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

“Excellent—thank you, sweetheart. Now, you three know your places, yes?” she asks. Before they can answer, she inspects them one by one. She un-smudges Cecily’s mascara, and Amber watches Cecily’s hand twitch in annoyance as she thumbs her clutch. It’s one of the few things that Cecily is never without—a basic touch-up kit for moments like these. Because Cecily can’t bear to be less than perfect. Rudy and Amber exchange an amused look as their mom fusses over Cecily. Mrs. Cole turns to Rudy next, straightening his tie and artfully mussing his hair. She barely glances over Amber before smiling and saying, “Now, smile and play nice while I go get your father.”

Amber scans the party for avenues of escape, but it’s too late—their mother has already steered them into the fray. Mom squeezes Cecily’s and Rudy’s shoulders before vanishing into the crowd. The Cole triplets are officially on display.

Other adults surround them, all pretty, prying, and eager to shape their own multimillionaire children into the next generation of social media stars.

Amber watches as Cecily and Rudy turn “on,” plastering on the wide, bright smiles that they reserve for adults at these kinds of gatherings. She puts on her own smile. After so long online, it comes easily. The show starts now.

Ms. Lonetti is replaced by a businessman with a hideous tie. “How are you kids? How’s school? How are those posts doing?”

Cecily speaks first. “It’s great,” she says, beaming. “Sure, we don’t get football, but being homeschooled does have its benefits. More time with these two,” she says, giving Rudy and Amber a playful shove. “Summer break is still exciting, though!” Amber starts to play the translation game with her siblings, too: If I have to sit through one more “school day” dedicated to best vlog practices or Instagram stories, I am going to jump off a building.

The revolving door of party guests continues, and once the booze kicks in it’s a whole lot easier to smile through the small talk. The triplets alternate sips of gin with their lines.

“Yes, I’m looking at colleges in California.” No, I’m looking for agents in LA.

“No, no boys—focusing on school for now.” Eww, you are old enough to be my father.

“No, we’re only seventeen—not eighteen for almost a whole year!” Creep, creep, CREEP. Amber can’t tell if it’s the gin or the lawyer asking the question about when she’ll be legal that makes her want to puke.

“Oh, your son has an Instagram? How nice!” What’s his engagement? How many followers does he have? Is he sponsored?

Just as the smile plastered on Amber’s face starts to hurt, a loud clinking sound saves her. Everyone looks toward the stage, and the flood of adults trying to get a piece of the triplets is temporarily distracted. Amber uses the lull in action to whip out her phone and check on the last post. It’s doing well; she opens her Instagram and takes in the abundance of internet validation. It feels good, warm, even if the followers are here for Cecily and Rudy, not her.

She combs through the comments. Even though their fanbase is largely supportive—Cecily, you look amazing! Oh my god, GORGEOUS!—there are always a few bad ones.

Haha, is that a PIMPLE on Cecily’s face?

Wow, I’ve never seen a green whale before.

Wish I could get you girls together. I’d do some drilling with you two, if you know what I mean

Amber makes a face and deletes the comments. Sure, Mom says that any kind of comment is good for engagement, but even she is okay with cutting the ones that affect their “image.”

The gin makes deleting comments easier.

The glass clinks again, and a quick elbow from Cecily has Amber stuffing her phone into a matching green clutch and looking up into the eyes of her mother. Mrs. Cole stands next to their father; the couple looks as immaculate as their children. Emerald dress and jewels for Mom, black suit for Dad. Wide smiles, teeth whitened into oblivion. Mrs. Cole strikes the champagne glass one last time.

“Thank you all for coming to our ‘little’ party,” she says, chuckling at her own joke as black-tie waiters filter through the crowd to hand out glasses of champagne. Rudy, who Amber is pretty sure is now tipsy, mimes retching. Their mother gestures at the McMansion looming over the party guests. “Celebrating our sale of this ah-mazing refurbished colonial mansion for three-point-one million dollars.”

“And, of course, our twentieth-wedding anniversary,” Dad cuts in with his trademark grin, eliciting a playful—and choreographed—slap on the shoulder from Mom. The crowd laughs and applauds. They’re so cute. So in love.

Amber would believe it a lot more if they hadn’t rehearsed it all afternoon. Or if they hadn’t spent the last few weeks huddled together, trying their best to fix the family finances.

“Of course, dear,” Mom says.

“We are also excited to announce our newest project,” Mr. Cole continues, wrapping his arm around his wife. “The Cole family is setting off for gorgeous upstate New York to start on our biggest, most extreme, most expensive project yet: a beautiful eight-thousand-square-foot home that dates back to the eighteen hundreds!” A few gasps from the crowd. Unnecessary, Amber thinks. But then again, adults are weirdly dramatic about these things.

“We hit the road tomorrow,” Mrs. Cole says. “We’re so pleased to be able to bring this historic home back to its former glory and prepare it for another long-term family.” After inflating the value by several million dollars, of course.

The crowd lets out another round of applause.

“He’s going to say it, isn’t he?” Rudy asks, taking a swig of his drink.

“Someone definitely will,” Cecily agrees. “My money’s on Mom, though.”

“Loser finishes their drink.”

They clink glasses of spiked seltzer. Amber decides not to ruin their bet by mentioning that Mom delivers the line seventy percent of the time. Mr. Cole continues. “You know, to us, renovating old masterpieces like this one—and our new project, 976 Tremont—is more than