True to Your Selfie

by Megan Mccafferty

  “What’s up with you? Where were you after school today? I waited for you. I was just standing there all by myself by the flagpole like a loser, and it was totally embarrassing.”

  “Alone? Why? Where’s Maddy?”

  “I told her I was having a mascara emergency.” She says this as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

  “Your lashes look amazing.”

  “I know that!” Morgan says testily. “It was just an excuse for you and me to have a moment to ourselves. I have huge news! And you had to ruin it by being all weird and totally ditching me for no reason after school today.”

  “I’m sorry, Morgan.” I look away. “I needed to do, um, something. For my mom …”

  She looks me up and down.

  “Well, it must have been important for you to go out looking like that.”

  “Very.” I cross my arms in front of my Mercer Middle gym shirt. “Important.”

  I think Morgan doesn’t believe me, but I also think she doesn’t care. Whatever she has to tell me is more important than my excuses.

  “So remember how I told you that girl Kaytee is transferring to Mercer?”

  How could I forget?

  “Well, I haven’t even told you the best part about it!”

  Morgan strikes a very pleased-with-herself pose. This is called milking a moment. It’s another classic Riley Quick maneuver that Morgan has practiced and perfected.

  “Kaytee’s mom works in PR and can take Morgan & Ella to the next level of fame and fortune and followers!”

  Morgan pirouettes and takes a bow.

  “How?” I ask.

  “By getting us meetings with bigwigs in the industry, that’s how!”

  “She can do that?” I ask. “Like, for real?”

  “For real!”

  Morgan communicates in hyperbole, a language arts term I recently learned that means “extravagant exaggeration.” So until this moment, I’ve taken her most ambitious promises only so seriously. Sure, I entertain myself with dreams of living in luxury and never spending another Sunday scrubbing toilets. It’s fun to fantasize about world tours and endorsement deals and photo shoots. Morgan & Ella is an escape from my boring, often disappointing reality. But now Morgan’s telling me an actual adult with industry experience is on board with our brand? It’s like blasting off on a rocket to superstardom without a seat belt.

  Speaking of language arts terms, says The Best Friend in My Head, that’s a great simile.

  I need to slow down.

  “What about Maddy?” I ask.

  Morgan is circling my apartment. She runs a finger across our glass coffee table, then rubs the nonexistent dust with her thumb.

  “What about Dunzo?”

  Dunzo.

  Maddy is Dunzo.

  “Maddy,” I say, ignoring the new nickname, “is doing a pretty great job. Think about all those new followers you got last week.”

  Morgan rolls her eyes.

  “I know you can’t help but think small, Ella.”

  She’s not wrong. Morgan has been preparing for greatness all her life, but it’s all so new to me. I watch as she presses the wobbly ceramic key dish until it tips over.

  “With a team of social media professionals, our number can decaduple!”

  Math is not my thing, and I doubt “decaduple” is even a word, but I get what Morgan is saying.

  “But don’t tell Maddy she’s out,” Morgan says. “I don’t want her to know until it’s, like, a done deal.”

  Based on Maddy’s unenthusiastic reaction at lunch today, I’m wondering if maybe she already knows?

  “Ella!” Morgan snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Of course,” I lie.

  “So I can count on your renewed commitment to the brand?”

  Morgan is in full Girlboss mode. She’s a seventh grade CEO of the universe. There is no messing around here.

  “Yes.”

  Morgan breaks out into her most dazzling smile, the one she usually saves for selfies.

  I’m prepared for her to give me a list of songs to learn and looks to perfect before bouncing out the door to her soccer team, her horses, and her dance class. But she’s still here, looking closely at a framed photo on the wall. It was taken at Lauren’s high school graduation. She’s in her cap and gown, and Mom and I are hugging her on both sides. It’s not the most flattering picture—I’m squinting and Lauren’s smile is too gummy and Mom’s curls are flying all over the place—but we’re happy. And there aren’t many pictures of the three of us. We asked one of Lauren’s classmates to quickly snap it for us.

