Everybody knows about Dillon.
“I’m going to the kitchen,” I tell Dillon. “You want anything?”
“I want to rock!” he said. “And maybe some Cheez-Its.”
 
Everybody knows about Jesse.
The production assistants are always trying to fetch me bottled water, or following me around like store detectives who think I’ve just shoplifted. This one guy, Jesse, he’s constantly hanging around about ten feet away from me, reporting my every move over his walkie-talkie. “I’ve got a twenty on Ford. He’s on the move, heading to the cooler. Over.”
 
Everybody knows about Magnolia’s mother.
My mom always has the radio on a top 40 station. She says it keeps her current, in this way that makes it sound like the Black Eyed Peas deliver her the world news.
 
Everybody knows about McKinley.
McKinley is sitting at the counter, texting, looking all serious and grown-up, while his mom makes him a PB&J. “I said no crust, Mo m, c’mon,” McKinley says like he’s talking to his personal maid. He slides the plate back over to her, shaking his head at me like, Can you believe moms these days?
 
Everybody knows about Catherine.
Catherine stands in front of us and claps her hands together once as if she’s going to lead us in a prayer. I can smell her perfume, which is like oranges if oranges were mostly made out of metal.
 
But what will happen when everybody knows your name?