The Follower by Kate Doughty (ebook reader with built in dictionary TXT) 📕

the kitchen, their parents are supervising the three crew members that Joseph brought in to help out with the demolition. Oblivious to what’s happening above them.

As one, the sisters sprint upstairs. What the hell is Rudy thinking? The second step lets out a screech and the other boards protest underneath their feet as they climb to the third floor. For one heart-wrenching second Cecily truly believes that one of the steps is going to give way and send them falling through. They make it to the third-floor landing and burst into the old master bedroom.

“Rudy—”

“Amber! Cecily! Say hi to the Cole Patrol!” He picks up the phone, and just like that, they’re on camera. Cecily forces her face to snap into a camera-ready smile; next to her, Amber seems to falter. Rudy is grinning from ear to ear. He props the phone back up, where it faces the blank, white wall of the master bedroom. He takes their hands and drags them into frame. Cecily gives the camera an uneasy smile. What is Rudy playing at here? Mom is going to murder them. Her. But whatever this is, Cecily realizes she’s already an accomplice, as is Amber. Just being in the room makes them guilty. Rudy smiles at his sisters, but Cecily knows him well enough to tell that it’s not his real smile. He’s still mad about before. He confirms her hunch when he speaks: “I’m just doing some impromptu live-streaming to address our little follower friend. You know the one, Cecily—the one whose name you’re too scared to say?!”

Cecily shoots him a glare. Seriously? Just because Mom revoked his admin privileges doesn’t mean he has to take it out on her. She’ll show him scared. She reaches into a bucket and pulls out a paint brush. “Oh, yeah?” she asks.

Rudy shoots her an evil grin. “Now we’re talking! Come on, Ambs.” Amber hesitates, and Cecily watches her brother go in for the kill. “Get on-screen with us! It’s the least you can do.” Cecily watches as guilt floods Amber’s face. “You can’t let the people down!” Rudy says.

There are a lot of people watching. Followers are hopping onto their livestream by the thousands. Cecily reaches for another paintbrush and holds it out to her sister. Slowly, Amber takes it.

“Excellent! Rudy says. “Now, I thought I would make our graffiti-themed photo shoot a little more . . . spontaneous,” Rudy says, leveling them with a wicked grin. “I wanted to buy some spray paints, but I figured, why wait? Splatter paint will look just as cool.”

Cecily watches him dip in a brush of his own. This is all happening so fast, but she feels . . . excited. Good.

“I found these in the turret,” he says. “A little better than sea-foam, don’t you think?” He turns to his phone. “Hey! Comment which color I should do next—we got, uh, green, blue, yellow, something called ochre—”

“Rudy!” Amber says, shooting the camera an uneasy glance.

“Aw, come on,” Rudy says, successfully prying the lid off a few cans of paint until he finds the color he wants to start with. He dips his brush in the paint before he looks back at the camera and winks. “Amber’s just nervous.” He turns back to his sister. “We’re going to repaint it anyway, we might as well have some fun, right?” He stands tall and takes a few steps back, shooting the camera one last smile. “Well, guys, here goes nothing! Get ready for my parents to be m-a-d, mad.” He laughs and splatters a line of electric-blue paint across the wall with a delighted shriek. “Come on! Cecily, you next!”

So Cecily dips her brush in the next shade of paint—some kind of mustard yellow—and splatters that in streaks next to Rudy’s blue. Then she lets out a shriek of half shock, half laughter and dives back in, going for another splatter. This—this feels good. And not just the painting—the doing. It had been an awful long time since any of the triplets had posted something this big without their mom’s approval.

Cecily turns back to Amber, and she can feel that the smile on her face is real. She thinks that she might actually be beaming as she holds the paint out to her sister. “Come on,” she says. Rudy holds up the phone. She’s on camera.

Cecily holds her breath, wondering what Amber will do. Suddenly it feels like she’s handing Amber more than just a paint brush. Will she take it?

Amber takes the brush. She flicks a small splatter of paint on the wall.

“Aw, come on! You gotta do better than that!” Rudy says, laughing.

Amber shoots him a wicked grin and grabs an entire pot of paint, chucking it at the wall in a massive wave of green.

“Hell yeah, that’s it!” Rudy roars. Cecily lets out a whoop. Their parents definitely must know that something is up by now, but Cecily couldn’t care less. Rudy grabs a brush and paints streaks of bright, aggressive neon, a far cry from the “cinnamon oatmeal” shade of beige that their mother had selected for the upstairs bedrooms.

Cecily feels something slimy dripping down her neck and realizes that Amber just splashed her with a blob of paint.

“You did not just get paint in my hair,” she says in mock anger.

“I sure did,” Amber says with a laugh. “And I hate to break it to you, but your hair is not looking very perfect right now!”

With a cry of mock anger, Cecily stops painting the walls and starts painting Amber, dousing her in orange. Amber gives her a look of mock horror before grinning and throwing a splatter her way. Then, as one, the girls turn on Rudy. Their clothes are ruined, and the brands they’re repping might not approve of this kind of casual vandalism—but sponsorship brand integrity be damned. Cecily can hear the pings and pops of comments, likes, and donations coming in through their livestream. Do their followers like this side of the Coles?

“How do I look?” Cecily asks,