  When Morgan abruptly turns, I’m expecting her to warn me against ever posting an unflattering pic like that on Fotobomb.

  “So what can you tell me about your dad?”

  I’m taken aback. Like, literally. I stumble backward into the couch cushions, but I try to play it off like I’m just messing around. There’s only one friend I’ve ever talked to about my father. And she wants nothing to do with me.

  “Earth to Ella!” Morgan sings. “I asked about your dad.”

  It’s so weird to hear Morgan call my father “dad.” I’ve never called my father “dad.” He’s never been a dad.

  Morgan flops down on the coach next to me.

  “My people can’t find anything on John Plaza, anywhere.”

  “Your people?”

  “My family does background checks on everyone we associate with,” she says. “But we can’t find anything about your dad.”

  Morgan’s people can’t find anything on my father because they must think Plaza is his last name. But it’s not. It’s Mom’s.

  That’s how not a part of our lives this man is.

  “Why would you need to know about my father?”

  “You know I hate bringing this all up, but my parents are very important people,” she says. “We just have to be very careful about who we associate with …”

  “Well, I don’t associate with my father,” I croak. “He’s never been around long enough.”

  “But where is he now?” she asks.

  Croatia? It’s been ages since I updated my Secret Map. He could be all the way on the other other side of the world by now. I shrug and hug a pillow and pray Morgan takes a hint and stops asking questions I can’t answer.

  “I see this is very hard for you.” She throws an arm around my shoulder. “As a Middleton, I’ll never go through what you have. Your struggle is, like, really real.”

  I’m about to thank her for understanding when Morgan’s phone buzzes. She springs from the couch.

  “Gotta go!”

  She’s almost late for soccer practice. She tells me what songs to learn and reminds me what look to show up in tomorrow. #TGIFierceFriday. Then she’s out the door less than five minutes after she arrived, already on to the next big thing.

  Morgan Middleton is determined to take me along for the wild ride, whether I’m ready or not.

  I should rehearse songs on my ukulele.

  I should practice fencing footwork.

  I should get my #TGIFierceFriday look ready for tomorrow.

  I should do my math homework.

  I should study for my Spanish test.

  I should fix my manicure.

  I should confront Morgan.

  I should warn Maddy.

  I should check up on Sophie.

  But I can’t do any of those things.

  My conversation with Morgan has left me feeling too confused.

  And too curious.

  Mom won’t be home for a few hours. And there’s only one other person who might be able to add to the short list of what I know about our father.

  Our father met Mom on a cruise ship en route to the Bahamas.

  Our father was a steward; Mom was a housekeeper.

  Our father was twenty and without a diploma; Mom was eighteen, a new high school graduate earning money for community college.

  O
ur father got Mom pregnant somewhere in the Caribbean Sea.

  Our father stayed on the cruise ship; Mom moved in with Grandma and put college on hold.

  Our father promised to marry her.

  Our father didn’t marry her.

  Our father visited Mom and Lauren whenever he docked in nearby ports.

  Our father got Mom pregnant again.

  Our father didn’t promise to marry her this time.

  Our father knew Mom wouldn’t believe him.

  Our father sails around the globe on crews for chartered yachts.

  Our father hasn’t seen us in nine years.

  Our father contacted Lauren last month.

  This isn’t enough. I need more. Not for Morgan, but for myself. I pick up the phone at the first ring.

  “Lolo!”

  “Oh no.” My sister blows a long, low whistle. “What’s wrong, Lala?”

  One advantage to being sisters with a know-it-all: Lolo sees right through me, even from five hundred miles away. She doesn’t even bother asking me about the fencing lessons she’s paying for or anything else. What a relief that I don’t even have to try to pretend like everything’s fine.

  “What’s the deal with our father?” I blurt.

