thing. Bonus points for flash tattoos!

  3. Outfit number three is one of my favorites because it’s super girlie and I can be pretty girlie sometimes. It’s a white crop top/peasant shirt hybrid sort of thing that hangs off the shoulders, paired with some layered necklaces, a fringed purse, some booties, sunglasses, and you’re good to go!

  4. This next one may actually be my favorite: high-waisted denim shorts with a pastel crop top and a really cute fringe suede vest layered on top. When it comes to accessories for this outfit, I would tie a bandana around my neck or my arm or even in my hair—they’re super cute and an interesting alternative to jewelry.

  5. Last but so very not least is a lilac-toned maxi dress with muted pink vertical stripes, black booties, and a flower crown, because what’s a music festival without a flower crown?

  If you’re going to any festivals this year, I h
ope you steal some of my outfit ideas and have the most fun ever!

  You’re my everything goals.

  Lots of love, Harper

  * * *

  CHAPTER 13

  ••••••••••

  King Kong vs. Mighty Joe Young vs. Man Bun

  Disneyland is great, I love Disneyland, don’t get me wrong, but it is not the happiest place on earth. The happiest place on earth, IMHO, is COACHELLA.

  Or maybe it’s Disneyland. No, it’s Coachella. No, wait, Disneyland? Ugh, so hard to decide.

  Anyway, as heartbroken as I am over the whole Dalton thing, I just know heading to the desert for a weekend of music and parties will cheer me up at least a little bit. There’s really nothing like dancing your woes away. Really, you should try it.

  The lineup this year is so exciting: M83 and Purity Ring and Guns N’ Roses and Robert DeLong and Sia and CHVRCHES and Flume and the Chainsmokers and Ice Cube! And that’s just the beginning! I’m so pumped up about it that for almost a whole hour I forget to be miserable about losing both my best friend and my boyfriend in the span of one week.

  For day one I dress myself in denim shorts and a bikini top layered with a suede fringe vest, then tie a blue bandana in my hair and hit the Coachella field with Natalie and Andrea, two fellow YouTubers whom I used to hang out with before I met Ellie. It’s not that I stopped wanting to hang out with them, it’s just that when I met Ellie we clicked so much that the idea of spending time with anyone else suddenly seemed like a lot less fun. God, I am the worst. She did nothing wrong and I attacked her, accused her of betrayal. If I were her, I’d never speak to me again. The thought brings me to the verge of tears.

  “Whoa, Harper, are you okay?” Natalie asks from beneath her fashionably oversize flower crown. It’s three in the afternoon and the sun is hot as we head to the Outdoor Theatre to see Robert DeLong.

  “What?” I blink a couple of times and thank God for my waterproof mascara. “I’m fine.”

  “Forget about him, BB.” Andrea, who is a tiny pixie of a girl, grips my shoulders and leverages herself onto me in a piggyback situation. “That guy’s an idiot. He’s mad because he thought you kissed another guy? Do you know how many girls he actually kissed while he was dating Jade Taylor?”

  “No.”

  “Me either,” Andrea admits. “But that’s beside the point. The point is, it had to have been a lot, and he’s a total hypocrite for breaking up with you over some alleged kiss.”

  “But I didn’t kiss anyone. Ugh, it’s just so—­no, you know what, it doesn’t matter. That’s not even what I’m sad about.”

  “Then what’s the matter?” Natalie asks, sounding slightly irked, like I’m threatening to ruin her fun and she’s in no mood for it.

  “Nothing, nothing.” I brush it all off. “We’re at Coachella, aka paradise. Nothing is wrong when you’re at Coachella.”

  “Atta girl, leave your troubles at the door.” She whoops appreciatively and grins.

  “Are we gonna be brave enough to ride the Ferris wheel this year?” asks Andrea, hopping off my back. The Ferris wheel in question is the third largest in the world, after the London Eye and Le Grande Roue de Paris. So, thanks but no thanks.

  “Mayyybeeee,” Natalie says.

  “Not in a million years,” I say at the same time.

  “Oh, come on, we’ll regret it if we never give it a shot!” Andrea insists. That’s exactly what Ellie would say, I think to myself, getting sad again.

  “We’ll regret it even more if we’re on it when Mighty Joe Young decides to stomp over Coachella grounds and angrily knock us over,” I counter, feeling pretty satisfied with my argument.

  “Who the hell is Mighty Joe Young?” Natalie asks.

  “He was a giant gorilla,” I explain very matter-of-factly.

  “In real life?” Natalie is skeptical.

  “No, dummy,” I laugh. “From a movie.”

  “Wasn’t that King Kong?” This from Andrea.

  “He was a different giant gorilla.”

  “There were two giant gorillas? What’s the difference?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. King Kong climbed to the top of the Empire State Building and Mighty Joe Young climbed a giant Ferris wheel. I think Mighty Joe Young was just a nineties knock-off.”

