True to Your Selfie

by Megan Mccafferty

  “I’m just …” I swirl my hands in the air to express what I can’t verbalize.

  “Morgan asked—I mean, demanded—I do it, but I refused,” Maddy says.

  “So she turned to someone she knew couldn’t say no,” Paisley says in a choked voice. “Your biggest fan.”

  “Then she turned on me,” Maddy says, “because eventually Morgan turns on everyone when they aren’t useful to her anymore.”

  “Like Kaytee,” Paisley adds.

  Kaytee was beyond excited about our big news and didn’t seem to mind that Morgan had bypassed her mom’s PR connections in the pursuit of fame and fortune and followers. In fact, she was so bouncy with excitement that Morgan told her to take it down “like, infinity notches.” She’s so on the outs that she doesn’t even realize she’s been ousted.

  “Kaytee couldn’t deliver on two major gimmes,” Maddy explains.

  “Number one: the PR stuff,” says Paisley. “And number two: Alex.”

  “As it turns out, the Mystery Hottie prefers to remain a mystery,” Maddy says with a slight smile. “At least to Morgan.”

  Maddy and Paisley aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. And this is my chance to one-up them both by telling them what Alex really thinks of Morgan. I have a feeling, though, that this gossip would only stir up major drama for Alex that he doesn’t want or deserve. Sometimes the fullest truth causes more harm than good. Thankfully, the moment for total honesty passes quickly when Paisley throws her arms around me.

  “I hope you can forgive me for betraying you! I knew it was wrong, and I felt bad about it right away, but you know Morgan is so hard to say no to.”

  I don’t think there’s anyone who knows this better than I do.

  “Why are you telling me this now?” I ask.

  Maddy and Paisley exchange a look that says, Do you want to do it or should I?

  “Because this audition is bad news for you,” Maddy says.

  “As your biggest fan, I hate to say it,” Paisley adds. “But it’s true.”

  “But it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to our brand,” I say. “I mean, it’s Ribot Entertainment! It doesn’t get more influential than that! How is that a bad thing?”

  Maddy looks me right in the eye to make sure I’m giving her my fullest attention to the fullest truth.

  “You’re just the next girl Morgan is using to get ahead.”

  I burst out laughing. Until now, everything Maddy and Paisley were saying sounded absolutely believable. Terrible, but believable.

  This is also terrible, but totally ridiculous.

  “Why does she need me to get ahead?” I say. “She’s the one with the powerful family, money, and connections, not me!”

  “That’s why she chose you,” Maddy says. “Have you ever heard of oppo research?”

  Of course I haven’t.

  “Middletons are winners, right?” Maddy says. “A key to winning is not only knowing your opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, but your own. Politicians like her father do it all the time. So Morgan will target her own negatives and turn them into positives before anyone else can take her down.”

  “Like the Love the Skin You’re In video,” Paisley offers. “Remember that one? When Morgan compared her legs to fluorescent light bulbs and said she was embracing the pasty?”

  I don’t remember this video at all. Paisley is way, waaaaaaay more familiar with Morgan & Ella’s content than I am.

  “She was pointing out her flaws to make girls feel better about themselves …”

  “Ha!” Maddy laughs so loudly we get a quick shush from the librarian.

  “Morgan doesn’t care about making anyone feel better but herself!” Maddy whisper-shouts. “It’s all strategy. I told her how my research showed it wouldn’t be enough for you to be aesthetic and multitalented and uplifting. You also have to be relatable role models.” She takes a deep breath then keeps going. “Anyway, one of Morgan’s biggest flaws is that she’s, like, not at all relatable, you know? Too out of touch with normals who don’t live in mansions with congressman daddies. So what better way to prove your realness? Partnering up with the realest of girls.”

  Paisley is gazing at Maddy with stars in her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry the OMGs never gave you the credit you deserve as the genius behind Morgan & Ella’s success.” Then Paisley slaps a hand to her mouth. “No offense, Ella! I mean, you’re supertalented too …”

  Absolutely none taken. All along Maddy was the brains of the operation. Morgan took what she needed and dumped her when she wasn’t useful anymore.

