The Follower Kate Doughty (general ebook reader .txt) 📖

fanbase—is always super vocal at going-away parties. Speculating on the next place, wishing them well—Amber watches the number of likes on their last post soar and feels the familiar rush that comes with being popular, with being liked. Successful. Even if she is the least visible member of the trio, she could still share some of their glory, right?

She knows that the moment Rudy and Cecily hit their beds tonight, they’ll be scrolling through comments and DMs, responding to fans. Cecily, of course, will give supportive comments about her fans’ makeup looks and take suggestions for products or looks to try in her future videos. Rudy, as always, will report on the latest internet drama when he isn’t acting as the “host” of the trio, leading livestreams, vlogs, and progress posts about the renovations. The renovation focus had moved to the forefront of his content once their mom took a larger role in managing their account. Amber knows her brother isn’t a fan of the content itself, but she often catches Rudy up late at night, chatting with fans and taking suggestions for his next video.

Amber also doesn’t mind responding to the occasional DM. She loves seeing people react to Cecily’s makeup looks or give feedback on their renovations. It feels surreal to be a part of so many people’s lives like that. To have so many people know her—or, at least, her and her siblings. It gives her more than a small thrill. The irony that Cecily is the one who probably enjoys the attention—and all that comes with it—the least is not lost on Amber.

Rudy groans and nods his head in the direction of their parents. “You’d better drink up. Mom’s waving us over to mingle.”

Cecily takes another sip. “How do I look?” she asks.

Compared to the facetune? A little shiny. “You look great,” Amber says.

Cecily eyes her sister up and down before giving her a friendly elbow. “I don’t care if the algorithm favors it,” she says, half-laughing. “We have to stop matching. This green totally makes your eyes pop, mine look like . . . dirt or something. And having to stand next to those curves in a bodycon dress is just not fair.”

Amber can’t resist a small smile, but she’s still in work mode. “Matching increases our engagement by—”

“Okay, you two,” Rudy mutters, grabbing his sisters and steering them through the garden and toward the terrace, where fairy lights shimmer over a sea of guests. Their parents are surrounded by a cloud of lawyers, businessmen, realtors, and other adults trying to show off their wealth. The usual suspects, here to ogle carpeting and crown molding and the latest in ostentatious interior design. They look exactly how anyone would expect: overdrawn lipstick, tight sport jackets, smiles that are just a bit too wide. Amber can’t help but notice several god-awful fashion choices. They’ve clearly dressed up in an attempt to impress the Coles and are failing miserably if you ask Amber, whose top rule of fashion is to wear what makes you feel gorgeous, not what someone else might think is “cool” or “in.” But judging from the way so many of the guests are fiddling with the buttons of their blazers or tugging at the seams of their dresses, most of them likely dressed up for the Coles first and themselves second.

But Amber almost doesn’t fault them for trying. Almost.

It is, after all, the social event of the summer. The Coles spared no expense for their twentieth-anniversary soiree: tuxedoed waiters, top-shelf liquor, roving platters of oysters. The patio is buzzing with what Rudy calls “sneaky small talk” and Cecily calls “being fake” as the adults try to assess one another. Amber likes to sit in the background and play a game with herself, translating the conversations into their real meanings.

“I love that dress. Where’s it from?” What brands are you wearing?

“How’s your commute? Where do you work?” How prestigious is your neighborhood? What’s your salary?

“How do you know the Coles?” How big is your house? How expensive, how old, how state-of-the-art renovated?

“Got any weekend plans?” Do you have a summer home? What, you don’t have a lake house? My god, are you even worth talking to?

Mr. and Mrs. Cole are making said small talk with Ms. Lonetti, a financial advisor and recurring guest at their ridiculous parties. She spots the triplets and beckons them over with a jeweled hand, flashing teeth too white to be real. “Oh, aren’t you three a-dor-able!” she says. “Matching outfits! Did you do that, Marie?”

Mrs. Cole’s laugh is sweet and bubbly like champagne. “No,” she says. “They do that all on their own.”

Amber and Cecily exchange a glance. As if Amber or Cecily would even consider dressing matchy-matchy if their mother hadn’t meticulously planned their outfits for the highest degree of follower engagement. Amber shoots Cecily a half-apologetic look, and her sister responds with a half smile and an eye roll, as if to say, Remember when our Instagram account used to be just for fun?

But the costume is effective. Their outfits—dark green bodycon dresses that Amber had chosen for the occasion—match in everything except size, which Amber is all too aware of. Of course, dressing identically increases more than their follower engagement—it also increases the number of lewd comments about threesomes. Even though they thrive on positive fan engagement, Amber dreads reading through the account’s creepier DMs.

Rudy completes the Cole sibling look in khakis and a navy blue sport jacket with green accents. If Cecily’s and Amber’s looks reel in the men, he’s the reason that half their demographic is girls between the ages of eleven and eighteen. Amber can’t help but think that the three of them look exactly on-brand with their Instagram content: like the kind of people who use the word “summer” as a verb, not a noun.

“Well, you look lovely,” Ms. Lonetti says.

Mrs. Cole smiles blandly at the financial advisor and steers the triplets across the patio. “Tell me the posts are up,” she says. Amber nods.