Chapter 28
Maple
I know I look a mess. I don’t need a mirror to show me that my skin is blotchy, my eyes puffy and bloodshot. But at least it’s just me out here in the darkness, plus a few long-legged insects, skittering across the pool like anorexic ballerinas.
It’s freezing cold, so I slide my feet up the lounger to my backside, pull my bare legs into my chest, and then cover them with my hoodie.
The sky is clear, showing off its mass of sparkling stars.
I usually love stargazing, but tonight I can’t even look up.
As though uninhabited planets from light years away are going to judge me – like everyone else will.
I bury my face in my knees.
How could she do that to me? How fucking could she?
I close my eyes to trap the tears, but then the images come.
The content Mom put on my YouTube channel.
I don’t know if it was the angles she used, the filters, the exposure.
But the way I’m jumping around the pool, giggling, adjusting my bikini.
It makes me look sexy, like I’m performing for Dylan.
When the only person we’re both trying to please is my mom, like always.
But the ending is by far the worst. The big fat lie that brought me out here at two in the morning, alone, too embarrassed and ashamed to even look at the stars.
Dylan and I are sitting on the loungers.
I lean forward and he moves toward me. Then a sticker appears between our heads – FIRST KISS!
! – with tiny love hearts raining down the screen.
Mom knows damn well that Dylan was just reading the engraving on my necklace, but instead of sticking with the truth, she made up some fantasy story for clicks.
And I know that this is only the beginning. And not just for me. Whatever happens now, the rumors will always be there. Dylan Dope and Maybe Maple. Are they? Aren’t they? WTF is he thinking? He could do SO MUCH better.
I get that Mom’s ambitious for my channel, and yeah, stuff like this always blows up. But I’m her daughter; how could she do this to me?
I run my fingernails across the palm of my opposite hand, digging hard into the flesh, soaking up the relief that physical pain brings. I slice a line on my hand, and it gives me some resolve.
Because Mom has crossed a line. And this time, I am not going to let her talk me around.
I’ve let her off so many times. Like when she insists on filming even though I’m exhausted, or ill, or busy with my schoolwork, or just not in the mood.
And how she pretends to care, when it’s really just manipulation.
The only thing she actually cares about is creating content.
It’s not just me – she wants to make the twins the most adorable double act on the planet – but it’s mostly me.
Because I’m the one who brings in the big bucks for her.
‘I hate you.’
I say it quietly, testing the words in the anonymity of darkness. It feels good to let them out.
‘I’m done with you,’ I go on, getting louder. ‘With your demands, and your fake love, and how you always claim you know what’s best for me, but never bother to ask me what I think. Did you hear that, Mom?’
I feel a smile form. I know it’s pathetic.
Pretending to call her out when she’s fast asleep in bed and I’m out here, freezing my butt off.
But still, it feels good. Before tonight, I couldn’t stay mad at her.
Because every time she let me down, she’d twist things, make me feel like I was the one at fault – too lazy, or ungrateful; too stupid or selfish to see what we were building. And then I’d blame myself.
But I’m not doing that anymore.
She doesn’t love me, not unconditionally like parents are supposed to. So why should I listen to her?
‘I don’t think she did hear you, actually, but I did, and I think that’s a fair call.’
My head whips around. It looks like I’m not alone anymore.