True to Your Selfie

by Megan Mccafferty

  And before I can stop her, she’s sticking her hand inside my pocket and practically arm wrestling with me over possession of the flyer.

  “Morgan! Stop it!”

  “No, you stop it!”

  She successfully wins the paper away from me, takes one look, and pops off.

  “Ella! We talked about this! No fencing!”

  I avoid looking at Morgan as she reminds me of all the reasons why fencing is a nonstarter. Instead, I stare at the back of Izzy’s head and count gray hairs. One … two … three …

  “Off-brand …”

  Four … five … six …

  “For losers …”

  Seven … eight … nine …

  “Terminally uncute …”

  “Ella!” Morgan snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Does the name Gabby Mackenzie mean anything to you?”

  Morgan knows way more people than I do—online and in real life. It’s impossible to keep all the names straight.

  “Is she one of the eighth graders on your soccer team?”

  Judging by the lemon-sucking pucker on Morgan’s face, I am incorrect. The rain has eased up. How bad would it be if I asked Izzy to just drop me off right here and let me walk the rest of the way home?

  “Gabby Mackenzie was Riley Quick’s best friend in middle school,” she explains. “They were in a band together called Mack & Quick. She played drums and sang harmonies.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is too true,” Morgan says. “Look it up on QuickWiki.”

  It doesn’t seem possible that I would miss this important part of Riley Quick’s bio. But it seems equally unlikely that Morgan would make this all up on the spot.

  “So what happened to Gabby Mackenzie?”

  “Nothing,” she says. “Absolutely nothing happened to Gabby Mackenzie. Because she wanted to live an ordinary, boring life. So she went to high school instead of going on tour. Mack & Quick broke up, and Riley Quick went solo and got enough fans to sell out arenas all over the world and make her the number one most followed celebrity on Fotobomb. Gabby Mackenzie wanted to live an ordinary, boring life. And that’s exactly what she got. No fame. No fortune. No followers.”

  Morgan says it like this is the saddest, most pathetic fate that could ever befall a twelve-year-old girl. As the gates open wide to let us onto the Middletons’ property, I’m realizing just how much Morgan has invested in me.

  This is about so much more than just friendship.

  And yet.

  Global multiplatform domination often feels like so much less.

  Morgan comes through on her promise. She gives me a rainy-day makeover, buys me hot chocolate, posts the cutest pics on the socials, and sends me home with Izzy before my mom can ever suspect I’ve been gone. Best of all, Lauren has a game today, so I don’t even have to come up with an excuse for why I’ve missed her daily phone call.

  And yet, I’m not surprised at all when Mom has barely shaken the rain out of her hair before targeting a question right at my guilty conscience.

  “So, Ella,” she says, kicking off her damp Crocs, “do you have anything to tell me?”

  This is such a classic Mom question. “Anything” could mean literally anything.

  Do I tell her I was getting hot chocolate with Morgan when I should have been home doing my math homework?

  Do I tell her I still think of Sophie as my best friend even though we don’t talk anymore except in my head?

  Do I tell her I’m keeping a secret for a boy and he’s keeping one for me?

  Do I tell her Morgan is looking for dirt on my father?

  Do I tell her Lauren is getting her hopes up again?

  The questions are big and small and in between, and it’s no wonder I don’t have any leftover brain space for the preterit tense, organelles, or order of operations.

  “No?” I reply uncertainly.

  Mom’s eyes light up and she playfully tousles my hair.

  “Your gym teacher called me about the fencing tournament!”

  “She did?”

  “She did,” Mom replies. “She offered to take you if I’m not free.”

  “I told her not to do that! Are gym teachers even, like, allowed to bother busy moms with phone calls at work?”

  Mom laughs. She’s wearing her favorite pink scrubs. Though her gloss has worn off and her hair is wet and wild, she’s still prettier than any other parent when she relaxes.

  “I’m glad she called! This sounds like an incredible opportunity. And you never even mentioned it to me!”

