17
Syd chases me down the hallway. "Ruthie! Wait up," he calls.
I don't want to see him or anyone else right now. My ever-present camera is here to capture the moment. Plus, I now know there are cameras hidden all over the ship, so the viewing audience won't have to miss a moment of my meltdown. The tears I had been attempting to stifle are now running freely down my cheeks. I'm fairly confident they are leaving mascara streaks to serve as further evidence that I am indeed the hot mess my BFF has told the world I am.
I'm not in any mood to talk. I just want to be alone, but Syd is not having any part of that. He easily catches up to me and gently touches my arm––evidently remembering about my sunburn. "Are you okay?" he asks me, seeming honestly concerned.
"Did you know?" I turn on him