  Lolo reacts in a most unexpected way. She laughs.

  “Oh, Lala, I expected you to ask for advice about a typical middle school problem.”

  “What’s a typical middle school problem?”

  “Like, you got your period in the middle of gym class and bled through your shorts but you’re still kind of freaked out by tampons …”

  I would’ve preferred stained shorts over what happened with Sophie or Morgan’s interrogation.

  “That’s very specific,” I say.

  “Guess why,” Lauren says with a groan. “Anyway, I’m sort of not prepared to have a deep discussion about our nonexistent father. I’d much rather hear about your fencing class …”

  “It doesn’t have to get deep,” I say, cutting her off. “I’m just …”

  Confused. And curious.

  “Did something happen?” she asks. “Why now?”

  “I just …”

  No way I can tell her about Morgan’s background check. If Morgan’s people have investigated our father, then they must know Lauren’s AP results, goals scored, and financial aid package. I’m not even famous yet, and Lauren’s privacy is already being violated. I honestly never gave much thought to how fame might negatively affect her.

  I never gave much thought to how fame might negatively affect me.

  Lauren exhales.

  “So you never found your phone.”

  “No.”

  It’s funny how little I think about not having a phone. Even funnier to think that my Fotobomb numbers—though not as bonkers as Morgan’s—are bigger now than they were when I was hashtagging all the time. Not having my phone hasn’t been a disaster at all. I honestly don’t miss it. Not one bit.

  “So you couldn’t see or reply to his texts.”

  This news totally takes me by surprise.

  “He … texted me?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  “Does Mom know?”

  “Of course! I checked in with her first before replying to him. I didn’t want to do anything to upset her.”

  Lauren would never do anything to make Mom’s life harder.

  “So you’ve actually texted him back?” This news takes me even more by surprise. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with him.”

  “I wanted nothing to do with him when he wanted nothing to do with us,” she says. “But he’s been making an effort lately. I think it’s something to do with the fact that he’s scheduled for a charter that starts in the Virgin Islands and ends …”

  “In New Jersey?”

  “New York,” she answers. “But maybe that’s close enough for a visit.”

  A visit? From our father? For the first time in nine years? I can already predict Morgan’s response to this news.

  Ha! Usually deadbeat dads reappear after their kids get rich and famous!

  “Lala! What are you thinking?”

  St. Thomas, St. John, and St. Croix make up the US Virgin Islands. Tortola, Virgin Gorda, Anegada, and Jost Van Dyke make up the British Virgin Islands. All these islands are already crossed off my Secret Map. Our father has come this close before but has never made it all the way to see us.

  “I’m thinking,” I reply, “about how you and Mom knew all this and didn’t tell me.”

  “He’s made promises before,” Lauren says. “We didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  “My hopes aren’t up,” I say. “When it comes to our father, I don’t have any hopes.”

  You know that’s not true, says The Best Friend in My Head. I’ve seen the map.

  Lauren gulps a lungful of air.

  “I guess that makes one of us.”

  I’ve never heard my sister sound so …

  vulnerable.

  And all at once, I understand why this conversation hasn’t happened before.

  Lauren wasn’t protecting me.

  She was protecting herself.

  “I gotta go, Lala,” she says. “But if you want to talk about this later, I’m here.”

  “Here” meaning “there.”

  Meaning “not here.”

  Is that an oxymoron?

  In a weird way, I have Morgan to thank for this new information about our father. So why isn’t she automatically the first person I want to confide in?

  Why do I still talk to The Best Friend in My Head?

  Oh … hey, OMGs. Did you miss me? I mean, us?

  There’s so much happening at Morgan & Ella HQ lately. We made some major changes to our team and, well … it got a little hectic and we didn’t post on the regular. Don’t panic though. Morgan & Ella is coming back Girlbossier and Goofballier than ever …

  At least that’s what Morgan tells me!

