Followers by Megan Angelo

Author:Megan Angelo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HQ
Published: 2020-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

The car Honey chose was one of Aston’s favorites, because of-fucking-course it was: a silver vintage Land Rover, retrofitted with autonomous everything.

Honey was in what was still called the driver’s seat. Grace went for shotgun, but Honey tilted the world she had built by waving Grace off and summoning Marlow. So Grace was in the back seat, wedged between Angel and Taylor, who set their hands on the upholstery in just such a way that their pinkies grazed her thighs.

“On,” Honey said to the car. To Marlow, she said, “What’s Eva’s address?”

Marlow started to panic. She kept her eyes on the closed garage door.

“Marlow.” Marlow felt Grace’s fingertips on her shoulder. “Just tell her the truth,” she said quietly. “Tell her Eva isn’t real.”

“What’s she talking about, Marlow?” Honey pressed her palms into the wheel so that her arms went straight. She waited.

Marlow tugged at her seat belt. “I don’t know the exact address.”

Grace sighed.

“Can’t you look her up on your map?” Honey said.

“She—” Marlow straightened her spine. She had gone this far, and she rather liked the sound of the fib that came to her next. “Eva doesn’t use mapping,” she said. “It’s a French thing.”

In the back seat, Taylor laughed again.

“That’s okay.” Honey eased the car forward. Marlow’s heart began to pound. The garage door sensed the vehicle coming and slid up to let them out. Honey turned left out of the driveway, right onto the main road. “Grace says you claim she lives in Pismo Beach. Pismo Beach,” she said, loudly, to the navigation.

“Go home,” Marlow countered at the same volume, and the car braked.

“Cancel last command,” Honey said. It started moving again.

“Honey.” Marlow leaned across the console, hoping no one could see her shake. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” she said. “But we are not stealing my dad’s 2004 Land Rover and taking it to Pismo Beach. Do you know how much trouble we could get in? We’re fourteen. We don’t know how to drive.”

Honey turned and looked at Marlow. She waggled her fingers above the wheel. “What exactly do you think you have to know?”

Something shifted in the car then, the air drying up the same way it had when Honey chugged the beer. Marlow knew that all of them—Grace and Angel and Taylor—had to be thinking the same thing she was: Why hadn’t the network intervened yet? She did the mental math—all right, maybe the executives would look the other way on one beer. But grand theft auto? Talent welfare wouldn’t let this play out, would they?

Marlow was considering saying something. It would get her in trouble with her parents, it would get them all in trouble with the network, if she referenced, on camera, the fact that they were filming. But Marlow wondered, as Honey put the car on the freeway and pushed it to ninety, if it might save their lives, reminding this girl that people could see her.

Then Honey fluffed both sides of her hair and winked at a spot on the dashboard.

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