Page 47 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
Miller watches wide-eyed through the window as we cut through the city, winding up Third Avenue and hanging a left onto East Forty-Ninth. The buildings rise around us in an unfamiliar, gray-scale forest.
Josie’s wolfpack is popping. off.
Maren’s been texting me since we landed, and now she forwards a series of Twitter screenshots. Josie has the most devoted fan base imaginable—mostly girls who style their hair like hersand wear shirts with her song lyrics embroidered on them and show up in droves to all her concert venues. Now, they’ve got#cancelMASHtrending.
MASH stole Hayes from Josie, one tweet reads, above aWe Ride at Dawnmeme.
This has gone too far, says another.#cancelMASH for Josie!!!
Josie and Hayes themselves have been uncharacteristically quiet. Their relationship was as public as Mo’s, but their demise has been silent. No statements, no posts of any kind. It’s unclear, even, how the news got out. But Josie’s hive is stinging its way across the internet nevertheless, absolutely buzzing with fury. All of which is directed at me.
I’ve had a stomachache since we landed and I turned my phone back on. It’s like the unease of knowing someone’s mad at you, amplified by the entire internet. All I want to do is crawl into bed and hide—but here we are, about to go on live television instead. So basically the exact opposite.
“We’re here,” Felix says, and I look up from my phone. “Let’s move. Jazz will brief you on the Josie-Hayes situation while you get ready.”
Miller reaches for my hand, and Felix ushers us through the enormous doors of an even more enormous building. Over Miller’s shoulder, just before we make it inside, I see a girl holding up a sign.
#cancelMASH, it says at the top, in angry red letters.
And, just below it:Who is @rodev to know our futures?
“My first guests,” Jimmy shouts, his voice rising over studio applause, “are tech all-stars, America’s unofficial first couple, and pretty much the cutest things any of us have ever seen... Rose Devereux and Alistair Miller of MASH. Here’s Mo!”
Felix gives us each a little push, and Miller and I walk onstage. We’re hand in hand, waving. I think I’m smiling, but I also kind of feel like I’m seeing this from a hundred feet up, watching the little ant of my own body shuffle over to Jimmy Fallon’s couch and take a seat.How many of these people are mad at me?I think, squinting at the studio audience.
Miller drops an arm around me, and I cross my legs in the perfectly tailored black trousers Felix has me wearing. My blouse is pure white and structured, off the shoulder with dramatic pleating that looks like it was designed by an architect.App-developer chic, he told me as he zipped me into it.You’re the power player. We’ll put Miller in something simple.Next to me, he’s wearing a textured blue dress shirt—the exact same color as his eyes. Felix had him try on three different options before settling.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks,” Jimmy says. He projects his voice and smiles while he talks, and I think:How does anyone do this every day?“I mean, you guys are rock stars. Are you kidding me? How old are you, even? Still in high school?”
“Still in high school,” I tell him on a laugh that I hope sounds charming and not hysterical. “We’re eighteen.”
“Eighteen,” Jimmy repeats, shaking his head. He looks right into the camera. “Let me tell you what I was doing at eighteen.” There’s a dramatic pause, and the audience laughs. “Nah, I’m notgoing to tell you. Because I was an idiot. Look at these two!”
He swivels back to us, sweeping an arm in our direction. “Incredible. You know, I took the MASH survey.”
“You did?” I’m always shocked, still, when someone with clout uses MASH.
“Of course I did!” Jimmy cries, and Miller gives me a little squeeze.
“She’s always so surprised,” he says, laughing. “As if she didn’t create the coolest app of all time.”
Jimmy points to Miller, looking at me. “He’s cute,” he says, and I paste a smile onto my face.
“I know,” I say, and the audience coos as Miller and I look at each other under the stage lights. I turn back to Jimmy. “I feel like you have to tell us your results.”
“Do I?” he asks, laughing. “I don’t know if I do.”
“Ah, come on,” Miller says. “Are you embarrassed?”
“No!” Jimmy cries, throwing his hands up. “No, no. Fine. Well, I didn’t do the matching thing because, you know.” He shrugs toward the audience. “Married. Got it covered.” Then his eyes widen, and even before he says it, I know. I feel the shift in the conversation as he turns back to us. “Speaking of which. Big news today.”
He raises his eyebrows at us, like he’s volleying the ball of this conversation over the net. Neither of us bats it back to him—just like Jazz told us.If he asks you a direct question, you answer with an approved response. You do not, under any circumstances, bring it up yourselves.
“Josie Sweet and Hayes Hawkins,” Jimmy says. “People areupset. It’s upsetting! How are you guys feeling about the news?”
I look at Miller, and he kicks us off, just like we planned. My stomach is twisting like Medusa’s snakes have been let loose inside it.
“We were really sad to hear about their split,” Miller says. His voice is even, but I can feel his heartbeat against the back of my shoulder. “Josie’s been a big supporter of MASH since the beginning, and it’s always tough to see people you admire part ways.”
