True to Your Selfie

by Megan Mccafferty

  “I want to go home, Izzy,” I say. “Please take me home.”

  Her mouth turns down at the corners. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  At first I think she’s apologizing for her loyalty to Morgan. But when she pulls out her phone and calls me a car, I realize she’s apologizing for so much more, in the same way my silent “sorry” to Sophie tried to make up for all the bad behavior that came before.

  We don’t live that far outside the city. On the map, my tiny apartment is so close to the Manhattan skyscraper where Morgan is probably pitching her Girlboss Lessons solo project to the pink-haired rep from Ribot Entertainment. And yet these two dropped pins are universes apart.

  There’s a lot of rush hour traffic, so the ride home takes a lot longer than the drive out. There’s no hope for making it to the fencing tournament before it’s over. I’m disappointed, of course. But if I’ve really got the talent Coach Stout and Dede see in me, I have to believe this won’t be my last chance. Morgan always made it seem like we were running out of time for our big break. But I’m not even thirteen! I’m tired of singing other people’s words. I’ve got so many unsung songs inside me.

  “Universes Apart” would make a great title, I think.

  It’s a little after seven p.m. when I unlock the front door to the apartment. It’s the magic hour after work and before class, and Mom is at her computer cramming for her test. I feel bad to burst in like this, but she seems relieved by the interruption.

  “Izzy called me,” she explains.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I needed to come home.”

  Mom turns away from the screen.

  “I’m not surprised by that at all.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope.” She gets up, then pushes aside pillows to make room for us on the couch. “I’m only surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

  Of all the confusing conversations I’ve had lately, this is definitely the confusingest.

  “After sitting down to tea with Morgan,” Mom says, “I saw for myself that she was even worse than I thought she was.”

  My mouth hangs open. Mom good-humoredly taps my chin to close it up.

  “You were only pretending to like her?” I ask. “But why?”

  “I had to let you see Morgan for who she really is,” she says. “A manipulator. A con artist.”

  Morgan hadn’t gotten one over on my mom after all.

  Mom had gotten one over on me.

  “I know you never approved of our silly social media stuff,” I say. “But Morgan really made it seem possible that we’d get rich and famous together.” I poke at a small hole in the pillow. “I wanted the best life not just for myself but so you didn’t have to work so hard anymore.”

  Mom pulls me closer and I don’t resist. I ease into her arms like I haven’t done in a very, very long time. Too long.

  “First of all, Ella, I like working hard,” Mom says. “And second of all, any friendship built on becoming rich and famous is no friendship at all.” She strokes my hair. “I can understand why you found Morgan so appealing. She introduced you to a whole world of power and privilege. And when she turns on the charm, she can make you feel like the most important person on the planet—well, besides herself, right? Because it’s always going to be about Morgan Middleton. That’s the trade-off with people like that. They make every day into an exhilarating adventure. It’s fun at first, but after a while, all that drama gets exhausting. Especially when that person doesn’t give you any genuine support in return for your loyalty.”

  I can’t help but think Mom has had a lot of experience dealing with someone like this.

  And it doesn’t require a secret map to lead me to the right answer.

  “I messed up, Mom,” I say, my eyes welling with tears. “I made the wrong choice.”

  “I’m sorry you missed the tournament,” she says.

  That’s not what I was talking about, but Mom doesn’t give me a chance to correct her.

  “Well, as a result of all my hard work, I got a raise,” she says. “And I think with some budgeting, we can find enough money for these fencing lessons if it’s that important to you …”

  I’m too overcome with gratitude to let her finish.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  Fencing is that important to me. Morgan Middleton made me forget who I was for a while. But when Dede handed me the foil for the first time, I started to find myself again. I throw my arms around Mom and weep into her shoulder. I can’t remember the last time I cried in front of her, let alone on her.

  “You’re welcome, honey,” she says, holding me tight. “But these aren’t tears of joy, are they?”

  “I made an even worse choice!” I yelp. “I dumped Sophie for Morgan and I think I want her back because she never stopped being The Best Friend in My Head!”

  That last part makes no sense, but Mom seems to understand exactly what I mean.

  “You messed up,” she agrees. “And even if you ask for Sophie’s forgiveness, you may not get it.”

  I let out another choked sob when she says this, because I know it’s true.

  Riley Quick knew it, too, about Gabby Mackenzie. And that’s how someone with 200 million Fotobomb followers ends up sobbing in a toilet all alone.

  “The best you can do is learn from this hurt you’re feeling right now. Be a good friend in the future to those who have earned it.”

  Mom lets me rest my slobbery, snotty face into her shoulder until I feel better. If that isn’t the fullest love, I don’t know what is.

  “You can get some practice right now by being a good sister,” she says.

  “Really? How?”

  “Lolo needs to hear from you.”

