TweetyGram

33 - #TweetyGramFever

The woman standing before us had long, jet-black hair tied up in a neat ponytail, but she was a spitting image of Paris. The shocked look on her face—the same one Paris had sported when she'd been caught lying about what she'd spent her summer doing—convinced me she was, indeed, my friend, Paris Xu.

"What are you doing here?" My eyes flicked to the logo on her T-shirt, and I furrowed my brow. "Are you working here?"

It was a stupid question. Of course, she was working there. Why else would she wear a T-shirt with the store's logo and greet the customers?

Paris tried to wipe the shock off her face and let out an awkward laugh. "Y-you must mistake me for ParisInParis, huh? I get that a lot. We just have those super ordinary—"

"Oh, cut it out, Paris," Sera retorted. "We've known you since we were ten."

Paris's eyes darted between the three of us, her mouth opened slightly, and her lower lip trembled. "You must be mistaken. I mean, ParisInParis is in Paris, and her hair's like a pineapple, mine is black. See?" She grabbed the end of her ponytail and wiggled it.

True, when we'd had the band meeting a few weeks ago, Paris's hair was dyed green and yellow, and in her latest post, her hair still had the same color. But there was a simple explanation of how she could switch her hair color in such a short time.

"You wore a wig in your photos." I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "Or are you wearing a wig now?"

Paris opened her mouth to argue, but no sound came out.

While we waited for Paris to explain herself, Nat gasped, hand to her chest. "Oh, my God, you're a TweetyFox."

Sera and I gasped in horror.

I probably should've said something; something along the line of I get it. I'm a TweetyFox too. But I was too shocked—and, frankly, too ashamed—to admit that I blatantly lied to my friends about the true nature of my relationship with Jake.

"Alright, alright!" Paris plopped on her bottom and buried her face in her hands. "It's me, okay? I'm not in Paris; I'm in LA, working at my parents' thrift shop."

As Paris started sobbing dramatically, Nat kneeled on the ground beside her and ran a hand up and down her back. "Oh, Paris. What happened? I thought you went to Paris to study."

"I did. But after I got my bachelor's degree, I had trouble finding a job there. I tried working at a jewelry design studio, but they mocked my design, so . . ." Paris hung her head low. "I ended up quitting on my first day."

A wave of sympathy rushed through me, and I kneeled in front of her. "But I thought you were getting your master's degree?"

"I tried, but it was so stressful. After a month, I couldn't take it anymore. I dropped out, so my parents decided to bring me back to LA and gave me an ultimatum: I could marry a well-respected Chinese man they chose for me or I could work at Chaland. I don't want to get married to some random guy, and I don't want to work at their stupid boba chain either. You guys remember I always worked there during my summer vacation and every single day, it was like"—she donned a bubbly grin and injected a cheerful tone into her voice—"good afternoon. Welcome to Chaland. What can I get you?" She dropped her smile, put on her resting bitter face, and mumbled with a flat tone, "Green tea boba with two cups of milk and no sugar. I repeat, no freaking sugar."

Nat, Sera, and I chuckled.

A ghost of a smile flitted over Paris's lips. "I bargained with my parents, and in the end, they let me move back into their house as long as I dye my hair back to black and work here. They had plans of opening a charity shop before I'd gone back to LA anyway, so . . ."