Page 43 of Margo's Got Money Troubles

Elegant, Margo supplied. Sophisticated.

JB: So we are both JB then.

HungryGhost: You mean all three of us are JB. (I am including your dog.)

JB: A coincidence too large to be anything but the signature of destiny.

HungryGhost: Well, my mom let your niece name me, so...

JB: ??

HungryGhost: Can I ask you another question?

JB: Only if you answer one of mine.

HungryGhost: Deal.

First grade school crush, JB prompted.

HungryGhost: Easy. His name was, I shit you not, Branch Woodley, and his mom was a big hippie, and he would use the tinfoil his mom wrapped his sandwich in to make a tiny hat so the teachers couldn’t read his thoughts. We would pretend to communicate with the trees by touching their bark with our eyes closed. My question for you is: Are you doing this question thing with other girls on here?

JB: No.

HungryGhost: Just no? I don’t get anything more than that?

He sent a $100 tip.

Margo stared at it, a little peeved. Then a message came through:

JB: Have you ever shat your pants?

HungryGhost: Yes.

She pressed send. She had shat her pants during a chemistry final in high school after eating too many mango habanero wings the night before.

JB: I don’t get anything more?

HungryGhost: You don’t get naked, I don’t get naked.

JB: ?? Fair. Honestly, I was doing this whole thing as kind of a troll. I heard of OnlyFans and I wondered what it was about. You were one of the first girls I followed. I don’t know. It seemed more interesting to talk to you than anything else, like maybe that’s a nerd impulse. The only time I ever got a lap dance I tried to talk to her too. Maybe I just too firmly sexually imprinted on Truth or Dare when I was twelve?

Margo had always loved Truth or Dare and nodded slowly, considering this. And really, she wrote, if you can’t tell the truth to a stranger on the internet, then who can you tell the truth to?

Another $100 came through, and a message:

JB: You don’t have to tell me the details of how you crapped your pants if you don’t want to, this isn’t a fetish thing about poop for me. I was just hoping for a funny story.

HungryGhost: Well, the first thing you need to know is that my chemistry teacher was inexplicably from New Zealand with a thick, thick accent I found challenging to parse...

Chapter Twelve

SucculentRose and WangMangler lived in a stucco apartment complex that was quiet as a tomb. Margo’s footsteps echoed. She didn’t see one single person on her way from her car to their second-story apartment.

SucculentRose answered the door wearing a garment that was clearly a descendant of the Snuggie, a hybrid of sweatshirt and nightgown made of tan woolly teddy bear fabric. She was braless, and though Margo had already seen many pictures of SucculentRose naked, the breasts were still very impressive in person, big enough that they moved slightly independently of the rest of her body. “Oh my God, it’s so good to meet you!” SucculentRose cried, cradling Margo in a hug. SucculentRose still had on last night’s eye makeup. It was even more lovely for being crumbly and blurry, and her platinum hair smelled like expensive shampoo.

“This is silly, but what should I call you?” Margo said. While she could imagine calling SucculentRose Rose, she could not imagine what she would call WangMangler.

“Excellent question. I’m Rose, and that is my real name just so you know, and you can call me that on the show, but she goes by KC. I mean WangMangler. You know what I mean!”

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