“What if those were fake profiles?” Mac asked.
“Nah, I checked. They were all too detailed and went too far back in time. Same goes for these six—they’re all over sixty and their profiles are mainly pics of kids and grandkids; they probably can’t sync their home hub to their Doc, let alone scroll Woofer for hacking purposes.”
That left just under forty. An assortment of real men and women aged sixteen to forty-two. Thanks to his CB access, out of thousands of people Rory had narrowed down my potential hater to a handful of choices in thirty minutes flat. Sharma would be all-caps PISSED.
“But I don’t recognize any of these people,” I said.
Some of them used actual photos for their CB profile pic, others used more vague personal images like sunsets or a pic of their dog. About half used an avatar re-creation of themselves. It was one of the ways that people tried to get around being woofered. It also didn’t really work. Sooner or later, someone snapped a pic and tagged you. Then it equaled total loss of anonymity from there on out.
“Has the person who made the video contacted you?”
“Lots.”
“Then chances are just because you don’t recognize them doesn’t mean you might not know them. Even so, what we’re looking for is a dummy account. Nobody would make all these illicit videos using their actual profiles.”
Rory swiped away one of the girls.
“Why’d you get rid of her?” Mac asked.
“First, it’s a real profile. Second, she lives in South Africa. Third, I mean, that’s some precision work. Your video probably took ten solid hours of edits and airbrushing. Girls are lethal, but I can’t see them staring at footage of a couple having sex for as long as it would take for someone to make that vid.”
“You must not know a very wide variety of girls, then.” If only Audra could hear me. She’d be so proud. “And what if she got her hands on something new? I hear there’s this new tech out of Asia—”
Rory snorted. “That’s a myth, though your video is unbelievably realistic.”
“Wait. You’ve watched my video? Like before I went into Headquarters? You recognized me?”
“Of course I did. You’re famous. You have almost five million views, and after that piece they ran this morning on EToday about wayward teens, it’ll only go up. Oh, don’t worry—they didn’t use your name—but it’ll still spike views. Why did you think I was helping you? I’ve never met someone who’s trending and wants to take their video down. Antifame? I mean, coolest project ever.”
Mac ran a hand across his throat in a universal symbol of Dude, panic attack happening here. I put my head in my hands. Both boys were quiet. When I looked up again, they tensed.
“Okay, so let’s find out which of my friends isn’t.”
The boys traded a silent look. Rory covered his mouth with his fist. Mac patted my arm in a there, there kind of way.
“Apologies my one-liners aren’t as freakishly good as Rory’s. Can we get on with this already?”
Mac and I spent the rest of the day with Rory in the café, going through the names one by one. Around noon, we went to a different coffee shop for lunch, but kept at it because deciding which profiles were fake was way more difficult than it first seemed. But it equaled the longest amount of time Mac and I had spent together in like a week. And is it bad to admit that, sitting next to each other, shoulders nearly touching, joking with Rory, that I had fun? I mean, despite the college kid who came up and asked to take his pic with me, then snapped one anyway when I said no. Despite him, too soon it was over. Once we were back in Brooklyn, we went to my house to pick up our Docs.
“Wanna hang and then stay for dinner?” I asked. “I still don’t know what I’m going to tell Graff. And I’m sure your mama is not happy she received a Not In Attendance txt from Prep today.”
I sat on the stoop. Mac stayed over by our tree, tapping his fingers against his stomach.
“Nah, I can’t.” Mac cleared his throat. “I have this thing with Victor tonight.”
“A soccer thing?”
More than anything I wanted to reach out, grab his jacket, and rest my head against his belly. I wanted to run my fingers from the tip of his fingers, tracing the muscles up his arms until they stopped in the hollows of his collarbone. Before the Mr. E. video, I’d kind of figured Mac and I would eventually hook up. Audra had tried to rush me into it. But there’s something to be said for going slow. Letting tension build. Daydreaming about all the things thumbs can do.
But Mac had promised he wouldn’t ever ask me out again. We were at last on the same, sensible just-friends page—truly—and all I wanted to do was kiss the boy, like, now.
“No,” Mac said. “I guess it’s kind of like a double-date thing.”
Keep it together, Kyla.
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Is it someone I know?”
“Como? No, I’d never do that to you. It’s just some girl. It’s a favor to Victor more than anything else. He’s been trying to get with this girl’s sister for, like, ever.”
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me know.” I had no right to be upset. Yet my traitorous eyes filled with stupid tears. “I’ll get your Doc for you.”
I hurried inside. What had I thought, that if I said no, he—Mackenzie Rodriguez—would just happily go on not making out with other girls? Actually, yes. That’s what I’d thought. Because I believed him when he said we were different. Because not dating but still being each other’s person was what we did. Because I still had his reminder in my Doc to say yes to Mac asking me out a month from now. And when it went off, I had fully intended to show it to him with a little smile and say “Yes, please.”
I snatched his Doc off the kitchen table. Back outside, I chucked it at him from the top of our steps.
“Thanks for coming with me today. And for the record, from now on you don’t have to tell me every time you go out with someone. I mean, we’ll never talk about anything else.”
I slammed the door before he could say good-bye. I peeked out the window. Mac stared at our house, looking like it was a place he’d never ever return.
Eyes closed tight, I leaned against the door and felt the dead air of my empty house. When I got home last night after Mr. E.’s, Mom was in her office with the door closed. This morning when I went to school, it was still shut. Apparently her “on deadline” was perpetual. I didn’t have the heart to be around the same avoidance technique this evening. What I needed was a hearty dose of my best friend. I also needed to know that I still had a best friend. And if I left now, I’d be right on time for dinner.
When Audra answered the door fifteen minutes later, her eyes lit up with happy surprise.
“Mac’s going on a double date tonight.”
“Oh, ew,” Audra gasped. “The Mother just told me she thought I could benefit from a nose job.”