  So … this is me and Morgan walking down the hall with our faboosh new friend Kaytee on the way to language arts! If you look carefully, you can see Maddy following right behind us. Our new formation isn’t personal; it’s practical. There’s just not enough room in the halls for us to walk four across. “It’s not personal; it’s practical” is how Morgan explained to Maddy that her research and promotional services aren’t needed anymore. Morgan’s learned a ton from watching her politician father and put it that way because she thought it would make Maddy feel less angry about being let go, but I don’t think it worked, and … whoopsie! I’m blabbing way too much! But what do you expect from a Goofball like me?

  Just look at them. Aren’t Morgan and Kaytee just the very definition of sporty chic in their matching Squad Goals jerseys? Morgan—as all you OMGs know from her new series of Girlboss Lessons solo videos—is as talented on the soccer field as she is on a mic. And I guess Kaytee is too, except for the on-mic part. Kaytee is superadorable, but don’t expect to see her singing along with Morgan and me, because she has zero musical abilities …

  At least that’s what Morgan tells me!

  I don’t know much about soccer, but I guess Morgan is something called a striker, which sounds exactly like a position she would play. I don’t know Kaytee well enough to say if she’s accurately cast as a defender. All I know is that their positions do offensive and defensive things, so Morgan won’t compete against Kaytee for playing time, which is crucial for maintaining the balance in their new friendship. Because as totally fun as it is having another seventh grader on the team, having another seventh grader on the team means Morgan misses out on the special status of being the only seventh grader on the team. Not that Morgan is, like, worried about the New Girl outshining her or anything because duh, that would never, ever, ever happen …

  Morgan didn’t have to tell me that. It’s something I already know very well.

  Kaytee moved to New Jersey from Virginia over the summer, but she just started at Mercer Middle because her parents made h
er try the snooty school we’ve promised to never, ever talk about that rhymes with Schmivy Schmacademy. She’s got a twin brother, Alex, who caught Someone’s attention this summer. That Someone is determined to make him transfer to Mercer too. Kaytee says Alex loves his school and there’s no way Morgan—Whoopsie! There goes my blabby mouth again!—I mean, Someone will convince him to leave, but that’s only because Kaytee doesn’t know Someone as well as I do and …

  A grape bounces off my forehead and plops onto my pizza.

  Morgan chucks another grape at me, but this time I duck and it lands on the floor behind me with a squish.

  “Have you heard a word of what I’m saying?”

  I have not. I’ve been too preoccupied by the made-up video in my mind.

  Morgan pokes Kaytee in the ribs with a plastic spoon. For the past week, it’s been the three of us at a table that’s really meant for two. It definitely can’t fit four, which is why Maddy has been eating her lunch in the computer lab lately. She says it’s because she’s working on an extra-credit project for Digital Citizenship, but I know better. If Sophie had lunch this period, would Kaytee have insisted we make room for her? Or would she have chosen to sit at Sophie’s table with Harumi and Sofie-with-an-f instead of with Morgan and me … ?

  Another grape bonks me in the nose.

  “Ella’s mind wanders,” Morgan says.

  “Oh,” Kaytee replies with a smile. “Mine does too. Sophie is always laughing at me for going off on random tangents.”

  I doubt Sophie has ever laughed at Kaytee. Only with her.

  “So you and Sophie still hang out?” I ask.

  Morgan yawns in a very dramatic, wide-awake kind of way.

  “Well,” Kaytee says, her shoulder slumping slightly, “not as much as over the summer. I thought we’d see more of each other once I transferred to Mercer. But with the two-House system here, we barely cross paths! We still walk to school together every day, but now that I’m busy with the travel soccer team after school …”

  Morgan finishes her sentence for her.

  “You’re friends with the most popular girls,” she says. “All thanks to me.”

  Kaytee sits up a little straighter.

  “Maybe not all thanks to you,” she replies.

  Morgan freezes, her yogurt spoon in midair.