“You created fake profiles on YouTube and Facebook just to comment on all of your own stuff.”
“Oh. Em. G. You’re so boring. It’s calledsocial proof. Look it up.”
“I know what social proof is,” Riley said. She felt oddly woozy and hoped she wasn’t going to die in the closet with the ghost of an idiot.
“Then you should know that it’s important to set up your own fake accounts so you can leave the kinds of reactions you want from other followers. You’re grooming your audience to give you the right kind of attention, stupid.”
“You had entire conversations in the comment sections with yourself?”
“Who else is going to be as interesting?”
Dear God. Riley needed a gallon of water, a cold shower, and a new identity. “Did you also use the same username on Channel 50’s website?” she pressed.
“Sometimes. It depends on who I was logged in as.”
“You left some really mean comments,” Riley pointed out.
“I can’t help that I was born a lion and everyone else was born sheep.” She was back to examining her nails. “God, I hope this death place has good salons. I need a lash refill like yesterday.”
“So this guy who was waiting for you in your closet. He knew you, but you didn’t know him?”
“Why do you keep harping on him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to stop him from killing other people?”
Bianca snorted. “What do I care if he kills someone else? I’m already dead.”
Riley was exhausted, and a headache was interfering with her concentration. She had one last Hail Mary to try. “Well, I hope you were at least killed by a good-looking murderer. There’s nothing worse than being murdered by an ugly guy.”
“Oh my God. You’re right. It goes totally against my brand that I was unfairly killed by an uggo. Like, I would never have dated him. I’d be as tall as him in my six-inch heels. And his face. Ick! He just had a regular, boring face. There was literally nothing interesting about him.”
“Was he white? Did he have any tattoos? Did he tell you his name?”
“He was white. But not a tan white. Like poor person white.”
“What’s poor person white?”
“Someone who doesn’t have a pool or take vacations,” Bianca said as if it were obvious.
“How old was he?”
“I don’t know. And you’re boring me.”
Riley felt like her energy was evaporating out of her. There was a weird far away noise like a distant crowd muttering.
She felt a hard tug, and then she was being catapulted backwards.
“Hey! Where are you going? Bring me back a Starbucks!” Bianca called.
“Thorn. Baby, come on. Wake up.”
“Nick?” she croaked.
“That’s a good girl. Open those beautiful brown eyes for me.”
With great effort, Riley pried one eyelid up and then the other. Nick’s handsome face came into focus.
“There’s my girl. Where did you go?”
