Page 21 of Someone Just Followed You

‘Yeah, sure,’ I answer.

‘Good with me,’ Dylan adds.

‘Fantastic,’ Mom calls back, attaching her phone to the tripod that’s permanently at the side of the pool. ‘Go ahead and pretend I’m not here.’

Dylan and I do as she asks – we’re both pros at this after all. But the spontaneity has gone, and I feel body-conscious again, wondering what my figure looks like in profile, whether my bikini will keep me covered. I jump up, slam the ball, celebrate when I outplay Dylan, giggle when he mucks up. But it’s a performance now, staged for the camera. I wonder if Dylan feels the same.

‘Hey, I’ve got an idea,’ Mom says after a while, still pretending like this is all organic. ‘Why don’t you guys play a game of tag? It’ll be mayhem with you both trying to escape each other in the water! And so fun for our subscribers to watch.’

I imagine Dylan lunging forward, his arm outstretched, trying to tag me. And me curving and writhing to avoid his touch. I inwardly shudder.

‘I don’t know,’ Dylan says nervously. ‘I’m not sure that kind of thing fits my brand.’

I feel a surge of relief, but Mom’s face darkens.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Clark,’ Dylan goes on, clearly noticing Mom’s reaction too. ‘But my dad has strong opinions on what works and what doesn’t.’

‘And I’ve been doing this for quite a while too now,’ she counters, her voice clipped. ‘What’s the problem with tag? Or is it playing with Maple you’re not happy about?’

Oh God, did she really ask that? I look down at the lapping water, feel my cheeks burn.

‘What?’ Dylan’s pitch rises. ‘No, I just mean that Dad might think it’s too childish. He wants my content to be mainly skateboarding and fashion work. I think volleyball will be okay because it’s sport. But playing tag is more kids’ stuff, you know?’

Kids’ stuff. He thinks I’m a baby, into stupid games.

‘Oh, I see,’ Mom says, her annoyance deflating like an untied balloon. ‘Actually, that’s a good point. Maple is in that transition period between child and young adult, you know? We probably need to focus on maturing her content too.’

Dylan gives her a weak smile, his expression a mix of relief and unease.

‘How about I get you guys some lemonade instead,’ Mom says, her sunny disposition already back. ‘You can just hang out together, listen to some music, do whatever young adults do.’

I freeze except for my eyes, which risk darting toward Dylan, to check how he’s read Mom’s comment. But his expression is fixed.

‘Thank you, Mrs. Clark,’ he says.

Mom turns to head inside, and Dylan climbs out of the pool. Once he’s settled on his lounger, and not looking in my direction, I do the same. As I sit on the edge of the bed and lean forward to wring out my hair, my necklace tips forward.

‘That’s a cool necklace,’ Dylan says, leaning toward me to read the engraving on the slim oblong pendant. My instinct is to pull away – he’s so close now that his breath is tickling my chest – but that might seem rude, or childish, so I hold my position. The necklace was a fourteenth birthday present from my Nana and Papa, a platinum chain and pendant engraved with my initials. I remember Dad clasping it around my neck, the pride on his face as he did so, and I’ve worn it every day since.

‘M-L-C,’ Dylan reads. ‘I’m guessing that’s your initials. What does the L stand for?’

‘Lily,’ I manage.

He rolls back on the lounger. ‘That’s my sister’s name. Well, one of them. There’s Charlotte too, but they’re both older, so it’s just me at home now. No one to hide behind.’

‘Oh, hiding is overrated in my opinion,’ Mom says, appearing by our beds. Her face is beaming now, like she’s hit some jackpot, and I eye her suspiciously as she hands us both a glass of homemade lemonade.

Chapter 27

Him

He should have gone to Utah to find her. Packed up his stuff and just driven there. He’s a pussy for not doing that.

She might want him to save her. And even if she doesn’t, he should have gone anyway.

He wonders whether she’d put up a fight. The image makes him feel conflicted. Sad and excited. Hard done by, but lucky. He pushes his laptop away for a moment, catches his breath.

At least there’s nobody’s around him this time. No nosy workmates asking why he’s watching a kid’s YouTube channel. He’s alone in his trailer, work done for the day, a four-pack for company. Just how he likes it.