Page 35 of Someone Just Followed You

I feel a sudden flushing in my cheeks. I don’t know the agency name. Why didn’t I ask Blake that? ‘I can’t remember it right now,’ I say, flicking the question away. I’m not letting an inadvertent oversight get in the way of Maple’s future. ‘I’ll check the email and let you know. But you don’t want to miss this opportunity; they don’t come around often.’

Maple straightens up, and I suddenly realize that she’s as tall as me. It’s unnerving, this aesthetic of equality. ‘Like I said, I’ll check them out,’ she mutters. Then she grabs another slice of cheese before I can stop her, and walks out of the kitchen. I blow out a long, loud sigh, which helps more than I’d expect, and pick up my phone. I message Blake first – Could you remind me of your agency name please? – then do my usual checks across our various social channels. There’s a new reel on Maple’s TikTok and Instagram. I narrow my eyes, tap the screen to play the video. And it’s Maple telling the world she’s starting a new YouTube channel with Dylan.

What the hell is this? I manage Maple’s YouTube content, not Maple. I lean back against the counter, play the reel again. How dare she do this without checking with me first?

Except.

Maple & Dylan is a genius idea. And the reel is eye-catching; Maple looking gorgeous and also a tiny bit in love. I feel a smile edge its way onto my face. I thought Maple’s recent reluctance to film was about laziness, or hormones, or just being a stubborn teenager. But is it actually about ambition? And wanting more control over her career direction?

I feel an unfamiliar sense of admiration as I leave the kitchen, climb the stairs, and knock on Maple’s door, impatient to find out more about this new channel. Because maybe we’re finally becoming equals in more ways than our height.

Chapter 42

Him

He stares at the message, feels an unnecessary surge of rage. Of course she would ask this. She’s a shit mother; he’s pretty sure of that. But even a shit mother gets curious eventually.

He just wishes it had happened after Tuesday. When it was too late.

It would be easy to make up a name for his fake modeling agency, but then she’d search for it. He could probably pull together a website – he’s got no qualifications, but if you spend a lot of time online, you pick things up – but that wouldn’t be enough. Instagram, Facebook, LinkedIn, Substack. Press articles, photos, models, clients. He doesn’t work for the NSI for fuck’s sake; he can’t create a fake digital footprint overnight.

He kicks the box in front of him. Turns out it’s metal and his foot screams in pain.

‘Hey! What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Sorry, man.’ He shuffles off the stage, behind the scenes, where he feels safer. He got this job as a favor, and it’s a sweet gig, part of the lighting crew for the new Cirque du Soleil show. It’s grunt work really: changing bulbs, fixing stuff, keeping the lights clean. But the pay is decent, and no one hassles him for more effort. He’d be crazy to piss his manager off, at least right now, with no upside to it. Of course, if by some miracle Maple comes on Tuesday, he’ll do whatever it takes, use his access-all-areas pass however he needs, if it means getting some private time with her.

But that dream is slipping away now. Because he doesn’t know what to say to her mother, Kirsten. How to answer her question and still stop her becoming suspicious.

He sets the ladder against the wall and climbs. He likes being up here, staring down at the stage, no one realizing, or caring, that he’s there. He’s seen things in his time. Arguments, romances, deal making, some legit, some less so. And stuff the left-wing media would get all righteous over. The #metoo rulebook playing out between directors and actors, choreographers and showgirls. He knows it’s wrong, if he takes a moment to think about it, but there’s no way he’s getting involved. Him taking some kind of moral stand? It makes him laugh just thinking about it. And anyway, the last thing he needs is scrutiny.

Especially now. If she comes.

But she won’t come, will she? Not without a name for his stupid fake modeling agency.

He grimaces, fights the urge to punch the gloomy light he’s up here to fix.

Why did he come up with such a crap plan? Of course it was never going to work.

But he can’t fail, not now, not after thinking about her constantly, after spending every spare moment staring at those photos or her YouTube channel. He needs to see her in the flesh. To talk to her, touch her. Be alone with her. And then, who knows. But something good, he hopes. Something life-affirming.

Which means he needs a better plan.

Chapter 43

Maple & Dylan

Maple: Hey, everyone! Welcome to our new channel. I’m Maybe Maple, talking to you from Provo.

Dylan: And I’m Dylan Dope, down in St George in south Utah.

Maple: Now, you’re probably wondering why we’ve set up a channel together.

Dylan: And news flash, it isn’t what you’re thinking.

Maple: No, we’ve got a much more important reason than that. You guys all remember Ella Hart, right? Maybe you heard that she went to London in England to train to be a ballerina? Well, we’ve been told—

Dylan: By a very credible source.