Jordan
or both of us
Their individual messages say much of the same. With the exception of one not at all concerning message from Liz.
Liz
In the hopes that you see these messages before we talk: don’t check your socials
Don’t check my socials? Why?
“Um, Ry? Do you know what’s going on and why my friends are telling me to call them? And not to look at socials?” I ask, nerves causing me to practically vibrate. I glance up to see Ryan’s face pale and eyes wide as he looks at his own phone. Feeling my gaze on him, he lifts his head and opens his mouth to reply as my phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming call from Liz. I swipe quickly to answer.
“Liz, what’s going on?” I ask in greeting. “Your messages are freaking me out and Ryan looks like he’s seen a ghost,” I rattle off.
“Yeah, well he may have a cause to look like that,” she starts, words stilted. My brows furrow in confusion. I put her on speaker while I start to comb through the other notifications. “Promise you won’t shoot the messenger? I hadreallyhoped Jordan would’ve been the one to catch you.” Her voice comes out soft.
“Promise. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“So… it seems someone may have snapped a photo of the two of you leaving the stadium last night.”
My fingers freeze over my Instagram. Ryan’s face is grim. His lips are pressed in a straight line and he looks sad. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask, voice nearly a whisper.
I hear Liz heave a deep sigh over the line before she replies which tells me everything before she even speaks. “Yeah, Isa. It’s kind of bad.” Before she can even start to explain, I click into the app and see my notifications have absolutely exploded. Thousands of follow requests and another hundred or so tagged photos. Those are what I click into first.
And they’re all a few different shots taken of Ryan and me as we left the stadium. The most damning of them all is the one with his arm around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I can remember the exact moment this was taken. But I don’t remember seeing any press or photographers.
“Who—” I clear my throat to try and dislodge the ball that’s formed. “Who took these?”
“We’re not entirely sure, but they didn’t need to be on the grounds to have snapped the photos. It could’ve been a fan outside the gates with an incredible camera or even someone from the press with a telescopic lens. It really could’ve been anyone, and the tabloids posting them aren’t listing their source,” Liz explains, the sympathy clear in her voice.
“How did they get my name?”
“Again, I’m not sure, sweetie. But you’re at all the home games. Plus, you and Ryan follow each other on socials, right? The internet can be a terrifying place when it comes to sleuthing abilities and your puzzle isn’t the most complex one to put together, unfortunately.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “I, um, I think I’m gonna go now. I need to figure out what to do next. But thanks for telling me before I found out for myself.”
“Anytime, sweetie. Let us know if you need anything. We’re here for you.”
“Thanks, Liz,” I say as I end the call.
Ryan is still wearing that same grim expression. “Isa, I—” He cuts off as his phone rings with his agent’s name. “Fuck. I should get this. But we need to talk.” I give him a nod as he rises from the bed and holds his phone to his ear, walking out to his living room. “Danny, hey.”
I look back down at the phone in my hand where Instagram is still pulled up. I start scrolling through the comments on some of the tagged photos and instantly regret it. But it’s like that trainwreck expression—you want to look away, but you also can’t. The comments are a siren’s song and she’s pulling me into the deep end to drown me with her.
RF7_Updates: can’t believe he’s dating someone so NORMAL
FletchFan: god I hope this is just a hookup because he’s supposed to be my future husband
Baseballgurlie007: apparently she’s not even a baseball fan?! what kind of blasphemy is this???
Some even go as far as to nitpick what they can see of my appearance and every little flaw.
The internet really is a cruel place.
Now I understand why they tell you to never read the comments.
I quickly navigate into my settings and switch off the ability to be tagged in more photos before it can escalate further. I might even delete the app, but that seems a bit drastic. I do the same with all my other social accounts, making sure their privacy settings are beefed up as high as they can go before I toss my phone to the end of the bed.