  I don’t ask why because part of me already knows. I want to be wrong about this like I’m wrong about so many other things. I want Lauren to be right about this like she is always right about everything.

  She picks up on the first ring.

  “Lala.”

  “Lolo.”

  There’s a muddy thump-thump-thump of bass in the background. A party happening somewhere, but my sister doesn’t sound like she’s in a festive state of mind.

  “Our father,” Lauren says, “isn’t coming after all.”

  I’ll never forget the song playing during this conversation. It’s a fuzzy dubstep remix, but the message is loud and clear.

  Stop concealing

  Revealing is healing

  Give me the fullest truth

  “I’m sorry, Lala,” I say.

  “I’m the big sister!” She blows her nose. “I should be consoling you!”

  “I never believed he’d actually come,” I say. “He’s bailed on you—on us—too many times before.”

  “He always wants to be the good guy but never follows through,” Lauren says. “I should’ve known better than to fall for it.” A pause. “Again.”

  She sniffles.

  “Allergies,” she says.

  My sister has never suffered allergies. Or fools. Which is why this news is hitting her so hard.

  “I think it’s kind of beautiful that you still believe in him,” I say. “You act like a cynic, but deep down you’re a secret optimist.”

  “Secret Optimist” would make a great title, I think.

  “Ha.” It’s a bitter, humorless laugh. “Isn’t that your role in the family?”

  “He never gave me a reason to believe in him,” I say. “At least you have that.”

  Lauren just sighs.

  “You said your soccer coach is tough on new recruits, right?”

  “We hated her for making us do the same drills over and over and over again,” Lauren replies. “But she was breaking us down to build us up. Now we’re all stronger than ever before.”

  I let her words sink in for a few seconds.

  “It’s just like the calluses on my fingers from practicing the ukulele or how my fencing instructor won’t let m
e beat her in bouts,” I say. “It’s just like life.”

  Lauren laughs again, only this time there’s some joy in it.

  “Who gave you permission to be the wise sister?”

  “Well,” I say, “I learned from the best.”

  Hey, friends!

  First, I want to thank you all for your support. My friend Paisley reads through every single one of your messages and shares the best ones with me. I’m much happier in this mostly offline life. Mom always said there were advantages to growing up as a seventh grader in the nineties, and I guess she was right. I hear more clearly when I’m looking at a face instead of a phone. And I’m less distracted in class when I’m not worrying about what’s blowing up on Fotobomb. Maybe you should try it too?

  Ha! Funny advice from someone making an online video, huh?

  I’m here only because I want to say I’m sorry if you’re sad about the end of Morgan & Ella. Paisley helped me understand that our posts and videos were important to a lot of you and that it would be kind of rude to just disappear without a proper goodbye. I mean, if you’re bothering to watch me sit here and babble to a camera, then I know you must really care!

  So yes, it’s true that I’m responsible for deleting our socials—thank you, Maddy, for your techy expertise. There was just too much negativity I didn’t want to be associated with anymore. Any rumors you may hear about me being sued for “brand destruction and defamation” are totally false. I can’t control what anyone says about me; I can only control my response. And my response is to not respond at all, which, from what I can see so far, is the best way to deal with attention-seeking trolls who try to lift themselves up by putting others down.

  Being half of a brand took all the joy out of performing. Now I’m writing my own songs for the first time, and I’ve fallen back in love with making music! I’m so lucky to have a new collaborator. She’s an old and dear friend who has zero interest in global multiplatform domination. We’re not in it for fame, fortune, or followers. Just fun. We’ve played a few of our songs for our biggest fans—shout-out again to Paisley and Maddy and also Kaytee and Alex and Harumi and Sofie-with-an-f—but I don’t think we’ll ever post them. I don’t need that kind of attention anymore, and she never did. So please don’t be disappointed if this is the last video I ever make.

  My sister—who knows everything—says this won’t be the last you’ll see of me though. She predicts I’ll show up in your feed doing something totally unexpected. Like winning an Olympic gold medal in fencing.

  Morgan & Ella is over.

  This is me—Ella Jane Plaza—starting over.

  Megan McCafferty is the bestselling author of eleven novels for teens and tweens, including the Jessica Darling’s IT List series. All her work is set in New Jersey, where she lives with her husband, son, and unofficial writing partner: a rescue dog named Louie who was cuddled beside her as she wrote this book. Like Ella, she loves to sing and prefers real life to social media, but you can find her online at meganmccafferty.com and @meganmccafferty on Twitter.

  Copyright © 2020 by Megan McCafferty

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, February 2020

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  Cover photography by Michael Frost, © 2020 Scholastic Inc.

  Cover photos © Shutterstock: spine (Sudowoodo), doodles (ADELART), (ivector), (Liliya_K), (Malinovskaya Yulia), (mhatzapa).

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-29701-0

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.