Tavey: I said the picture was hot
Tavey: don’t make it weird
Tavey: Also, I do too use punctuation. I am a well-educated woman, with a full command of the English language and its many idiomatic forms, who sometimes chooses not to use punctuation so as to conform to the popular parlance of this informal format.
Tavey: So there
Tavey: Also, I tweaked the algorithms on your insta and twitter
Tavey: And now you have over 200k followers
Tavey: That’s why you should thank me
God, Tavey is a pain my ass.
Still, I type out a thank-you, only slightly worried that she may demand some sort of blood sacrifice at a later date. Frankly, my sister is terrifying, because who the hell can just casually “tweak the algorithms” on Instagram and Twitter? Surely that can’t be legal.
I’m sliding my phone back in my pocket when Gwen says, “Oh my God.”
“What?”
Gwen’s phone dings in her hands. “Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
She hops off the stool and hurries around the counter, once again thrusting her phone at me.
“It’s your Instagram.”
“What about it?”
“Well, Lily McPherson herself just liked your post.”
“You mean your post.”
Gwen is shaking her head, but I can’t tell if she’s disagreeing with me or if she’s in shock. Based on how wide-eyed she looks, either is a possibility.
“No. Your post. It’s your account, right? The point is, she liked the picture of you. And then DMed you.”
“So?”
“So?” Gwen’s eyes go even wider. “So? This is Lily McPherson we’re talking about. She has a million followers. And she’s the head of the selection committee and”—Gwen looks down at the phone and then back up at me—“she wants to meet with you.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s meeting all of the candidates. It’s probably part of the selection process.”
Gwen’s mouth opens and closes mutely several times. Then through clenched teeth, she says, “Are you being willfully ignorant?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not part of the process.” She jabs at me with the phone, like she’s trying to fence with me. “Didn’t you even read the materials from the McPherson Foundation?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “I gave them to you to read.”
“Well, I did read them. And Holly read them. And I guarantee that personal visits from billionaire socialite Lily McPherson arenotpart of the selection process. Especially not when the invitation is DMed to you over Instagram ten minutes after your account posts a picture of you looking like this!”
Gwen once again thrusts the phone at me.
I look down, once again taking in the picture. It’s not that different from how I normally look. Is it?
