“I’m fine,” she said. “Just drop me at Dakota’s. I’ll borrow a shirt.”

There was little point in asking Spencer the same question. The white clothes highlighted the damage. One side of his head and face was soaked with coffee-thinned jam. It dripped from his ear and down his shoulder. The majority of it was pooled in his lap. There were heavy impact marks of jam and cream on his chest and legs, which looked like someone had decided to make an abstract painting, using him as the canvas.

Scarlett dug around in her bag. She had no tissues; paper would have to do. She ripped a few pages from a notebook. Spencer didn’t make a move. Figuring he was too stunned by the assault, Scarlett reached over to clean off his ear and cheek. As her hand drew near, he reached up to block her.

“Leave it,” he said.

“What?”

“I have to make sure it stays this way until I get to the set.”

“You want the jam on your head?”

“Not much point in trying to clean up. I can’t hide this.” He tilted his head in the opposite direction to slow the dripping of the evidence. “It’s my one day of fame. Might as well enjoy it.”

“I didn’t think this is what fame was like.”

“Me neither,” he said.

The cab stopped at a red light. The driver handed back a pile of napkins, indicating that he would like his backseat cleaned up a little. Spencer took them and mopped up the space around him. Scarlett blotted her shirt. Mostly it just smeared the dots and made it worse. Her hand shook a little.

Scarlett called Dakota to request the shirt, and Dakota was waiting at the curb when they arrived. She was unable to contain her shock at the view inside the cab.

“Breakfast,” Spencer said. “I’m a really messy eater.”

“We never give him soup,” Scarlett added.

Spencer nodded gravely, waved good-bye, and the cab pulled off.

“What. Was. That?” Dakota said. “Tell. Me. Now. What. Was. That?”

“There was an incident,” Scarlett said.

She explained the morning’s events as they walked up the three flights to Dakota’s apartment, where Dakota had already laid out a selection of new T-shirts on her bed. Scarlett picked through them and selected a basic white one, similar to the one that she had on.

“Can you bring your jam-covered brother to my house every morning?” Dakota asked. “Why doesn’t he need to take off his shirt? He totally needed a new shirt.”