Page 67 of Worst Nanny Ever
“He’s in a band,” she protests.
“I know, but I think that’s because he likes playing music, believe it or not. Look, I need you to answer my question. Who told you about this?”
She nearly fumbles her phone onto the floor in her haste to get it out of her purse. After pulling something up on the screen, she gives it to me, her hand shaking a little.
“Someone new posted in our online community. She had a photo of the band, and she said she was pretty sure the drummer was Ships Junior. So we did some poking around, and sure enough…”
I peer at the screen, taking in the photo, which has a drawn-on arrow pointing at Travis’s junk and this caption:
Y’all, this guy is Travis Thomas, the would-have-been Ships Junior. He lives in Asheville, and he’s in this band Garbage Fire.GODDDD, he looks just like a young version of his dad, don’t you think? Let’s give him the appreciation and attention he deserves.
The poster has a generic name—MaritimeLaw69.
A sneaking suspicion itches at the back of my brain.
Rachel knows who Travis is.
Rachel holds a grudge against him.
Rachel is exactly the sort of petty bitch who’d go online anonymously and distribute his personal information to a bunch of possible stalkers, knowing he’s a man who values his privacy.
Alice and her friends sound pretty innocuous, but what if someone dangerous shows up?
Not cool.
Verynot cool.
No one messes with Travis but me, and both of us are protective of Ollie. Which means I’m going to have to shut down Rachel, or whoever else was behind this.
I take a screenshot of the post and text it to myself. Then I save my number on her phone: NOT TRAVIS’S WIFE.
“Text me if you or any of your friends hear from this person directly or see more posts, okay?”
She wrings her hands. “Will you tell him we don’t mean any harm?”
“I’ll talk to him,” I say, then pat her shoulder because she seems legitimately upset. “But no more following him. It’s super creepy, Alice. How would you feel if someone was following you around, spying on you from down the aisle?”
“Yousaw me?” she asks.
“Oh, yeah, I did, and I’m sure he did too. So no more stalking. You’re not very good at it, which is probably for the best.”
She nods, her eyes a bit shiny, like she’s on the verge of tears. “He doesn’t sound like he liked his father very much.”
“This is why you should never try to learn more about youridols. It almost never ends well. Now, promise me that you and your friends aren’t going to show up at the performance wearing sailor suits.”
Her lower lip wobbles. “We got them dry-cleaned.”
“No sailor suits. And don’t pull a paparazzo He doesn’t want his face splashed over anyShips Ahoywebsites.”
“We don’t mean any harm.”
“Then don’t cause any,” I say. “Go and enjoy the show if you’d like, but be respectful. Take it easy.”
I hurry to the cash register, where Travis is standing stoically as the clerk rings up the enormous stuffed dog. I flinch, because it’s ninety bucks. Ninety bucks for a stuffed animal? He definitely doesn’t have to get that for me. I mean, sure, my apartment doesn’t allow real animals, and I love petting soft things, but ninety bucks is absurd.
“I don’t need it,” I whisper to him. “I’m thirty.”
“Just like I don’t need that painting kit,” he says dismissively. “We’re getting it.”
