Page 31 of The Emerson Effect
My humor dies quickly, though, and Joey doesn’t miss the change. Dragging me by the wrist she’s still holding, she leads me into the living room where we both plop onto the sofa.
“What’s wrong? DidBreezy Baywearnot reach out, yet?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“They haven’t, but it’s only been a day and a half. I don’t expect them to reach out until the video hits over a hundred-thousand views.”
“Then, what is it?” she asks. “I can tell something is bothering you.”
“It’s this thing with Emerson,” I sigh, and she shakes her head.
“I should’ve guessed that, first.”
“It just feels…wrong. All this lying and playacting.”
“You haven’t actually had to do either of those things, yet, have you?” she asks, and of course, she’s right.
Emerson has done all the work, so far.
“But I’m going to have to, and soon,” I reply.
“So, what happened?” she asks, and I tilt my head to study her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she says, emphasizing the word, “you were fine with this yesterday. Excited, even. So, what happened to make you skittish about it again?”
“Nothing,” I insist, but it sounds fake to even my own ears.
Somethinghaschanged.
Joey doesn’t respond to my denial. She just holds my gaze and waits, her face a blank slate. I know this game. She’s waiting me out. And, damn, if it doesn’t work. Every time.
“Fine. I…like him.”
“What?”
I blow out a frustrated breath. “I don’t mean Ilike-like him. I mean, as a friend.”
Another proclamation that sounds hollow, but I’m sticking to it.
“As a friend,” she says, her words slow and measured like she’s tasting each one on her tongue.
“Yes, Josette. As afriend,” I say, doubling down. “This whole thing was so much easier when I thought Emerson was just some asshole who ripped off other creators’ content to make a few bucks. But I was wrong. He’s not an asshole. At all.”
“He’s not?” she asks, and it’s blatantly a leading question to get me to keep talking.
And I don’t disappoint.
“He’s not. He’s actually really nice. Sweet, even. Considerate. And so smart. I… I don’t know, Jo. It just feels wrong for him to do something that’s obviously out of character for him.”
“You’re not making him do it, Twila,” she says, her voice gentle. “It was his idea. And he pulled you in so you can both benefit from it. You need this, right?”
“I do,” I admit.
“And he needs it, too. And because he’s a nice person, you want to help him, right?”
My lips curve up despite my attempt to curb my humor. “Yes. I want to help him.”
“Plus,” she says, holding up a finger, “liking him will only benefit you when you get to the ‘meet in real life’ portion of the program. It’ll be much easier to pretend to be in love if you don’t hate him, right?”
