#famous(10)

God, dads were so perpetually blind to reality. Still, your dad should believe that. Even if he’s wrong.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I checked my phone on the stairs. A new batch of mentions filed down to the bottom, but sitting above them, separated out, was a different notification.

@YourBoyKyle_B followed you

So much for that idea—he definitely knew. I dug my fingernails into the butt of my hand.

Was he messing with me? Getting in on the joke? I thought back to the afternoon. He’d seemed so genuine. So nice.

Maybe we could actually get to know each other?

Not likely, but it’s not like I could somehow be more humiliated by this whole debacle. Before I could think better of it, I followed him back, then tapped out a quick private flit.

Sorry about the pic. I had no idea it would blow

up. Also, you’re welcome for the massive ego boost.

I immediately refreshed my account to see if he’d responded. Instead I just got another notification.

@Lolobear1899 mentioned you in a flit: eww

@attackoftherach_face is so fat and disgusting.

just kill yourself girl ur gonna die a virgin anyway haha

I dropped the phone on my bedroom floor so fast it might as well have stung me. Why would someone say that? My stomach roiled, and I could feel my cheeks getting hot. Before this whole thing had been embarrassing, but now I felt . . . ashamed. Like someone had just pantsed me in the middle of the commons. Was there something wrong with me? I’d never thought about it before; Mo was still a virgin too.

Cautiously, I picked up the phone, and pecked at the girl’s profile picture to see who she was.

She wasn’t familiar. Maybe because she lived in California.

She didn’t even know me—she couldn’t, she lived a million miles away—and she was telling me to kill myself.

My mouth started watering painfully. If some random chick from California was saying that, how far would this go? What else would people say?

Bile started crawling the sides of my throat.

I turned the phone off.





chapter four


KYLE

TUESDAY, 7:00 P.M.

My phone rattled on the coffee table, the screen lighting up. I bent over to check it. Which was stupid, I was getting notifications about every second, but it was habit. Like muscle memory.

@attackoftherach_face followed you

@attackoftherach_face has sent you a private flit

A PF after all this? I opened her message. It was kinda . . . like, funny. If it were me, I’d have tried to pretend nothing had happened, but she just owned it. And she didn’t seem angry, even though some dance team girls were turning catty. Not like that was my fault, but holding it against me seemed like something a girl might do.

“Okay, I get that it’s fun being Apple Prairie High’s flavor of the week or whatever.” Emma waved her hand in front of my phone screen until I looked at her. “But you have to leave that alone.” She grabbed the phone and put it on the far corner of the coffee table. “I asked you over because I actually wanted us to hang out. If I only wanted a warm body in the room, I’d have bought a cat. Or called Dave.” She smirked.

We were sitting in Emma’s wood-paneled basement, on a couch her mom had gotten sick of for the upstairs. The room was always a little too cold and smelled a little musty, like some corner had gotten wet and never quite dried out, but it was the best place in the house. Even if her mom and stepdad had been home, they’d never come down here. Emma’s basement: total bonus.

“All right, what do you want to do?” I said.

“We could download a new game? As long as it’s something I can play with Nathan. PG stuff.” Emma always pretended she only got video games for her nine-year-old half brother so she wouldn’t have to admit to liking them.

“Are you paying? I barely have enough hours this week to cover gas money.”

“My dad is.” Emma turned on the TV and her console. “In fact, we should get a dozen. He won’t say anything about it. If he even notices.”

“He’s okay with that?” My parents would ream me if I did something like that. They’d made Carter and me get jobs as soon as we could drive. Apparently it taught us about money and “built character.” They loved character.

“He’d have to talk to me to not be okay with it,” Emma murmured. She flipped past the war games rapidly. “Anyway, he should have spent the money on me tonight at dinner.” She turned, grinning hard. I must have been frowning, because her smile immediately curdled. Whoops.

“We don’t have to.” She tossed the controller on the couch. “I just thought you’d like it.” Emma burrowed backward, pulling her knees to her chin and looking away from me.

Jeez. Ten minutes: longer than I can go without doing something completely idiotic.

“Do you want me to go, or . . .”

“No, please stay,” she said, so quiet I almost couldn’t hear. We sat in silence for a minute. Suddenly, she lunged toward my phone. “I know, let’s see how many freshmen are into you.” She smiled, eyes wide and mischievous. “You’ll be, like, the new picture in their lockers tomorrow, right? I better not have to fight one for you.”

“Not likely. But sure, okay.” I made myself smile back. Something about the idea made me uncomfortable, but at least Emma wasn’t legit mad. Plus, it was kind of awesome. I should call Carter to tell him about this. He’d never believe it.