If the Shoe Fits (Meant To Be #1) by Julie Murphy

“Yeah,” I say, my voice flat. “I guess that changed.”

“Cindy.” The way she says my name is so gentle, just like the night she told me Dad died. It stings, still. “Was it…real for you?”

“I’m pretty sure nothing on that cheap ratings-grab excuse of a television show is real. It’s trash. The whole thing is trash, and so is everyone who has anything to do with it.” The second the words have left my mouth, I regret it. “I gotta go to bed.”

Erica masks the hurt on her face by pursing her lips in a thin smile. “Don’t forget that you chose this, Cindy. Good night.”



The next morning, it’s not the triplets who are waiting for me. Instead, Anna and Drew stand hovering over me with multiple cell phones and devices in their hands.

“We can’t let her sleep any longer. These requests are rolling in and I can’t keep track,” I hear Drew say through my foggy, partially asleep state.

“I’m up,” I grumble. “I’m up.”

“She’s up!” Anna echoes.

Drew holds three lattes hugged to her chest. “Oh my God, finally. Have you been online? Talked to anyone? Anything?”

I shake my head, unable to string together many words so soon after waking up.

“We got your phone out of Mom’s safe,” Anna says as Drew hands me a coffee. “The lock combo was—get this—90210. Is Mom old? Do we need to teach her about how to make good passwords or whatever?”

“Extra whip,” Drew says as she plops down on the bed beside me. “I can’t believe you’re back.”

Anna cozies up on my other side. “And that we’re all three together again.”

They both lean their heads against my shoulder as I take a nice long sip. After a few blinks and a yawn, I manage to say, “I’m so glad to see you both. I am. But did someone say something about my phone?”

Anna fishes a phone out of her sports bra and hands it over. “For safekeeping,” she explains.

“I’ve already sorted your in-box,” Drew tells me. “Interview requests, old friends trying to creep in on your newfound fame, job offers, famous or semifamous people reaching out to say hi—apparently, James Van Der Beek is a Before Midnight stan; who knew?—and managers and agents looking to pitch themselves to you.”

“Wait, how did you know my passcode?”

She coughs up a laugh. “All of that and you want to know about your passcode?” She shrugs. “Your old apartment number was my sixth guess. Speaking of apartments, Sierra called dibs on being the first friend you talk to.”

“Noted.” I take another swig of coffee and can feel the light board of my brain start to slowly come to life. “Go back a sec. Did you say something about job offers?”

“Yeah, there are a handful. The media interview folder is bursting at the seams, honestly, and I think we should really be strategic about who we give access to.”

My thumb begins to scroll through the endless emails. There are so many my hand starts to cramp, and Anna must see the horror on my face, because she softly pats my thigh. “Turns out Drew’s calling is publicity. When I got home, everyone wanted to interview me about leaving the show. I guess I caused some waves in the Before Midnight universe. Drew was basically my own personal and really well-dressed bouncer but politer and with an email address.”

“I feel like I’ve found my calling,” Drew says as she leans back against the headboard and crosses her legs.

“Well,” I tell her, “I officially dub you my publicist and agent and manager and whatever else you want.”

“Oh, good,” Drew says. “Honestly, I wasn’t really waiting for you to offer.”

“What are you gonna do before the last ball?” Drew asks as she bounces up from the bed. “Go shopping? Get your hair done? Go to the beach? Get a spray tan?”

“I’m not getting an invitation.” I look up from my phone to find them both awaiting further explanation. “Beck said so on the way to the airport. I guess Henry knows what he wants, and it’s not me. And all I really want to do is just veg out and watch old movies.”

“He’s dead to me,” Drew says, like a switch has flipped in her brain. “Scorched earth. Dead to me.”

Anna nods. “His pulse is nonexistent. The doctor is pronouncing the time of death as now o’clock. They’re calling the morgue. He’s dead.” She sighs lightly. “You get dressed…not really dressed. Just, like, daytime-pajamas dressed. And Drew and I are on snack duty. Meet you in the main house in five?”

“Deal,” I say.

Drew presses a soft kiss to the top of my head, and they both meander to the door as I down the rest of my latte and slither out of bed.

“Oh,” I say, stopping them just before they walk out into the backyard. “Thank you both. For being here first thing this morning.” I hold my phone up. “And for dealing with this.”

“Of course,” Drew says, like there’s no other place they could possibly be.





Anna knows the way to my heart is through peel-and-eat cherry Twizzlers and The Lizzie McGuire Movie. (Closely followed by the High School Musical franchise.)

My in-box is…daunting. And I can’t imagine how much worse it was before Drew got ahold of it. The interview requests range from podcasts with twenty listeners to Entertainment Tonight and even a few late-night shows. The messages from old friends and acquaintances are interesting, to say the least. There’s even an ex or two and a few elementary school teachers, all of whom I cringe to think have now seen me make out on network television.