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IALWAYS THOUGHTthis whole gang dispute and police shooting was going to turn into a big deal. But I never dreamed it would turn out to be this big.
The morning after the demonstration, I wake up to a phone call from Cedric. The time? Exactly five a.m. And the fact that it’s an actual phone call and not a text message tells me that it’s something important.
He starts talking before I say a word.
“Hey, man. What’s happening with you? Are you trying to get yourself in trouble?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’m talking about this new Instagram account of yours. What is this @AliCross4Cops junk?” (Only, Cedric doesn’t use the wordjunk.)
I open the app and search for it.
Oh, damn! It’s not what Cedric thinks it is. It isn’t my account at all. Somebody has made a whole new account just to troll me—with my face staring back in the profile picture and everything. I start scrolling through @AliCross4Cops and see maybe thirty or forty photos of cops—cops in groups, cops in uniform, cops arresting people, cops with their guns drawn, all of the cops looking mean, angry. Even the cops with little kids. Even the cops at shelters during Christmas. Every one of them looks mean, some even downright vicious.
Oh, yeah, and there’s a special touch. Each and every police photo is totally decorated with that corny heart emoji.
And the worst thing of all.
The most recent photo on the Instagram page is a screenshot of Keanu Reeves from a John Wick movie, holding a machine gun. Only instead of Keanu’s head they’ve photoshopped on a different head—my dad’s. Alex Cross holding a machine gun!
“This junk isn’t mine, Cede,” I say. (Only, I don’t use the wordjunk, either.)
“Somebody’s gone and set up a fake,” Cedric says.
I am now wildly wide awake. My eyes are burning and my hands are sweating.
I scour Twitter and Instagram as fast as I can. It’s like I’m playing an out-of-control electric keyboard.
In the next few hours, a gigantic pile of text messages comes streaming in.
Here’s a mild one.
Guess we know 4 sure whose side ur on, Ali
Here’s an extreme one.
Next time they shoot I hope they shoot you
And, oh, my God. Here’s one from Sienna.
If this is legit I’m disappointed.
LOOK. IT’S NEVERbeen a picnic being a detective’s kid. But now it’s really starting to hurt. Wild posts on Instagram. Outrageous stuff on Twitter. Come on, everybody. In case you haven’t heard: I am not responsible for the entire DC police department. I am also not responsible for people creating phantom accounts under my name. It’s a freaking mess. A mess that is totally out of my control.
That morning at school things are no better. In fact everything is pure hell.
Okay, my usual crew, Cedric and Mateo, are there for me.
“Ignore the jerks, Ali,” Mateo says when I run into him just outside of school.
“Easy for you, Mat-so,” I say. And just like in a cheesy sitcom, Larry Ross and his super pretty girlfriend, Megan, pass in front of us. With all the fake over-the-top drama he can muster, Larry yells out, “Don’t shoot, officer. Please. Don’t shoot!”
Megan apparently thinks her boyfriend is hilarious. She is cracking up laughing, so Larry continues with his little routine, “Let’s get out of here, babe. I don’t want us to get hurt. You know these out-of-control cops!”
They both laugh and run. Mateo speaks.
“Like I said, Ali. Ignore the jerks. And ignore their girlfriends, too.”