  “I just found out about it! I’m probably not even that good!”

  “Well, Coach Stout seems to think otherwise. She says you’ve got real talent.”

  I can’t remember the last time I heard such pride in Mom’s voice.

  Not for Lauren.

  For me.

  “Actually,” I add, “she says I’m quick, graceful, and precise.”

  Mom places a hand to her chest and inhales deeply, like she really, really wants to take in this big moment.

  “Doesn’t it feel good,” she says, “to be good at something?”

  Be good.

  Be good.

  Be good.

  Hot chocolate bubbles in my belly like a kettle of poisonous Wyvernweed.

  “Because unlike Lauren, I’m not good at school and everything else that’s important?”

  Three big stomps and I’m in my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

  I’m not even sure how Mom’s pride in me turned into a fight about Lauren. I flop onto the bed and bury my head in the duvet. I don’t want to hear Mom knocking on my door, and I don’t want to give in to her demands for an apology.

  But the knock doesn’t come.

  And neither does the demand.

  She leaves me alone in my room to feel even guiltier, which is worse than any lecture.

  I should use this time to:

  1.Learn all the new songs.

  2.Work on my look.

  3.Perfect my aesthetic.

  But I don’t want to do any of those things Morgan wants me to do.

  I should use this time to:

  1.Do my math homework.

  2.Write my language arts essay.

  3.Study for my Spanish test.

  But I don’t want to do any of the things Mom and Lauren want me to do.

  For the first time in ages, I’m drawn to the bookshelf.

  With so many doubts about my own life, there’s something comforting about returning to stories I already know end well. And no book, in my honest opinion, does it better than The Dragonologist Chronicles: The Epic Conclusion. When I pull the book by the spine, something clatters to the floor. I assume it’s a forgotten eyeshadow palette or an unopened contouring kit. There’s just enough space for me to wedge my hand between the wall and the shelf to retrieve …

  AHHHHHH.

  A shot of recognition zips through me.

  HAAAAAA.

  My phone.

  I

  finally

  finally

  finally

  find

  my

  phone.

  I immediately press the on button, which is totally pointless because the battery died ages ago. The monogrammed case is missing a rhinestone. My first thought: No way Morgan will tolerate an imperfect E. She’ll present me with a fully blinged replacement before I’ve even had a chance to shop for one myself.

  So all I have to do is plug in, charge up, and catch up on all the action I’ve missed since summer. I turn my phone over and over and over in my hands.

  Over

  and

  over.

  Three months of missed and mixed messages will only confuse me even more than I already am.

  I don’t plug it in. I don’t charge up.

  I put down the phone, pick up my favorite book, and read.

  Sword in one hand, protective amulet in the other, I’m defending the hatchlings from a wicked sorcer
ess with hair as fiery as dragon breath. She wants them all for herself. And she won’t rest until …

  “Ella!”

  Mom shakes me fully awake.

  “Ella!”

  When I sit up, The Epic Conclusion slides off my chest and falls onto the floor with a weighty thunk.

  A dream.

  I must have fallen asleep during the Battle for Crystal Caverns. The light is grayish, and I’m so disoriented that I can’t tell if it’s morning or night. Yesterday or tomorrow.

  “Ella,” Mom repeats. “The phone is for you.”

  Mom’s wearing yellow scrubs.

  It’s tomorrow.

  Meaning today.

  Morning.

  “Phone?” I mumble groggily. “But I …”

  But I decided not to plug in my phone …

  “The landline,” Mom explains, reading the baffled expression on my face.

  “The landline?” I knuckle sleep out of my eyes. “Who’d call me on the landline so early in the morning?”

  “Morgan Middleton,” Mom says in a clipped voice reserved for her name alone.

  I bolt from the bedroom and pick up the receiver. Mom decides this conversation isn’t worth showing up late for work and heads to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

  “Morgan? Why are you calling me so early? I’ll see you at school.”

