Chapter 4
Maple
I click the seatbelt and lean back against the headrest. It’s a ninety-minute flight to Salt Lake City, and I want to use the time to forget about that guy’s disgusting expression.
At least he lives in a different state from me.
Unlike that creepy guy who tried to give me chocolates outside school a few weeks ago.
I don’t actually know where he lives, but I figure he’s local, and every day I go to school, I lowkey freak out that he’ll be back with more unwanted gifts.
Or maybe a gun, like Taylor, my best friend, suggested when I told her about him.
I remember wishing she was joking but knowing she wasn’t.
Too many famous people have been shot at lately for people to make those kind of jokes anymore.
The only good thing to come out of it is that Dad drives me all the way to school now.
And I’m trying to believe that Mom’s right when she says weird guys like him are almost always harmless.
The other thing I need to do on the flight is prep more social media posts about my day, ready to upload as soon as the plane lands.
I managed to get a TikTok and a reel up before the shoot started – with lots of cool content from that epic car ride, and me getting my best ever glow-up from Destiny – and Mom nudged me to make another video on the car ride back to the airport.
But she has airdropped loads more photos and video clips from the day, and I want to share them all.
I lift my phone and start swiping through.
Mom is great at filming content, which isn’t exactly a surprise when she’s been doing it for forever.
Maybe I should post something on my Instagram story before we fly, crediting her, of course.
I usually spend more time on TikTok, but Instagram is where all the models post their content, and I guess I’m a model now.
The airplane’s PA system has told us to turn our phones to flight mode, but Mom is still scrolling through hers so I should have time.
I click into the app but then freeze. Because my numbers are slaying it.
I blink, but they don’t change. I have got twenty-two thousand, four hundred and sixteen likes on my reel, and double that number of views.
And more than that, most of them are from accounts who don’t follow me.
Don’t follow me yet, I think. Because that’s what Mom would say.
A grin spreads across my face, so wide it makes my cheeks ache.
I turn to tell Mom my good news, but she’s put her phone down now and is lying back against the headrest, a mask pulled tight over her eyes.
‘Do not disturb’ etched into her cheekbones.
I bite my lip. I should turn my phone off too, I guess.
Maybe try and nap like Mom’s doing. But I’m too excited to sleep; I need to tell someone my good news.
Taylor. My best friend. At least, most of the time.
Sometimes she gets jealous of my numbers, or how kids talk to me in school but ignore her, but then I just tag her in a few posts and we make up pretty quick.
I click into Snapchat, go to her contact, but then pause, my thumbs hovering.
Because there’s a snap from her that I haven’t seen until now – you’re not gonna like this – with video content attached.
My stomach contracts.
‘Miss?’
I flick my head up, look at the air steward. ‘Yes?’
She glances at Mom, clocks that she’s sleeping. ‘You need to put your phone on flight mode now,’ she says in a quiet – but firm – voice.
I turn back to my screen, the unwelcome message. I feel frozen. Like ice-cold dread has immobilized my bones.
‘We’ll be taking off in minutes,’ the air steward continues, her tone becoming sterner, like she’s done with teenagers and their phone addictions. ‘You don’t want to interfere with the frequency, do you?’
I look up at her and jerk back to the moment. ‘Sorry, no.’ I swipe my screen and tap on the airplane symbol.
And spend the next hour and a half in the air, wondering what it is that I’m not gonna like.