  Like she’s doing to Kaytee.

  And will eventually do to me?

  “Has she nicknamed you yet?” Paisley asks.

  “No,” I reply. “At least I don’t think so.”

  “When she gives you a nickname, that’s when you know you’re”—Maddy pauses for emphasis—“Dunzo.”

  As further evidence, Maddy holds up her phone to show me an unflattering picture of Kaytee from Fotobomb that she screencapped before it disappeared. Kaytee was caught mid-mouthful and mid-blink, like she’s more asleep than awake. Under the photo, another nickname to put on the latest tombstone in the cemetery of Morgan’s dead friendships.

  #FlakyKaytee

  I’m looking forward to being in the empty apartment to process what Paisley and Maddy have told me. I need to prepare how I’m going to tell Morgan that I’m going ahead with the fencing tournament. If she really values me as a partner, she can simply reschedule our meeting for any other day. That’s not too much to ask for, right? So I’m, like, double shook to interrupt a tea party in progress.

  “Hi, Ella!” says Morgan.

  “Hi, Ella!” says Mom.

  Morgan.

  And.

  Mom.

  Mom!

  And!

  Morgan!

  And they’ve been together long enough to finish half cups of tea and start a sleeve of Thin Mints.

  “Why are you here?”

  The question is for both of them.

  “Remember when I told you I was taking a half day today so I could study for my exam?” Mom says.

  Obviously I do not remember this.

  “Your mom does such important work,” Morgan gushes. “I was telling her all about how my grandpa had a stroke and lost the use of his arm.” She pauses to nod at Mom. “But after rehabilitation with his occupational therapist, he’s back on the golf course!”

  I don’t want to hear another word of this heartwarming and possibly even true story.

  “Why. Are. You. Here?”

  It comes out more accusatory and less casual than I want it to.

  “I could ask you the opposite question,” Morgan says in a teasing voice. “Why weren’t you here?”

  “Yes, I was wondering the same thing,” Mom says. “You’re supposed to come home right after school every day. So imagine my surprise to come home to an empty apartment.”

  “I was at the library,” I say truthfully. “Getting information. For a project.”

  “Really?” Morgan raises an eyebrow. “What project? For what class?” She turns to Mom. “Ella and I are in a lot of the same classes together except foreign language, math, science, and weirdly, gym. It’s too late to switch to Mandarin. And Ella may never be an athlete like Lauren, so gym might be a hopeless case. But I think maybe with the right study skills she can get into the accelerated math and science with me …”

  “I’ve always thought the same thing,” Mom says.

  “I’m always offering to be her study buddy, but she turns me down,” Morgan says with a little pout.

  Morgan excels in many areas:

  School

  Singing

  Soccer

  Hip-Hop

  Horses.

  But this—saying whatever needs to be said to get whatever she wants—is Morgan’s greatest talent. And I am witnessing a virtuoso performance.

  “Anyway, enough about all
that!” Morgan says with a flick of her wrist. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell your mom about our meeting with Ribot Entertainment!”

  But you told me not to tell her! I want to protest. Until you handled it.

  And then I realize that this is Morgan “handling it.” Right here, right now.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me either,” Mom says, stretching her skeptical eyebrows to new forehead-climbing heights.

  “I—” I stammer. “I—”

  “Don’t get mad at Ella, Ms. Plaza,” Morgan says soothingly. “I don’t think she believes it’s really happening. She’s still in shock.”

  Those statements are 100 percent true and truer.

  “And who can blame her?” Morgan continues. “I mean, this is an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

  “Morgan has gone to a lot of trouble to break it all down for me,” Mom says.

  Only then do I notice the binder on her place mat. It’s not a study guide for anatomy class but a document titled “Morgan & Ella: A Guide to Global Multiplatform Domination.”