  Nothing can prepare me for Morgan’s highest-key reply.

  “Ella! We have a meeting with Ribot Entertainment!”

  I swear half of me is still on the battlefield defending those dragon eggs.

  “Ella? Did you hear me?” Morgan is legit shouting. “We! Have a meeting! With Ribot Entertainment!”

  I’m still dreaming, right? There’s no way I’m hearing what I’m hearing.

  “Ribot Entertainment?”

  “Riley Quick’s management team!” Morgan squeals. “They’re looking for fresh talent! And Riley Quick is dedicated to supporting female artists! This is the boost from a major influencer we’ve been waiting for! I told you it would happen for us!”

  She did. And yet, I honestly never believed celebrity could happen for someone like me. It’s for other girls like Morgan Middleton, who are nervy enough to think bigger than everyone else. Now that I’ve teamed up with a winner, fame and fortune and followers are possible for me too.

  I shout, “OMIGODDESS!”

  She shouts, “OMIGODDESS!”

  We shout, “OMIGODDESS!”

  For the first time in forever, it feels like it did back in the beginning of our friendship, when Morgan approached me at the start of sixth grade and said, very matter-of-factly, “I like your look.” Her approval made me feel like the most important girl in this or any universe.

  “So we’re actually meeting Riley Quick?”

  Morgan heaves a sigh.

  “Ella, Ella, Ella.”

  Morgan’s most condescending singsongs are always in perfect key.

  “We’re meeting with Riley Quick’s management team. That does not mean we are meeting with Riley Quick. Riley Quick, as you should know, is in Tokyo right now, on the Asian leg of her international tour.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Riley Quick is far too important to meet with girls like us.”

  “Oh.”

  “One day we will be far too important to meet with girls like us.”

  “Oh.”

  “Your naivete is so …” If we were in the same room, she’d pat me on the head. “Sweet.”

  I don’t think I’m, like, exceptionally naive. Morgan is exceptionally all knowing. There’s a big difference. But my excitement cannot be squashed by the weight of Morgan’s condescension. Not today.

  “I can’t believe this is happening!” I gush. “I guess Kaytee really came through for us, huh?”

  “Kaytee has nothing to do with this,” Morgan replies sharply. “Daddy’s people set this up for us.”

  “But … what about Kaytee’s mom?” I ask. “Isn’t she … ?”

  “That whole family is canceled,” says Morgan dismissively. “I should’ve known they weren’t to be trusted when Kaytee couldn’t even get her loser brother to reply to any of my texts.”

  Hearing Morgan refer to Alex that way makes me choke on my own breath. And she’s not done yet.

  “Those two are, like, the Flaky Twins.”

  The Flaky Twins. That’s a new one.

  RIP MorLex.

  And what does it mean for Kaytee?

  “Besides, Daddy’s people are way higher up in the new media industry,” she says. “We’ve got so much to do this weekend!”

  “This weekend?”

  “Yes! This weekend! Our meeting is Monday after school!”

  The orange flyer flashes before my eyes. FENCING FOR ALL.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing!”

  “You don’t have something better to do on Monday, do you?”

  She saw the flyer. She knows what’s happening on Monday. She could have scheduled our meeting for literally any other day.

  This is a test.

  Or a trap.

  “Ella!”

  “What time is the meeting?” I ask.

  Maybe I can still make the tournament. Morgan does travel soccer and horseback riding and hip-hop dance and attends fancy events with her very important parents and still finds time for Morgan & Ella business. Why can’t I at least try to keep up with fencing and the brand?

  “Four thirty,” she says. “We’ll have just enough time to get out of school and get our looks together before Izzy drives us …”

  Four thirty. The same time as the tournament. Well, there goes that option. Not that it was ever really an option. There’s no way Morgan would ever let me do both.

  “Ribot Entertainment will take us to the next level of fame and fortune and followers!” Morgan promises. “So you better not blow it. You need to spend all weekend with me prepping for this audition like nothing you’ve ever prepped for before.”