  “Whoa. Why does nobody ever talk about this?” Natalie’s eyes are wide and full of wonder, as if we’ve just made a profound discovery. I know this seems like the most ridiculous conversation ever, but it is the type of conversation most appropriate for Coachella. That’s part of what makes it such a magical place. About one hundred thousand times less magical when you’re missing your best friend, of course.

  * * *

  By sunset on Saturday, my legs are so sore they feel like they’re about to buckle underneath me at any moment, but I’m happy as a clam. The combination of lots of sun and an endless stream of music really hits the spot. We danced our butts off to Halsey at the Outdoor Theatre, and then frolicked (literally) to the Coachella Stage for Ice Cube, and five minutes ago, we flashed our VIP wristbands and were let into the exclusive little quadrant up front by the stage (oh, the perks of being a YouTube star).

  “Oh my god,” Natalie grabs my arm a mere seconds into the show, “it’s Jade Taylor.”

  I follow her gaze and find there in fact, like the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, is Jade Taylor, looking more insanely fabulous than ever before, wearing an effortlessly cool white crop top, a matching skirt that sways perfectly with her body as she moves, pink patent leather flatform gladiator sandals, and a pair of big black Ray-Bans even though it’s nighttime. Flaw. Less.

  “Are you gonna talk to her?” asks Andrea.

  “You have to,” says Natalie.

  “What? Why do I have to?”

  “Because you were both hurt by the same guy! And also because I want to meet her.”

  I honestly have no idea how to handle this situation. My instinct is to hide behind a garbage can until the show is over and Jade leaves. The adult voice in my head tells me that introducing myself would be the ultra mature thing to do (not to mention the right thing to do), but when do I ever listen to that voice?

  My two instincts are bickering with each other and I’m actually almost about to go say hi to Jade Taylor when I see someone much more important to me: Ellie. She’s on the other side of the VIP barricade with some girls I don’t know, bumping along to the music. Our eyes meet, practically in slow motion, and she looks away.

  Just then I see a tall guy with a man bun (gross) standing behind her lean in and say something in her ear. I’m way too far away and the music is way too loud for me to hear what he said, but she looks appalled. He leans in again, this time to kiss her, and she backs away. None of her friends notice. They’re too busy cheering as Snoop Dogg makes a surprise appearance onstage. Man Bun grabs Ellie’s arm and I see her struggling to get free. That’s it. I can’t watch this anymore. A third and more powerful instinct takes over: I wriggle through the VIP crowd and hop the barricade into the general admission crowd (a much rowdier crowd, no doubt), then trudge over to Ellie and Man Bun.

  “Hey, what’s your problem?” I shout, wildly high on adrenaline. “Leave her alone!” Ellie is stunned to see me, especially since I bounded in out of nowhere like that.

  “She can speak for herself, Superwoman,” he says like a sarcastic jerk, sliding his arm back around her waist. Then there’s nothing I can do to control myself: I swing my leg back and then kick him straight in the balls. He buckles to the floor.

  “Come on!” I say to Ellie, grabbing her hand. She holds on to me and I pull her over the barricade and into the VIP section, safe from Man Bun.

  “Oh my god,” Ellie pants, “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “Look, I know you can stand up for yourself, I’ve seen it, but that guy was truly a creep and this urge just sort of took over. I had to do something.”

  “Wow. Thanks, Harper.” For a minute it look
s like she’s about to give me one of her signature Ellie smiles, but then her face shutters over and she looks away from me and starts to turn to leave.

  I grab her arm, desperate to have my BFF back. “Ellie, I was so horrible to you. I know you’re not @ThatBitchHarper, I know you’re a loyal friend and would never do something like that to me. I can’t believe I accused you. I should have never questioned your friendship. If anything, it’s me who’s been questionable. If you’ll let me, I really want to make it up to you. Please.”

  “You know what?” Ellie takes a deep breath and smiles. “I think you already have.”

  * * *

  We spend an hour laughing and catching up. I tell her all about Dalton and London and Gwen and Jimmy Fallon, the horror of it all, and before I know it, we’re on top of the Ferris wheel dangling over all of Coachella Valley.

  “See? Didn’t I tell you it would be magical up here?” Ellie asks.

  “I can’t look, I can’t look,” I say, my hands pressed against my eyes.

  “We’re safe up here, you psycho,” she teases. “Let me guess, you’re worried Mighty Joe Young is going to show up?”

  “How did you know?!”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, get a grip.” So I clutch her arm with all my might and glance up instead of down. I can see Andrea and Natalie in the car in front of us, calmly taking selfies and eating their frozen lemonade. Ah, to be carefree and unafraid of heights or giant gorillas. “Okay, no, look down. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  I hold my breath and take the plunge, looking down while I dig my acrylic nails into poor Ellie. Then I gasp: it’s stunning. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Palm trees lit up in neon green and pink and purple; glowing orbs of light emanating from the tents, making them look like jellyfish; rippling shadows of people dancing projected onto grass and sand; dust swirling up, turning everything soft with a golden halo effect.