Page 44 of Someone Just Followed You

Him

Look at her. Acting all grown up and independent on her new YouTube channel. He likes her asserting herself, he thinks, finding a cause to get all hot under the collar about. It shows passion. And passion is important in life.

But she’ll need to be careful, he thinks. Making accusations like that could land her in trouble.

Although maybe that means she’ll need saving. He smiles. He’d like that.

In fact, maybe this could be an opportunity for him.

The thought makes his heart race, and he drums his fingers against the table, sticky with sugary coffee and whatever else builds up when you don’t clean stuff. As he contemplates what grime is made of, he notices the date on his computer screen, and it makes him sad. Wednesday. If things had gone his way, she’d be in Vegas by now.

Of course, he never answered the mother’s question about the name of his fake modeling agency. He still hoped she’d come though, like an idiot. Got all dressed up, his best jeans and a shirt he bought for the dates he’s never been on. Spent the evening at the MGM Grand, lurking, watching. But she never showed. Of course she didn’t.

He leans back against the sofa cushion and scans his trailer. Would he have brought her here if she’d come? Or would that have been too big a risk? He considers the small, untidy space, the grease-stained Burger King boxes from last night’s dinner, and empty soda cans stuffed with cigarette butts.

It’s no place for a lady. But maybe she’d be past caring about decor by now.

The noise of a car backfiring outside makes him jump. PTSD, that’s what the doc called it. But that’s bull. He’s been navigating bad shit all his life. He’s a pro now.

He leans forward over his laptop, the only thing he owns that’s worth something, that and his truck, and thinks. It’s easy to set up a new account, but what should he write? He’ll be one of thousands; he knows that. He barely goes on TikTok, but even he’s seen content about the missing Ella Hart. If he wants to get Maple’s attention, he needs to choose his words wisely.

He thinks about the desperate girls he’s met over the years. How they’re polite at first, always trying to negotiate. Until they realize it’s a man’s world, that they have no power. Then they fight. They know they’re gonna lose; they’re half the size, for Christ’s sake. But that doesn’t stop them trying. Bad odds don’t seem to intimidate.

And it’s brave. Whatever he’s done, whatever he might do in the future, he’ll never stop believing that. So is Maple brave too? He guesses it’s time to find out.

He spreads his fingers and hovers them over his keyboard. Then he thinks up his best lie, and lets them fall.

Chapter 52

Kirsten

@hereforthedrama09, TikTok

So what do we think the argument was about? I heard that Bodi was having an affair, and Selena found out. Thoughts, guys? #findElla

This spa bed is ridiculously soft, so why can’t I settle? I force myself to snuggle deeper, listen to the soothing music, breathe in the jasmine fragrance, let the gentle fan waft cool air over my skin. This is costing a hundred and fifty bucks after all.

The beautician – Louisa, I think she’s called, she’s new – goes through the motions. Cleanser, toner, peel, moisturizer. My skin tightens, tingles, burns with cold, and heats up with expensive antioxidants. Forty-five minutes later, Louisa informs me that she’s done. My face feels raw and naked but hopefully the wrinkles have faded.

‘Thank you,’ I sigh as she steps away.

‘You’re so welcome. Now, you take as long as you need; I’ll see you out front when you’re ready.’ She backs out of the room, the door barely making a sound as it dinks shut.

I take Louisa at her word for a while, stretching and pulling my face, but I can’t hide away in here forever, so eventually I curl up and climb off the bed. I glug a glass of cucumber water, then turn my phone off silent and scan my notifications – there are lots of them, but nothing from Maddie. The only person I actually want to hear from.

She called first thing Monday morning but didn’t drop the guillotine then. She’d seen the content about Ella, she said, and needed clarification because Maple’s profile would have to be updated. I spun it as well as I could – the popularity of true crime online, the explosion in Maple’s follower numbers – and Maddie seemed satisfied, if not ecstatic.

But then she called again yesterday, after Maple’s second show with Dylan. The team had decided the content was too hot, too adult, for how they were positioning Maple in the marketplace right now. That if Maple wanted to continue her new channel, they sadly couldn’t work with her. But we should for sure get back in touch when Maple turned eighteen.

I didn’t handle it well. I mean, how was I supposed to stay calm when Maddie was taking a sledgehammer to our income? But I followed it up with an apologetic, slightly begging, email, so there’s still a chance she might change her mind. A sliver of a slim chance.

Of course the way to get back into Maddie’s good books is glaringly obvious – Maple needs to stop her ridiculous show. Garrett promised he’d sort it last Sunday, and after being in church, surrounded by powerful, dominating men, I’d allowed myself to hope. But all I got was a daughter charging upstairs and refusing to leave her bedroom, and a husband who spent the rest of the day – and pretty much all days since – holed up in the office, searching for jobs that might pay him slightly higher than minimum wage. Pathetic.

I pay for my facial with a credit card and leave the salon. My phone buzzes, but when I check the number, I let it ring out – there are too many outstanding bills this month for me to accept 0800 calls. I head toward my car, but slow as I see someone leaning against the hood. A woman. Copper-red bob and scuffed trainers.

‘Can I help you?’ I ask while giving her my best ‘get off my car’ stare.

‘Kirsten Clark?’ she says, peeling off the hood and twisting to face me. ‘I’m Meg Jackson with the New York Times.’