“What about…JP?” Max asks, fumbling for any excuse.
“What about him? I still don’t know what I have with JP, but clearly my pre-amnesia self thought it was okay for me to meet Jules, even while dating JP. I have to trust her.”
Max looks huffy.
“I really don’t want to go with you. I don’t want to be weird and paternalistic, but you just woke up from a coma. If you insist on meeting a stranger who sent a photo of himself in his underwear, I’m going. I’m not going to be responsible for your death.” He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to live with the guilt when I see your murdered face on the news later.”
“Fine. As long as you promise not to get in a pissing match with this dude.” Just to push his buttons a little, I add, “No matter how jealous you get.”
He looks annoyed at the suggestion. “I’m notjealous.I’m just worried.”
“It’s okay if you’re jealous. I am sort of your girlfriend, or your boss, or both. However you want to play it.”
Max looks beyond exasperated and I decide maybe I should stop messing with him, even though it’s so much fun.
“What the hell is an Instagram model anyway?”
I can see from Max’s expression that he doesn’t get it and that the concept is making him mad. “Can anyone be an Instagram model? Like, all you have to do is take a picture and put it online, right?”
“Yes and no.” He’s obviously never thought about Instagram before.
“Could I be an Instagram model?” he asks.
I laugh. “You’re like someone’s grandpa.”
“I mean, who decides that he’s an underwear model? You can’t just say that you’re a genius or a model or a doctor. Someone else has to verify that. Like how a university can’t be a university without accreditation.”
I remember Brenda and Cindy talking when I first woke up.Maybe you’ll find out you’re a movie star or a rocket scientist.Nothing stopped them from dreaming big on my behalf. “When it comes down to it, all you have to do is tell the world who you are,” I say. “That’s why the internet is so powerful. Anyone can be anything.”
Max arches a brow. “That’s one way to look at it.” He pulls out his phone, opens an app, and starts rapidly typing. “Well, looks like he’s famous enough for a Wikipedia entry. Jules Spencer…born June 11, 1987…got his start like most Instagrammers by taking a lot of selfies…starts each day by posting a pic in his underwear…has 30 million followers waiting to see his daily selfie…used this platform to launchhis own line, JulesBrand, a monthly subscription service for boxer briefs…starring in a remake ofThe Fast and the Furious…and his personal life is a long string of high-profile breakups.” He looks at me, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “There you have it.”
“They’re remakingThe Fast and the Furious?” I ask, momentarily distracted. “I thought they were still putting out sequels?”
Max stares at me. “I bet you’re setting him up on a date.”
I flash a coy smile. “Or I’m going on a date with the next Paul Walker.” Suddenly I know inside that I’ve watched the wholeFast and Furiousfranchise with my brother or my dad. I don’t think I would watch them on my own but I’ve definitely seen them. It’s my third day as New Mia. When is someone besides a hot guy going to come looking for me? Where are my parents, and why don’t I have my mom’s number?
Laguna is everything. It’s beautiful, much like Long Beach, but without oil wells in the harbor or suspicious black puddles on the sand. The bus doesn’t run this far down the PCH so there aren’t too many tweakers and bums. It reeks of money, instead of weed and piss.
“I wonder why JP lives in Long Beach instead of here?” I say. Really, it would make more sense. This is where the money is.
Max, logical man that he is, says, “I’d rather live in Long Beach. There’s good food, a lot to do, and it’s more diverse, whichmakes it more interesting. Plus, Laguna is way the hell out.”
I buy a pair of sunglasses and flip-flops to go with my magical yellow dress. If there’s an event it isn’t meant for, I can’t imagine it. Max is wearing loafers that are undoubtedly filled with sand. Despite his brand-new job, which I think he should be thrilled about, his attitude is also still filled with sand. Max has been sandbagged by Jules.
Jules sends me a few Instagram messages with directions:Just look for the crew of photographers.
In my stars and stripes briefs.
Can’t miss me.
I respond with aComing honey!!!
Max rolls his eyes. “Fuck. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”
When I catch sight of Jules in his American flag underwear, a smile breaks out across my face. I try to smother it for Max’s benefit, but I can’t. This is too much fun. “Come on, Max. Have you ever been to a photo shoot?”
Hopefully Jules can drive me home and I can just send Max on his way. The sooner, the better.
