Chapter 30
Kirsten
I had a feeling that inviting Dylan Dope to stay would turn out to be one of my better ideas.
And when I saw the two of them lying next to each other on the loungers, I knew the moment was worth recording.
But I could not have predicted that they would lean toward each other like that, or how wild the response would be to my little stretching of the truth.
The video has gone viral on every channel.
And especially TikTok where there are already thousands of memes mimicking their FIRST KISS! !
I’m so proud of myself. Spotting the opportunity.
Tweaking the narrative to give it some clickbait spice.
I just hope that Maple is pleased too, that she doesn’t go into a hormone-induced sulk about me adjusting reality.
But she knows we’re in the post-truth era now, that if we limit ourselves to fact, we’ll always be at a disadvantage.
Anyway, no one cares whether Dylan and Maple are actually dating – it’s the drama that matters, and if we do this right, we can keep it going for months, maybe even years.
I reach for the coffee pot and pour myself a second cup – life is good this morning, and I need to celebrate somehow.
Even Garrett’s bringing the twins home early.
After my voice message yesterday, he sent me a curt text agreeing to cut his trip short, while warning me that we needed to have a serious conversation.
It’s a win in my book. I can film the twins opening those airplane launcher toys this afternoon, which will keep Maddie quiet.
And Garrett’s serious conversation will just mean listening to him whine for ten minutes, then reminding him that he’s unemployed and doesn’t get a vote.
I scroll through the comments on YouTube, but there are so many exclamation marks and emojis that it’s dizzying, so I give up, and click into my email instead.
Considering Maple has almost two million followers, I get very little email traffic from YouTube – I suppose that mode of communication is as outdated as actual mail to Gen Alpha – and the ones I do get are generally trying to sell me something.
But this morning there’s one with a subject header that gets my attention.
Modeling opportunity.
I open the email.
Hey Kirsten,
Thanks for your time; I hope you’re having a good day.
I run a modeling agency with my business partner, and we represent some of the world’s most successful models, both photographic and catwalk.
I came across your daughter, Maple Clark, via her Instagram profile, and noticed that she has recently worked on a campaign for Azione.
I appreciate she is a minor, which is why I am contacting you rather than Maple directly, but if Maple is keen on developing her modeling career, could you please send four or five profile pictures, so that I can discuss her future representation with my business partner?
Please send these via Telegram (details below) to protect Maple’s privacy.
I look forward to hearing from you.
Blake
My skin tingles. I read the email a second time, feel the corners of my mouth stretch high and wide.
This good day is getting even better. Maple is going to be a model!
I always knew she had the potential, but there are so many beautiful girls out there, I wasn’t sure she’d rise to the surface.
But she has. It’s there, in black and white.
Azione was only the start for Maple, just as I predicted.
I pick up my phone, hover my finger over the Telegram app.
Telegram isn’t my usual messaging app, but some of our followers prefer it, all the talk of mainstream platforms scraping private data getting into their heads, I suppose.
And to be honest, the thought that those power-crazy tech bros are watching us all the goddamn time has started to creep me out a bit too.
So if professionals like Blake prefer Telegram, I’m more than happy to follow her lead.
But I realize I need to choose the right images first, so I open my photo library instead.
My face breaks into a smile as I start scrolling through pictures of my beautiful daughter, wondering which ones I should send, which show her off in the best way.
Or maybe I should take some new ones specifically.
Opportunities like this don’t come around often, and Maple is becoming more striking, less childlike, every day.
But before I have chance to decide anything, I hear the front door opening.