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

walking up to the camera to show off her paint-splattered face. “Do you guys want a paint-style tutorial anytime soon? Or is painting Amber enough?” she jokes. “I—” She catches sight of a comment and watches the smile slide off her own face in the camera readout as her happiness vanishes. The notifications crescendo to a flood as their followers tell her something she already knows. Her voice is a whisper. “They’re back.”

In a second, Rudy and Amber are over her shoulder. Rudy films using his front-facing camera so their audience gets to see them react to the follower’s comments in real time. The follower’s comments have been upvoted, reacted to, and replied to. And there’s more than one. Together, they read:

WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY HOUSE? (1.1K replies)

I TOLD YOU, I TOLD YOU NOT TO! (59 replies)

GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF THOSE WALLS! (112 replies)

GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! (81 replies)

IT’S MINE! IT’S MINE, IT’S MY HOUSE! IT DOESN’T BEONG TO YOU! (222 replies)

“Well, this guy just can’t take a hint, can they?” Rudy asks. He looks up, straight into the camera. “Here—let’s send them a message.”

Chills trickle down Cecily’s spine. “Don’t—” Cecily starts, but it’s too late. Rudy is already turning from the livestream and dipping his brush in black paint. He approaches the wall and, without looking back at the livestream, paints a bold message in big, sloppy strokes. Cecily feels herself freeze. She doesn’t protest, can’t make herself move. She can only watch as he paints.

Rudy lets out a laugh and turns back to the camera, pointing at his words. “What do you think of that? Huh?” He winks at the camera. “And if you guys want more, make sure to tune into our livestream tomorrow. We’ll be talking all about our house.” And then, with a last bark of laughter, he strolls over to his phone and shuts the camera off.

The livestream is over. The girls are silent. Cecily hears a plopping noise and realizes it’s the sound of paint dripping from their bodies onto the floor.

“What did you do?” Cecily asks.

“I made us go viral, that’s what I did,” Rudy says.

“He’s right—oh my god, we just passed nine hundred thousand views, and counting,” Amber says.

“What did you do?” Cecily repeats.

“This is really blowing up,” Amber continues, wiping her hands on her jeans before scrolling through her phone, switching to analytics. “It’s going to generate a ton of traffic for the livestream tomorrow—this is awesome, you guys.”

“You baited the follower,” Cecily gasps. Now that the adrenaline of being on-screen is gone, what they’d done is setting in. Rudy turns on her.

“No,” he says. “We baited the follower.”

“This could get us to a million followers,” Amber says. “Here. Wait. Pose. We need to post a picture.”

Cecily hangs back. Rudy and Amber look at her, expectantly. “Well?” Rudy asks. “Are you in?”

She’d already been in the livestream. Even if Cecily isn’t in the photo, she’s still part of this. She looks from Rudy to Amber. “Fine,” she says. “But only if Amber is in it, too.”

For a second, Amber falters. Then she props up the phone on an ancient nightstand and sets a timer, stepping into frame with her siblings.

Together, they smolder under the message, looking as intimidating as it is possible to look when you’re seventeen and covered in rainbow paint. Amber posts the photo, along with a schedule for their next livestream. It doesn’t need any caption other than the message above their heads, wet paint still dripping down the cracked, ancient wall of the bedroom:

THIS IS MY HOUSE NOW, BITCH.

CHAPTER 10

Amber

It’s not long until Hurricane Mom hits.

“I expected better of you three. Especially you, Amber.” Amber flinches. The afternoon work is over and the demolition crew is gone; in the aftermath of Rudy’s livestream the entire family is assembled in the newly demolished kitchen.

“Mom, that livestream was viewed by nine hundred thousand people,” Rudy cuts in. “And now that it’s posted, we’re on—what? Nine hundred ten thousand followers and counting? C’mon.”

“That’s not the point!” Is it Amber’s imagination, or does her mom sound a tiny bit less mad than she did a moment ago? “The point is I didn’t know. How do you think I felt when I saw that livestream? Your own mother . . .”

Amber tunes out the rest of what her mom says. She can’t stop thinking about the livestream—but not because of the follower. She’s thinking about one of the comments left by a fan.

Go Amber! We need more of her; feels great to see a plus-size queen.

The comment had been liked more than a hundred times. A hundred. Sure, it is just one comment, but Amber keeps going back to it on her phone, just to make sure that she hadn’t made it up.

The sound of Mr. Cole breaking his silence brings her back to earth. “It was high engagement,” he muses. “And it was one time, right kids? Assuming you’ll never pull a stunt like that again . . . how did it do?”

Amber realizes that everyone is looking at her. “We’ve hit trending,” she says softly.

Her mother sighs, her expression unreadable. “I can’t deal with this right now, I really can’t. You’re off the hook—but just this once. I have a big call with West Coast sponsors in—a minute. And in the meantime: No. More. Posts. Remember, my posting strategy is what made you this big, and it’s the only thing that can keep you this way.”

“Promise,” Rudy says, rolling his eyes. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Mrs. Cole doesn’t have time to answer; her Bluetooth headset chirps and she shoots him one last look before stalking into the library, plastering a huge smile on her face. “Quinta! It’s so great to hear your voice. How can we help promote more of your fabulous shades?”

The triplets are alone with their father. He looks like he’s trying to