Tweet Cute

by Emma Lord

  “Everything okay, Pep?”

  No. And I’m not even really sure why. Only a few days ago I was about as attached to Jack as I am to the guy who delivers our mail.

  I tuck my bangs behind my ear. If I get into it like I almost did with Dad, I’ll have to tell her about Jack, and given the circumstances, I don’t especially want her to know. “Yeah, just … doing a post for the blog.”

  “Paige is still posting too?”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s weird that most of the information Mom gets about Paige these days comes from me or from Dad.

  “Yeah.”

  She closes the fridge and leans there against the door for a moment, biting her cheek the same way I am. No matter what evolution of my mom I’m looking at—the barefoot, back-porch-singing Nashville one, or the high-heeled, power-walking one—there are always these uncanny moments when we’re both thinking the same thing or feeling the same way, and our bodies seem to mirror each other’s, like two halves of a coin.

  She blows out a breath, reopening the fridge to grab the jar of tomatoes she’s always snacking out of, and then props herself on the other kitchen stool. “Taffy had trouble reaching you toward the end of the day.”

  “I had practice. And homework.” And apparently two hours of guilt-induced baking, although that goes without saying.

  My mom nods. “There are a lot of eyes and ears on that Twitter feed, you know. I know you’re juggling a lot right now, but we could really use your help.”

  “I did.” Not necessarily on purpose; after I ghosted on her, Taffy must have sent out the GIF of the cat herself. It had ten thousand retweets last I checked. “And now that the whole thing with that deli is winding down—”

  “Winding down?” My mom laughs. “It’s just getting started.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulls out her phone and opens Twitter, where there’s a new tweet from the Girl Cheesing account.

  Girl Cheesing @GCheesing

  Anyone who unfollows Big League Burger on Twitter gets 50 percent off their next grilled cheese! And, y’know, the relative comfort of knowing they’re eating something that doesn’t suck

  6:48 PM · 21 Oct 2020

  “So? Got any ideas cooking?”

  The thing is, I always do. Within seconds, usually. Sometimes before I even finish reading a tweet. But right now, my mind just draws a giant blank. Right now, I’m looking at this tweet, but the only words I’m really hearing are Jack’s on his way out the door: Don’t you dare stand there and tell me it isn’t personal.

  “Actually, I was thinking—I had some other ideas for things we could post, memes or some funny quote retweets we could do—”

  “Sure, of course, we can do those later. But how are we going to respond to this?”

  I’ve been smiling this uneasy smile, but I can feel it starting to tilt on my face. And that’s not the only thing tilting. Something is off here, something I don’t fully understand.

  “Should we?” I ask. I keep my voice bright and noncombative. “I mean, they’re such small potatoes. We can do better than that, right? The McDonald’s Twitter account posted some promotion about their new McCafé flavor this morning, and I bet I could—”

  “Maybe you could sleep on it? We can loop in Taffy in the morning.”

  She pops another tomato into her mouth.

  “Actually, Mom, um—I’m really busy this week, and I don’t think I should tweet at that Girl Cheesing account anymore.”

  She shrugs. “So give Taffy some jumping-off points.”

  I turn my back on her, pretending to wipe some crumbs off the counter so I can pinch my eyes shut for a moment and brace myself. Unlike Paige, I’m not so good on the whole rebellion front.

  “What I mean is, I think we should just … full stop. No more tweeting at them at all.”

  The tomato crunching stops for a moment. “You can’t just let him win.”

  My ears snag on the word, my heart lurching.

  “What do you mean ‘him’?”

  There’s a beat, and then my mom waves her hand dismissively. “The owner’s probably a he.”

  “It’s called Girl Cheesing.”

  Not to mention, assuming an owner of a business is a guy is just not my mom’s MO. Long before she dreamed up the idea for Big League Burger and helped build it up to the veritable empire it is today, she was almost too progressive a feminist for a place like Nashville, where she jokingly but not-quite-jokingly would clamp her hands over our ears anytime a line in a country song said something about girls with painted-on jeans or sitting on tailgates, saying it would make us “the complicit kind of cowgirl.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  But now she’s the one having trouble looking at me.

  I could tell her, I suppose. About Jack. But I already know what it’ll look like—that I have a crush on him or something, and I’m backing out of something that matters to her over a dumb boy.

  “I’m going to lie down,” says my mom, getting up from the table so suddenly she leaves her briefcase and her sunglasses behind. “There should be leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

  I can’t stand the idea of her being upset with me. I feel it all over again like some phantom force—that tug between her and Paige, except this time, of all people, it’s between her and Jack.

  “I’ll queue up some ideas,” I tell her retreating back.

  Which isn’t a lie. I will. They just won’t necessarily have anything to do with our Twitter feud. This has to be where it ends. It was embarrassing enough when it was a tiger against an ant; it’s another thing entirely when it’s a tiger attacking a family. And as determined as Jack was not to hear me out, the truth is, I understand that—the pride. The loyalty. The ridiculous lengths you’ll go to when it comes to protecting your own.

