His uncle’s loaded.”
Ally ignored him. “I know you have this whole social media aversion thing—”
“I’d rather read . . . or go on a hike,” I replied automatically. “I’m content with texting.”
“No excuses,” she said, wagging her finger in my face. “We’re setting you up a facebook page right now. ”
“Uh—” I started. But she was already heading to my laptop.
“No! A blog—make him do a blog.” Sam stood up, trotting to meet her and sliding into the chair at my desk before she had a chance to.
“Wait a sec—” I shook my head, but Ally had already begun to giggle, whispering in Sam’s ear while he typed.
“Give the guy a break,” Mike said. “He’s already being exiled from the coolest city in the continental U.S. and now you’re giving him homework.”
Ally glared at him. “I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re the expert,” he said, giving me an “I tried” glance. But she was right. Ally was the social sun around which we all orbited.
9
“A blog and facebook it is,” Sam announced. He clicked between two screens, as of yet empty templates. Tabula rasa: a clean slate, like my new life.
“I don’t know about this,” I said. “What am I supposed to write about? I don’t think people will want to read about my boring life.”
“Write nice things about us,” Ally said. “We’re suckers for flat-tery. And witticisms. I believe you are capable of witticisms.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Give me an example.”
“If you need an example, I may have been wrong about you,”
Ally said.
“You have to let us know you’re doing okay.” Kate pulled the hoodie a little tighter around her. I doubted I would ever get it back.
I peered over Sam’s shoulder. “fine. But how am I supposed to even use these? You made up the password. I don’t know it.”
Ally grinned. “Sure you do.”
She waited a beat, watching me.
I began to laugh. “Nutclubber.”
“What else?” She hugged me, and I made a mental note to change it as soon as I had a minute alone. I didn’t want to imagine all the things Mike and Sam would post if I left the sites open to them.
Ally’s phone buzzed. She looked at it and began texting with the speed and precision of a cyborg.
“Your first send-off is at Lisbeth’s house tonight,” she said.
“My first send-off?” I asked.
“Sure.” She smiled at me. “You have two nights left in Portland, right?”
God, I’d miss this place.
two
After two nigHts of going-AwAy parties I was not of a mind, body, or spirit to climb into a car with a driver who looked like at any moment his muscles were going to rip right through his dark suit. Why my uncle’s drivers always looked like they could double as pro wrestlers never failed to perplex me. I tried to stay hidden behind my sunglasses as I was driven to a private airstrip and herded to my uncle’s Gulfstream G650.