Page 47 of Well, That Was Unexpected

“Okay, but only because you insist.”

“Cool,” he says. “Or should I say, rad.”

I wrinkle my nose and laugh. “Rad? What are you, a sixty-year-old man?”

A frown creases his forehead. “You were the one who used it first, remember? Over chat?”

Oh shit. I swear I can practically feel the insides of my stomach hurling to my feet. The chat messages between Mama and George. Why did I not bother to read through them carefully? I’d only read the first few and then skimmed the rest in a rage. Argh!

A couple seats away, Rina is watching us with eagle-sharp eyes. I can practically see her ears pricking up at this awkward exchange.

I quickly say, “Right, yeah. I did. Totally rad. Very rad.” I try for a laugh, but it sounds hollow.

George smiles, and I search desperately for signs that he’s on to me, but as usual, his smile is guileless. Which makes me feel even worse somehow.

He leans in, making my skin break out into gooseflesh, and says, “Do you want to try my favorite drink in the entire world?”

Thank god, I guess he hadn’t caught on to the suspiciousvibes of Radgate. My muscles turn to water and I let my breath out. “Like I can say no to that.”

He raises a hand. A waiter immediately appears and George orders a drink called soda gembira for us. Eleanor asks for a chocolate milkshake, Kiki orders an avocado coffee, and Rina and the cameraman ask for black coffee because they’re clearly the spawn of the devil. I have no idea how Kiki, Rina, and the cameraman could possibly have more caffeine; I’m still feeling the buzz from the Sejuk kopi susu.

I turn to George. “Did you just order a drink called ‘happy soda’?”

“Yeah.” He leans a little closer to me. “I was about four when my mom first let me have a sip of it at a restaurant. She called it the happiest drink in the world. It tasted like a rose garden to me, and I’ve always associated it with my mom ever since.”

My heart twists at this small glimpse of his past with his mother. “I love that she called it the happiest drink in the world. Like Disney World in a cup. She sounds like such an awesome person.”

“The best.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit of a girly drink to have?” Rina says. She’s got this look on her face that I’ve mentally dubbed the “Reporter Trying to Get a Reaction.”

George shrugs easily, and I’m reminded of how used to all of this he is, how comfortable he is being filmed and prodded with stupid questions designed to get a rise out of him. “I never really thought of it. Are guys not allowed to have delicious drinks?” he says, laughing.

“I thought we were past this kind of gendered bullshit,” I snap at Rina. Because unlike George, I’m not comfortable with baiting questions, even when they’re not directed at me. Plus, this kind of sexism, especially coming from another woman, is the kind of thing that rakes my skin.

Instead of being flustered like I half expected her to be, Rina’s mouth quirks a little, an amused look crossing her face. Then she shifts her attention to me. A live one, her expression reads. Ahshit.

“You’re right, Sharlot,” she says. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known better than to say such things. Have you always been an activist for gender equality?”

Okay, that’s going a bit far. My insides are squirming, because though I slap down instances of sexism and racism and other kinds of prejudice when I come across them, I’m not exactly an activist. And somehow, being questioned like this makes me feel like a complete hypocrite. Well, more of a hypocrite than I already am, that is.

I shrug. “I don’t know that I’d call myself an activist.”

“Ah, I’m sure you must be so busy with school and everything,” Rina says, nodding. Then she turns to George. “It must have been such a surprise to meet Sharlot in person and realize that she’s so different from her online persona?”

George’s practiced polite smile freezes. “Sorry, how do you mean?”

“Oh, I’ve heard that Sharlot online is very different, more…ha, I was going to say prudish, but I realize that’s probably a sexist term”—Rina laughs apologetically—“let’s say…more traditional? Much more traditional than she is in person?”

Oh my god. She did hear the conversation in the bathroom after all. She knows something is off. I feel sick. My insides twist like eels, knotting painfully.

George frowns, not understanding what she’s getting at. “Well, um, I think everyone’s slightly different from their online personas, right? I know I am.”

“Sure, but most of the time, the differences go the other way around. People are usually much more open online and more guarded in person. I think it’s interesting that in Sharlot’s case, it’s the opposite. Is it possible that Sharlot isn’t who she says she is?” Her smile widens.

My skin is radioactive, buzzing with anxiety and fear. I need to say something. Something to defend myself. Or maybe something that would distract her? Anything at all would be better than just sitting here gaping at her like a fish on land!

Kiki and Eleanor must have overheard, because they’re looking at us with worried frowns etched on their foreheads. Come on, guys, I mentally will at them, say something. Pipe up with one of your witty comebacks!

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