  This is a one in a millionbilliontrillion opportunity. I know I should be, like, electrified with excitement right now. But I’m feeling oddly numb all over, like it’s not really happening to me.

  “Don’t say anything to your mom until I’ve handled it,” Morgan insists.

  I don’t know what she means by this, but I’m still flooded with relief. For once Morgan is making a demand that’s supereasy to keep.

  “What was all that shouting about?” Mom asks after I hang up.

  “Oh, you know,” I say. “Silly social media stuff.”

  Mom clucks her tongue but doesn’t say another word, just as I knew she wouldn’t.

  When I arrive at school, it’s clear that news of our big meeting has already hit all the socials. I’m not surprised when Paisley is the first to rush up to congratulate me. Only she doesn’t actually congratulate me.

  “I have something to talk to you about,” she whispers, looking around nervously. “Only I can’t talk to you right now. Too many witnesses.”

  “Okaaaay.”

  “We’ll talk in private after school,” she says, “somewhere Morgan will never, ever go.”

  “Morgan? What does this have to do with Morgan?”

  This is a ridiculous question. Morgan has something to do with everything.

  “Shhh! You’ll find out later. Just meet us in the library after last period.”

  “Us?” I ask. “Who is us?”

  “Maddy and me.”

  “You and Maddy? Since when are you friends?”

  “Since Morgan replaced her with Kaytee,” Paisley says, “and she started eating lunch in the Digital Citizenship room.”

  My head is spinning.

  “Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but you have to trust us,” Paisley says. “Until then, just act normal!”

  I try to act as oxymoronically normal as possible for the rest of the day, but it’s impossible because there’s nothing normal about the rest of this day. It seems like the whole
school already knows about our audition—even teachers. Morgan knows we’ve reached something called “maximum engagement” when even Mr. Schlosser congratulates us on our big break at the start of Digital Citizenship. Only Coach Stout gives me a very disappointed look—she knows what this means for the fencing tournament—but she doesn’t try to talk me out of my decision. And I know it sounds strange but I kind of wish she had.

  Sophie isn’t on social media. If Harumi or Sofie-with-an-f told Sophie about the audition, she doesn’t give any hint of caring one way or another.

  I leave for the library as soon as last bell rings. Somehow Maddy and Paisley have already arrived before me. They are doing a terrible job at pretending to read an old copy of American Girl magazine.

  “Okay,” I say wearily. “What’s this all ab—?”

  “Shhhhhhhhhhhh!” Paisley hushes.

  The three of us creep-walk to the way-back periodicals corner of the library with all the encyclopedias and dictionaries no one has looked at since, like, Mom was my age. Paisley keeps a finger pressed to her mouth as Maddy checks between the stacks to make sure we are really alone. When she gets the thumbs-up from Maddy, Paisley finally speaks.

  “You know I’m Morgan & Ella’s biggest OMG, right?”

  I nod.

  “So it is with great sadness that I have to make this confession.” Paisley takes my hands in hers. “I bought Morgan’s fans!”

  If she had said “I bought Morgan’s baby teeth,” I wouldn’t have been more surprised.

  “You what?”

  “Remember when Morgan got five thousand fans in a week? That’s because I bought them!”

  “Morgan bought them,” Maddy corrects her.

  “Well, technically I bought them using money Morgan paid me,” continues Paisley. “So it couldn’t get traced back to her if anyone ever looked into it.”

  “Which didn’t work,” Maddy says, “because I totally traced it back to her when I looked into it.”

  I’m too stunned to speak. This is the Digital Citizenship project Maddy has been working on? I mean, I knew it was kind of suspicious for Morgan to get so many fans so fast. But I never imagined she’d pay someone to buy fans for her! After accusing me of cheating! I’m dumbstruck by the two-facedness of it all.

  “Omigoddess!” Paisley exclaims. “I think we broke Ella!”