  “I knew your mom would have a lot of questions and concerns, so I put this together,” Morgan says. “As you can see, it’s everything she needs to know about our meeting and so much more.”

  I flip through the pages. As promised, the binder includes info we need for Monday, including bios on every key member of Riley Quick’s management team and directions to their Manhattan office. It also contains a five-year social media campaign strategy, target promotional partnerships, and potential tour dates and cities.

  “Morgan is very thorough,” Mom says.

  “And it all starts tomorrow night at our sleepover strategy session at Morgan & Ella HQ!”

  “A sleepover?” I ask.

  This invitation is a big deal. I’ve never been invited to stay overnight at the Middleton Mansion. And that never really bothered me because I’m not a huge fan of sleepovers. Truth is, I have trouble falling asleep in any bed that’s not my own. My bedroom makes Morgan claustrophobic, but to me it’s comforting—especially when Lauren is sleeping in the other bed. She used to make fun of me for being afraid of the dark—a big sister taunt that stung harder than most because it wasn’t completely untrue. There’s only one other house where I slept soundly and unafraid—dozens, if not hundreds, of times—next to my best friend in a sleeping bag on the floor.

  But not anymore.

  Morgan taps her spoon against the teacup to get my attention.

  “Ella! Are you even listening to me?”

  I am not.

  “It will be so nice for you to hang out with Sophie again,” Mom says.

  “Sophie?!”

  “Sophie!”

  Mom sounds far more excited about me seeing Sophie than meeting Riley Quick’s management team.

  “What does Sophie have to do with this?” I ask.

  “I invited Sophie to the sleepover.”

  Like polynomials, my brain simply cannot factor this outcome.

  “You invited Sophie?!”

  “I want to make the New Girl, Kaytee, feel welcome,” Morgan says.

  “You invited Kaytee? But I thought that whole family was can—”

  Morgan cuts me off.

  “Of course I invited Kaytee! And any friend of Kaytee’s is a friend of mine! They can contribute valuable feedback for our audition …”

  This is truly a master at work. Because absolutely nothing could be further from the truth. I thought I was hopelessly lost in pre-algebra, but I could not possibly be more confused than I am right now.

  “I’ve been encouraging her to hang out with Sophie all year,” Mom says to Morgan. “Maybe she can sing along in one of your videos. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Morgan sips her tea, then dabs her lips with a napkin before replying.

  “It would be nice. But you know how shy Sophie can be. But with the right encouragement, maybe Ella and I can bring her out of her shell …”

  A horn honks outside.

  “Yikes! That’s Izzy! I gotta go!” Morgan hops up and shakes Mom’s hand. “It was so great to finally meet you, Ms. Plaza.”

  “You too, Morgan,” Mom replies evenly.

  The apartment door has barely closed behind us when Morgan is literally patting herself on the back. Again.

  “And that is how it’s done!”

  “What happened in there?”

  “I was winning over your mother,” Morgan says in a self-congratulatory tone. “That’s what.”

  “But why now?”

  “Why now? Why now?” Morgan double ding-dongs her head. “This meeting is the most important thing that has ever happened to me!”

  “Us,” I correct.

  “Us.” Morgan takes me by both shoulders. “Exactly.”

  Her nails dig through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, straight through the skin.

  “Ow!”

  Morgan laughs likes I’m joking, but I’m not. Her manicure will definitely leave a mark.

  “I need you to be your very best on Monday. We need intense practice if we’re going to nail that audition. And this sleepover is, like, Morgan & Ella boot camp. I know Mama Plaza is not on board with our brand yet—even after reading my prospectus—so I invited Ickface to guarantee I’d get her on my good side …”

  “You really invited Sophie to sleep over at your house?”

  “Well, technically Kaytee invited her, and I gave my approval.”

  “But why?”

  Morgan clenches and unclenches her fists.

  “Kaytee had the nerve to give me an ultimatum! An ultimatum! Can you believe the New Girl’s nerve? Said she’d come only if Sophie came.”

  “But why Kaytee? I thought she was canceled.”

