shopping might be the way to go for me, too.
Fern and I were playing our new favorite shopping game: She Who Leaves with the Fewest Bags Wins, when we walked out of one of the boutique stores right into someone taking our picture.
“Hey, Peaches! Is that really your name?” the guy said, holding up the phone to take video. He was young and tall, an unapologetic jerk, with the smirk to match. “Is Duke Auggie shaking your tree?”
Sean quickly intercepted us, herding us away from the door.
“Who the fuck was that?” Fern asked.
My stomach sunk. I already knew. “PING.”
How the hell they even got my information so fast was anybody’s guess. But by the time we got to the car, I was trending, complete with a photo of me looking dreamily at some baby clothes.
LOOK OUT AUGGIE, PEACHES MIGHT BE ON THE HUNT FOR A BABY DADDY!
I felt sick to my stomach, which was really nothing new, but this was different. The vitriol from the public was instant, as everyone jumped on the bandwagon, making their judgments about me and my character based on one clandestine photo. PING made sure it was salacious enough with every click-bait headline, and the peanut gallery ate it up with relish. Fern took the phone from my hand so I wouldn’t get buried by the mean comments, that had plenty to say about my appearance.
And here I had been feeling pretty cute and confident, too. Leave it to John Q. Public to tear that like tissue paper.
“Fuck ‘em,” Fern said. She was used to the hateful trolls. She got them all the time using people like Dash and me in her workout videos.
Turns out, PING found those, too.
God, they couldn’t even give me one damned day to be happy before they circled like the vultures they were.
“I just don’t get how they found you,” Fern kept saying.
My stomach was heavy with dread. “Christopher,” I surmised. It was the only explanation that made any sense. He was super pissed that I got chosen instead of him, he had motive to rat me out to PING. Since he worked at Headliner Pulse, no doubt he found a way to pinpoint my location near the farm. And it wasn’t like PING had anything to do but lay in wait for me to show my face.
By nightfall, it was the headlining story. The Elusive Duke had picked someone to help him write his memoir, and it was some no-name, tattooed, chunky girl named Peaches. Late night comedians and social media talking heads had a field day with all of it, using my sister’s own videos to make memes that immediately went viral.
I won’t even tell you what they did with my Instagram photos. I very nearly turned it off.
“Don’t you dare,” Fern admonished. “Just because they think you should be embarrassed doesn’t mean you need to be. Don’t let them force you into the shadows or erase your existence. Think of all the little girls who are empowered right now, watching you choose happiness over the haters.”
God, I hated it when she was right.
I returned to the farm with my family, because at least that was still safe. They didn’t let me dwell on all the hateful bullshit. Instead we played board games all night, eating homemade pizza on cauliflower crusts. Mom’s focus on healthy eating kicked up a notch when she found out we were adding a new member to the tribe. She made me smoothies chock full of vitamins, kept a never-ending supply of unsalted crackers coming my way and had a cup or glass of ginger tea at the ready at any given minute.
She also encouraged me to keep active, to swim and to walk, to strengthen my body for the task ahead. That night she walked with me around the grounds, her arm linked in mine like she liked to do. It was kind of a McPhee thing we all did. It meant, “I got you. You are not alone.” I needed it now more than ever.
“How’ya holding up, Sweet Pea?”
I shrugged. “Today wasn’t fun. I expected life to change, but I guess I was naïve enough to think this wouldn’t be part of it.”
She nodded. “He is a lightning rod, isn’t he?”
I nodded too. It’s the very thing that ensured my book would be a bestseller. I already knew how much he was willing to pay me. Now I just needed to figure out the cost. Maybe this was the catch. “Can you