  We used to have that, once upon a time. Now, I guess, the front lines are just me and 280 characters on a phone screen.

  Jack

  Wolf

  This. Has been. The longest day. Of my entire existence

  Bluebird

  Oh hey look who’s alive!

  Wolf

  Barely, though

  Wolf

  Sorry I’ve been MIA

  Wolf

  And to answer your question: be Spider-Man. That is what I want to do with my life

  Wolf

  But since that is a biological impossibility I have turned my attention to slightly more realistic pursuits

  Bluebird

  Disappointing, but go on

  Wolf

  Honestly? What’s probably going to happen is I end up in the family business

  Bluebird

  Maybe don’t go on. This is starting to sound like the opening to a Godfather movie

  Wolf

  Believe me, I have made PLENTY of offers people have no problem refusing

  Wolf

  But family business aside, I guess I like working with apps

  Bluebird

  Like making them?

  Wolf

  I guess, yeah. I mean I’m obviously not a pro at it but it’s fun to tinker with

  Bluebird

  Well? Have you made any?

  Wolf

  REALLY dumb things

  Bluebird

  Show me

  Wolf

  You might not like me anymore

  Bluebird

  Who says I like you now?

  Wolf

  Um OUCH

  Bluebird

  How about this? If you don’t show me I won’t like you anymore

  Wolf

  That logic is cruel but sound. You asked for this

  Wolf

  macncheeseme.com

  Bluebird

  Is this … is this an app for finding emergency mac and cheese

  Wolf

  Like Spider-Man, I am only looking out for the citizens of New York

  Bluebird

  Oh my god it says there are 203
places within a three-mile radius of me where I could get mac and cheese RIGHT NOW

  Wolf

  Really though is there any other reason for people to live in this city

  Bluebird

  I AM SO OVERWHELMED

  Wolf

  Mac and cheese fan?

  Bluebird

  You should do another one of these but with cupcakes

  Wolf

  Your feedback is noted and appreciated

  Bluebird

  Really though, this is super cool

  Wolf

  Thanks. You’re like one of two people on the planet who has the access link, so be honored I guess

  Bluebird

  WHAT? You should be sharing this shit with the world. It’s your moral responsibility

  Wolf

  With great power …

  Bluebird

  Comes delicious responsibility

  Bluebird

  I think I’m gonna get mac and cheese, I’m not kidding

  Wolf

  This is my legacy now, huh?

  Bluebird

  And hey your dreams technically didn’t NOT come true

  Bluebird

  Since you’re posting your app on the world wide … web

  Bluebird

  Get it?

  Wolf

  I’m blocking you.

  Bluebird

  WEBS. Like SPIDER-MAN’S!!!!

  Wolf

  Blocked

  Bluebird doesn’t answer me for a few moments, then. I assume she’s just hustling her way out the door like I am, until I reach the 6 train platform and see another notification come in that makes my stomach drop.

  Bluebird

  Do you think it’s weird that the app hasn’t outed us yet?

  Bluebird

  Like maybe we are lab rats in this app’s experiment or something

  Wolf

  IDK. It is weird though

  Bluebird

  Are we going to do something dumb like not tell each other who we are until graduation

  Wolf

  Do you want to know?

  Bluebird

  Sometimes

  Bluebird

  You?

  Wolf

  Sometimes

  Wolf

  I feel like

  Wolf

  Ah sorry that sent too soon

  Wolf

  I don’t know. What if you think I’m someone I’m not and you’re disappointed?

  Bluebird

  I feel the same way

  Bluebird

  Just kidding. I’m embarrassingly hot. I’m actually Blake Lively

  Wolf

  Well this is awkward because I’m sitting with her right now, so

  Bluebird

  SHIT. Not again

  Wolf

  XOXO gossip wolf

  I spend the rest of the ride to the Upper East Side typing and deleting messages back, wondering if I should just leave it at that or say what I want to say. The trouble is, I don’t know what I want to say. If I want us to stay in the dark, or if I want all our cards out on the table.

  But if I’ve learned one thing from occasionally being too impulsive for my own good, it’s that once you open a door like that, you don’t get to close it again. Right now, Bluebird is nobody and everybody at once—but right now, Bluebird likes me. And I’m worried that in changing that first bit, the second one might change too.

  Apparently that worry is intense enough that I forget my breakfast. My family owns a deli we live on top of, but somehow I not only forget to grab one of the infinite delicious options I have at my disposal, but I don’t realize it until I’m standing outside of homeroom, five minutes to the bell, with no other options but to eat the ridiculous red tie they make us wear as part of our uniforms.

  My stomach gurgles like a sentient being. This is it, then. I’ll die before noon.

  It doesn’t help I got next to no sleep last night. After that shift, I should have slept like a dead person, but every time I did, my dreams were all tangled, like someone rattled the synapses in my brain. I kept waking up to different jolts to my system—my anger at Pepper. The irritation of Ethan getting off scot-free, yet again. The worry of wondering whether I’d shown the mysterious Bluebird too much by sending her the link to that old app I made last year, and the gnawing guilt of knowing even by sending it, the situation just got a little more complicated than it was before.