  “We need someone to film all our behind-the-scenes content for Fotobomb! And Maddy is acting all petty and won’t reply to my texts, so what other choice did I have? I’ve been put in a really awkward position, and I don’t appreciate it, especially at such a crucial juncture in our career.”

  If anyone’s in an awkward position it’s Sophie. But it’s asking far too much of Morgan to recognize that.

  “But there’s no way Ickface will actually show up. That’s the upside to this disaster. I’ll still get major credit with your Mama Plaza for being so kind, and she’ll get on board with our brand, and you will nail the audition because you’ve finally got your Mom’s full support …”

  Izzy honks the horn again.

  “Gotta go! I’m meeting with a personal shopper to put together a collection of audition outfits to choose from …”

  She’s halfway to the car before I call out what should be the obvious.

  “Shouldn’t I come with you?” I ask. “To pick out my own look?”

  To which Morgan replies cheerfully and succinctly.

  “Nope!”

  When I go back inside, Mom is rinsing the teacups and saucers in the sink.

  “You’re sure you’re okay with all this?” I ask. “I mean, this audition could change all our lives … ?”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” Mom asks with her back still to me.

  Is it? Mom turns around and I hope that she’ll see me like Lauren always says she does, all the way down to my soul. I hope she’ll provide an answer to my own question.

  “I’m more than okay with all this,” she says. “I insist.”

  I always thought it was impossible to get anything past Mom. But I guess she met her match in Morgan Middleton. Mom’s trusting response makes me feel a little less stupid about my own gullibility.

  But not any smarter.

  Which makes total sense for a Goofball, I guess. Only a fool would’ve thought I could convince Morgan to reschedule the biggest thing that’s ever happened to her to avoid a conflict that only matters to me.

  I’m not expected at Middleton Mansion until six p.m., which means I am totally free to attend my final fencing class.

  I don’t want to go.

  What’s
the point? I’m not competing in the tournament, and I can’t afford any more lessons, so why be reminded of how good I could have been if only I’d had the opportunity to get better?

  But then I think about the fifty dollars Lauren paid for me to be there. One skipped class equals twelve dollars and fifty cents.

  Twelve dollars and fifty cents doesn’t sound like a lot. But I know the work that went into earning it. Twelve dollars and fifty cents equals one and a quarter lawns mowed. Fifty minutes of tutoring. Two and a half scoreless toddler soccer games.

  So I show up for my final fencing lesson because that’s the responsible thing to do, even though I dread seeing Dede. She’s not a fan of Riley Quick—she’s really into rap—but even she has to understand why a meeting with Ribot Entertainment is a can’t-miss opportunity, right?

  But Dede surprises me by not even bringing it up.

  “No time for talking today,” she says. “Let’s fence!”

  So we spend the last class squaring off against one another in short bouts lasting three minutes or five touches, whichever comes first. So over the next nine minutes, I watch D.J. beat Jennifer, then Bob beat Julie, and Gilda beat Heather. It’s actually pretty fun to watch, because everyone is on the same basic level. The competitors are evenly matched.

  Until it’s my turn.

  It takes thirty-six seconds for me to get five touches on D.J.

  It takes twenty-two seconds for me to get five touches on Bob.

  It takes seventeen seconds for me to get five touches on Gilda.

  I don’t want to brag, but I seriously think the only way I could have possibly lost is if I’d had both arms tied behind my back. But my matches are not nearly as fun to watch because they are not even close. There’s no tension or suspense.

  And very little sense of accomplishment.

  The class congratulates me on my victories. Half of them will be moving on to the next level. The Moms decided a pottery class is a better use of their “me time.” But D.J., Bob, and Gilda have registered for the three-month-long beginners’ class. I wish I could join them.

  Actually, that’s not totally true.

  I want to go up against someone more skilled than they are.

  More skilled than me.

  I want a challenge.

  “Well, Ella,” Dede says as she collects my helmet and chest guard, “it was nice having you in class.”