Chapter 54
Maple
Anyone else think it’s weird that the Harts have said literally nothing about this whole shitstorm? Just turned off their comments and carried on like they live in a fucking bubble. Although I guess they do live in a bubble, looolll
Mom throws me one final dagger stare, then sighs and turns to Dad. ‘She’s a journalist with the New York Times,’ she mutters. ‘She just accosted me outside the salon after my facial.’
Even in this crazy tense atmosphere, I feel a jolt of excitement.
A journalist from New York is talking to Mom.
It must be about Ella. And if they run her story, then a whole load of new people – the old people who read newspapers – will find out that she’s missing.
And maybe even Ella will see that we’re looking for her too.
‘Did you give her my number?’ Dad asks, giving Mom an accusing stare. ‘Because she’s just called me. Throwing all these personal insults at me.’
‘Of course I didn’t,’ Mom spits back. ‘What insults?’
‘Questioning my parenting! When this shitstorm is nothing to do with me!’
Slowly, quietly, I back away. Maybe this isn’t such great news after all.
Mom throws Dad a dark stare. ‘You better not have told her anything, because they’re snakes, those kinds of journalists. They hate people like us.’
I start climbing the stairs.
‘People like you!’ Dad throws back. ‘And she made out like Maple’s going the same way as Ella, all rebellious now, and then AWOL later, because she’s so famous and so young and this is your doing, not mine!’
I reach the top of the stairs without either of them noticing, then creep into my bedroom. I close the door behind me – silently – then lean against it and close my eyes. I can still hear them arguing, but at least it’s muffled now. The volume just low enough for me to think.
Because that’s what I need to do. I want to be proud of what I’m doing with Dylan.
Enjoy the momentum we’re creating together, my profile ballooning but for an actual cause, not because I query-kissed a boy.
But I hate the arguments it’s causing. I can handle Mom and Dad being mad with me; I deserve it, I guess, throwing a hand grenade on the family income.
But watching them fight with each other over something I’ve done is so much worse.
And there’s Maddie firing me. It’s a relief in some ways.
No more drinking gross smoothies for hours, or applying some greasy face cream, or dealing with Mom stressing about new content every minute.
But there were some amazing moments, like working with Azione.
It made Mom proud too, and it was something we did together.
If I reject it all now, what have I got left?
My phone buzzes, and it’s Coco requesting FaceTime. I haven’t spoken to her for a couple of days, and I click to accept like I’m underwater and she’s an oxygen tank. ‘Hey,’ I breathe.
‘Hey, babe. Sorry I’ve been offline. I’ve been super busy.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah, I’ve been going door to door on Sophie Lyle’s street to see if anyone remembers anything new.’
‘And any luck?’
‘Hmm, maybe. A lady across the street says she remembers a guy hanging around outside quite a bit before Sophie was murdered. That she had a bad feeling about him. She told the police, but they weren’t interested, which is so negligent.
I mean, bad feelings are really our subconscious telling us something, aren’t they? ’
‘I’ve never thought about it that way,’ I murmur. ‘But it makes sense, yeah.’
‘Anyway, enough about me. I loved your show, babe. Honestly, you are kicking up a storm. What do you think Selena and Bodi were arguing about? Everyone on TikTok is saying that Bodi’s a secret psycho, and that they’re always fighting when the cameras are off. But I don’t know. What’s your take?’
I listen to the argument still going on downstairs, Mom’s screeching and Dad’s hollering.
‘Maybe they were arguing about Ella.’ I drop into my desk chair and wiggle my mouse.
I was looking at the comments on our latest video when Mom summoned me downstairs, and the page is still open. I roll my finger over the mouse wheel.
‘But why?’ Coco asks. ‘She was such a good girl back then. What would she have done to cause an argument?’
I sigh. ‘Yeah, I don’t know.’ A comment catches my eye, and I lift my finger off the wheel. I read the words and my stomach twists. ‘Oh,’ I say, and it’s loud, like a pop.
‘What?’
‘This is bad, Coco.’
‘What’s bad?’ Coco asks. ‘What’s happened?’