“Pretty long queue,” Nate says. “Should we go to Shake Shack instead?”
“Should we go to Shake Shack instead? Can you hear yourself?” I shake my head at him in disbelief. I take one final snap, then walk up to the bouncer, who stares at me like I’m actual shit. “We should be on the guest list,” I tell him, attempting a winning smile.
The big guy takes a deep breath. “Whose list?”
“Leila Bhatia?”
The guy runs his finger lazily down his clipboard like he really doesn’t believe me. Then he stops, his finger hovering. “Names?”
“Jack Parker, Nate Harrison and Elliot Poppet.”
Elliot winces slightly, like he always does when anyone says his surname, because he’s had a lifetime of people either taking the piss out of it, or declaring it the cutest surname they’ve ever heard.
The bouncer looks at me again, then gives a small nod.
What’s that meant to mean? Do we go in? I glance at Nate and mouth, “What’s going on?” Nate just shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, all awkward.
The guy eventually unclips one of the ropes, like he’s in no rush whatsoever, and cocks his head for us to walk through.
“Oh!” I say. “Great! Thank you!”
But the bouncer is too busy eyeing up a young woman in a short skirt to take any notice of us. Anyway, we’re into the moody, dark lobby, where there’s just a shiny black counter with two glamorous women standing behind it, and a set of lifts to the left. I’m totally expecting, having passed the first quest, that we’ll now be asked a complex riddle, along the lines of, “One of these lifts leads to the party, and the other leads to instant death – you may ask us one question before you make your choice, but you need to know: one of us always lies, and one of us always tells the truth!” I swallow, because this is it. I’m on the cusp of finally being where I’ve always wanted to be. I’m not going to need Dylan to validate my existence when we’re back at school in September. I’ll be in the big time all by myself. As long as we clear this final hurdle. One of the women smiles and says, “What are you looking for?”
“Um … the YouTubers party?” I say.
She nods and smiles. “Third floor.”
“Thanks!” I say, pressing the button for the lift. “This is all very smooth,” I whisper to Nate and Elliot.
“Right?” Elliot replies. “No one seems bothered that I’m only just sixteen!”
“Pipe down!” I tell him. “Besides, all the YouTubers are young, the hotel must be cool with it. The law applies less if you’re rich, everyone knows it.”
There’s a ping and the lift doors open. “This is it, boys, this is the moment.”
“What moment’s that?” Nate frowns.
“The moment we move into the upper tier of influencer society! The moment we can say we’ve made it, we’re here. Who needs a promise ring and some scabby trip to a naff Spanish island when you’re at one of London’s top hotels with all the movers and shakers?” I get my phone out again and take a selfie of us all in the lift. I’ll caption it Moving on up! because that’s clever and will hopefully piss Dylan off.
It’s the smoothest lift I’ve ever been in. How the other half move between floors!
The lift doors open on to some kind of nirvana.
Fabulous people are everywhere. I have literally never seen so many beautiful individuals in one place. The clothes, the hair, the aura they’re giving off, it’s electric. Billowing drapes hang down around the room, sectioning off different areas which promise more fabulousness beyond; there are massive candles inside huge glass jars on the tables and central bar area; there are people with video cameras shooting interviews, and others getting photographs taken, using proper cameras, in front of a set of giant display boards which have various brand logos on them, just like you see at the movies!
“Drinks?”
I blink at the waitress standing before us with a silver tray on which there are various glasses.
“Champagne, white and red wine, gin and tonic, or we have soft drinks at the bar too,” she says.
Are we allowed this? I’ve no idea. I don’t want to look at Nate or Elliot, in case that looks weird and gives the game away, so I just confidently take a glass of champagne. Elliot does the same. So does Nate.
“Cheers, thanks, that’s awesome!” Elliot says, in a really high voice that definitely gives the game away.
The waitress smiles and weaves her way back into the crowd.
“Is this free? Do we have to pay?” Nate asks.
“Just go with the flow!” I tell him.
“Because I only have ten quid and a five-pound book token on me,” he continues.
“Let’s find Leila Bhatia,” I suggest. I glance at him. “Relax.”
He just scowls and does anything but. I know this isn’t Nate’s sort of place, but he needs to understand this will be the icing on our Instagram cake. He’ll get over it. Besides, Nate is generally cross and grumpy at everything. We could be lying on the most opulent feather-soft pillows being fed peeled grapes by hot boys, and he’d still find reason to scowl.
“Love you,” I mouth.
He gives me daggers and I laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
NATE
The lift doors open on to some kind of hellscape.
Terrible people are everywhere. I have literally never seen so many utter tossers in one place. The clothes, the hair, the aura they’re all giving off – it’s nauseating. The whole space is a fire hazard, a high-risk mix of flapping material, huge candles and eau de
