Spotlight on Nobody

- 17 -

~ song: Superposition by Young the Giant ~

Leo spent the night on the couch, and I in my bed. Just because he's America's hottest popstar doesn't mean I'm going to let him dive right into bed with me, even if our make out session last night did make me want to rip my pants off. I'm proud that I stayed strong. I don't know why, but it's important to me to take things slow with Leo. He could have sex with any girl he wanted, at any time. So it's clear that what we have isn't about the physical stuff, as corny as that sounds, and it makes me happy.

Logan picked him up at 9:00 am this morning, which was perfect, because I had a 9:30 class, and as much as I would have loved to spend the whole day with Leo, I had skipped all my Friday classes last week for him, and I couldn't start making it a habit.

Before he left, he handed me a hefty envelope, instructing me not to open it until he was gone. I've been anxious to open it all day. It's not that I hate surprises, it's just that I can never be surprised. My mom blames it on my type A personality – I think through all possible outcomes before anything happens. So all day I had been thinking what could be in the envelope. I ran through thousands of possibilities, from more airline tickets to a glitter bomb, but I settled on one: the pictures we had taken in Chicago. When I had woken up the morning after our night-time adventures, my camera was missing, but I assumed Leo had taken it to get the pictures developed.

I slide my finger under the flap of paper, tearing it into jagged teeth at the fold. 27 pieces of glossy photopaper slip out and onto my bedspread. Lovingly, I pile them up and sift through them one at a time. A few murky shots of a stage washed in a red glow, framing Leo caught in some form of passionate movement; one of him behind the wheel; my face, flushed and framed by white feathers. I sit staring at the last one, us kissing under the bean, the flash reflected in the concave surfaces that surround us, making it look like we're floating in silver light. With a sigh, I try to push the pictures back into the envelope, but they get stuck on the edge of something inside. Confused, I pull a cream pink envelope out of the larger. Ms. Eleanor August Greene is swept in gold embossed calligraphy across the front with "guest of Leonard Griffiths" written in a smaller font underneath.

If there's a glitter bomb in this envelope, I'm never talking to you again.

Just open it Greene.

I grab a knife from the kitchen and return to my room, slipping the knife under the flap of paper and making a clean cut this time – the envelope is too pretty to ruin with animalistic tearing. I take the lack of glitter on my bed as a good sign and pull out a thick sheath of paper, completely covered in gold, save for the letters.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art | Costume Institute Benefit

Requests the presence of your company at the preview and dinner

to celebrate the opening of the exhibition

Camp: Notes on Fashion

Monday, the sixth of May, at six thirty o'clock.

Black Tie

Only when Ella rushes into my room do I realize that I have been screaming.

"What's wrong, what's wrong?" she urgently questions. She rips the paper out of my hand, reading frantically for some bad news. And then she starts screaming too.

"You're going to the motherfucking MET GALA?"

"I don't know!" I yell back as we jump up and around in a total girl-freak-out moment.

"What do you mean you don't know?!?! You HAVE to go Nell!"

My mind is going a million miles a minute. Why did Leo invite me? We've only known each other for two weeks! Isn't there some hot model he can take? How many pounds can I realistically loose in by then? Would I have to walk on the red carpet? Will Beyoncé be there? Why is it on a Monday? Can I skip class again? How will I get there? Would Leo and I show up together?