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Alistair is already back there getting some footage of the models.”
    Paige points at me. “I think you need to stay out here and hold onto this table.”
    “Okay …” I nod, but I’m imagining a showdown with Brogan over her seating arrangement.
    “Don’t worry,” Paige assures me. “It would be terribly bad manners for our hostess to try to bump us from our seats.”
    “Right.”
    Paige and JJ head into the tent-like cabana that’s right next to the platform. I think it must be where the staging area and dressing room are set up. As I sit here feeling uncomfortable about our little table switch, I suddenly remember Mollie’s warning about watching our backs. Then I realize that’s pretty paranoid. Paige is right. Brogan wouldn’t make a scene. Not with all these people starting to sit down.
    As I wait for Paige, the music begins to play and drinks and appetizers are served. I take a sip of my strawberry lemonade and begin to relax. It’s reassuring to see Fran sitting over on the sidelines in the shade, with a water bottle in hand. I hope she’s okay. I’m tempted to go check on her, but don’t want to abandon this table. So I wave, and she waves back.
    Then I see Paige coming back out with JJ and Alistair on her heels. She is still smiling and looking fresh and pretty in a very classic Grace Kelly sort of way. I notice heads turn to follow her, and people chatting amongst themselves, no doubt about her. I realize, again, that my sister really has that “special something.” And while I’m happy for her and somewhatproud, I always feel cautious too when all that attention is heaped on Paige. I’ve seen the whole fame thing turn on her. So has she. You never want to get too comfortable in the spotlight. It can burn you.
    “Hey there,” she says as she eases herself into the chair by me, gracefully crossing one leg over the other as a waiter scurries over, asking her what she’d like to drink.
    She orders a Diet Coke then nods over to the hot spot table, which is still empty. “I’ll bet those boys don’t even show,” she says to me quietly. “We could’ve been stuck sitting over there in the hot seats while this table remained vacant.”
    “You’re probably right.” But the words are barely out when I notice some familiar faces. “Don’t look now,” I tell Paige, “but Benjamin and Vince have arrived.” Then my jaw drops.
    “What?” she demands without turning to see.
    I make a speedy recovery, pasting a stiff smile on my lips. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m a little surprised to see Blake is with them.”
    “Ben must’ve invited him.”
    “Yeah … right.” I still have a hard time wrapping my head around Ben and Blake’s friendship. Blake reached out to Ben after Mia’s death, hoping to help Ben find God. And that’s cool … except it doesn’t seem that Ben is terribly interested in God. Sometimes I worry about who is influencing who.
    “Poor Blake … stuck with Ben at that sweltering table.” She gets a thoughtful look. “Hey, why don’t you invite Blake to come sit with us?” She nods to a nearby chair. “We can make room.”
    “Oh, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “I think he’d rather be with the boys.”
    She chuckles. “Yeah, right. Baking in the sun?”
    The guys are sitting down, and Benjamin seems to be positioning himself so that he doesn’t look directly at Paige. They put on sunglasses and I suspect they’re just realizing they got the worst table in the place. The expression on Benjamin’s face is so disgruntled that I can’t help but giggle.
    “What is it?” Paige asks.
    “It seems that Benjamin is not pleased with his table.” Just then Blake looks directly at me and I want to crawl under our table. Instead I just smile and make a little finger wave. But as I do this, I feel like such a fake. I’m not even sure why, exactly, except that this whole scene is so not me. Dressing up like this, wearing a sun hat and shades, feels false, like