Page 48 of Little Monster
A stone lands in my stomach.
Oh my god.
Putting my mom on speakerphone, I quickly tap the Tribe widget on my phone screen. It’s been so long since I last used it, it takes thirty seconds to update, but those seconds feel like minutes.
Finally, the app loads, and up in the right-hand corner, which usually has one or two notifications from friends who’ve liked my pictures of Margot, the number reads999+.
And I make the mistake of tapping it.
Instantly, I’m bombarded with likes and comments on my photos. Some of them are sweet, but my brain barely registers the nice things people have to say; instead, it homes in on all the hate.
I scroll to the picture of Margot that Dex liked, and the comment he left on the photo has thousands of replies. People are carrying out full conversations, speculating about what I mean to Dex, then others swoop in to assure everyone there’s nowayhe’d be into someone like me.
@LunarLioness: All I can say is EW.
@Dex’s_Girl: Def not Dex Reid material.
@Olivia Isabella: At least her cat is cute.
More notifications come in, and when I click on one, it pulls up the picture of me, Jordan, and Alisha just before we left the house for our night out. Similarly, it has thousands of comments,and I wonder briefly if Jordan and Alisha are getting bombarded with hate now that they’re associated with me.
Terror sweeps through me.
I didn’t want this,neverwanted this. And I should’ve seen it coming. But I’ve been too caught up in Dex to think clearly about what my being around him means.
“Hon, are you okay?” Mom says through the speaker. I almost forgot she’s there.
Before I can reply, a text comes through on my phone. My heart clenches, but it’s not Dex’s name that appears at the top of the screen—it’s Jordan’s.
Hey, thinking about you. Want to come over? I’ll make smoothies.
That confirms my suspicions: if she’s reaching out, it’s probably because she’s caught up in the same storm I am.
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m gonna call you back,” I say to my mom, quickly dashing the tears from my cheeks.
“Are you sure? Do you want to FaceTime?”
I smile a little, grateful my mom is so concerned. “Maybe tonight. I promise I’m okay. I’m gonna go meet up with a friend.”
“Okay. Call me if you need anything. I love you.”
“Love you too. Bye.”
I hang up, then open Jordan’s text message. It’s nice of her to reach out. And she’s married to LGC’s bassist, so she must be familiar with this stuff. Maybe she’ll be able to help me navigate the chaos.
I quickly text back, trying not to overthink my reply.
Smoothies sound great. When should I head over?
A few minutes pass, and I spend the time pacing around my living room and biting my thumbnail down to the quick. My mind keeps running over and over the article. I pull it back up and scrutinize the photo of us.
I’m small next to Dex, with my head tipped down and a hand up to shield my eyes from the flashing lights. His arm around my shoulders looks possessive, protective. Maybe I shouldn’t like that, but for some reason, I do.
My phone chimes with another message from Jordan.
You free now?
I’ve got the day off, with no obligations to the orchestra, so I guess the only thing on my to-do list today is watching my social media blow up and my self-esteem implode.