  I scan the hallway for Paul. There’s one friendship I know I haven’t screwed up. A friendship that comes with a free CLIF Bar, if I’m lucky, because Paul seems to be carrying an absurd amount with him at all times, as if the apocalypse is going to hit while we’re in class.

  Apparently my luck has really and truly run out this morning, because the person whose face I spot instead of Paul’s is the last one I want to see right now.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  I had a plan for this. I rehearsed it in my head last night like a total loser, which I had plenty of time to do, thanks to the not-sleeping thing. And the plan was simple, because the plan was this: ignore Pepper. Don’t acknowledge anything she says, and walk away.

  The thing I did not factor into that equation, unfortunately, was Pepper herself. Or the fact that she seems every bit as miserable as I do, with her bangs slightly off-kilter and her blue eyes earnest and overtired, as though she spent most of last night awake too. Still, I’m determined not to acknowledge her—that is, until I see that she appears to be holding a container full of the most obscenely gooey blondie situation I have ever laid eyes on in my life.

  I shift my weight between my feet, my resolve and bravado as absent as my breakfast.

  “The bell’s about to ring,” I say.

  “Just for a second?”

  It’s more than her eyes. There’s this openness to her. Not like there’s a crack in the mask of Robot Pepper, but like the mask is off completely. Somehow in this moment that she’s never looked more different, she’s also never seemed more familiar—and just like that, I realize she’s already become someone I can’t just dismiss, even though by all accounts I should.

  “Fine.”

  Ethan passes us in the hallway, raising his eyebrows at me as he does. Pepper’s face is on fire by the time he slips into homeroom.

  “I know I said it, but—I really am sorry. I had no idea it was you on the other end of that.”

  “But you knew it was someone.”

  “Yeah. And I felt gross about it. But my mom…” She shakes her head before I can even pull a face. “It’s a whole thing. But what I wanted to say was that I get it. I mean, I know it doesn’t seem like I would, but—we were smaller, once.”

  I can’t help it—it’s coming out of me before I can do anything to clamp it down. “You think we can’t hold our own because we’re small?”

  “No, no, that’s not what I—sorry. That’s not what I meant at all.” She takes a breath, and I realize she’s actually flustered. Pepper, the girl who was one time challenged to argue against global warming for a debate club event in front of half the school, is flustered talking to me. “What I mean is, back when Big League Burger started, it was just us. My parents and my sister and me. And it was like that for a while, before we … well, you know. So I get it.”

  There’s this uncertain lilt in her voice, in the way she is looking at me. Like she isn’t expecting me to accept her apology. To be fair, I wasn’t either.

  But that’s not the reason why, for a few moments, I don’t say anything. It’s that there’s something else hovering on the end of that last bit, like there’s more to the story. Something else that fractured between the Big League Burger then and whatever it’s become since.

  I want to ask, but then Pepper is shoving the Tupperware under my nose. “Also, these are for you.”

  I may have my pride, but my stomach sure doesn’t. I already know I’m going to take them, probably already knew before Pepper opened her mouth and swayed me with her speech.<
br />
  “What are they?” I somehow manage to ask, despite the saliva pooling in my mouth.

  “An apology. They’re literally called So Sorry Blondies.”

  “Another Evans sisters invention?”

  She lets out a huff of a laugh, like she’s been holding her breath. “Yeah.”

  I take it from her, partially because she looks like she has no intention of putting her arms down otherwise, and partially because I’m so hungry, the janitor might have to come peel me off the floor if I don’t eat something soon. She watches me nervously, as if she can’t tell if she’s actually been forgiven or not.

  “Look.” I glance into the classroom, where Ethan is thoroughly distracted by Stephen and no longer keeping an eye on us. “I may have … overreacted.”

  Pepper shakes her head. “I told you. I get it. It’s your family.”

  “Yeah. But it’s also—well, to be honest, this has been kind of good for business.”

  Pepper’s brow furrows, that one little crease returning. “What, the tweets?”

  “Yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck, sheepish. “Actually, we had a line out the door yesterday. It was kind of intense.”

  “That’s … that’s good, right?”

  The tone of my voice is clearly not matching up with the words I’m saying, but if I’m being honest, I’m still wary of this whole overnight business boom. And if I’m being honest, I’m even more wary of Pepper. If this really is as much of a family business as she claims it is—to the point where she’s helping run the Twitter handle, when even I know enough about corporate Twitter accounts to know entire teams of experienced people get paid to do that—then she might have had more of a hand in this whole recipe theft thing than she’s letting on.

  The fact of the matter is, I can’t trust her. To the point of not knowing whether I can even trust her knowing how our business is doing, or just how badly we need it.

  “Yeah, um, I guess.” I try to make it sound noncommittal. My acting skills, much like my breakfast-packing skills, leave much to be desired.

  “So…”

  “So.”

  Pepper presses her lips into a thin line, a question in her eyes.

  “So, I guess—if your mom really wants you to keep tweeting…”

  “Wait. Yesterday you were pissed. Two minutes ago you were pissed.”