“You can’t judge people by their Insta handles. Yours is @BlackEinstein3l4,” I scoff. I’m feeling defensive because I’m pretty sure I’ve been a @JennyBeans11561 at some point in my life.
“What’s the matter with that? I’m proud of being black and smart. More black guys should be proud of that instead of bragging about street shit.”
I hold my hands up. “OMG. We don’t have to get all racial about this. I just think you sound like a total snob. That’s all.” I flash an overblown smile and he laughs.
“Coming from you?! All you do is take pictures of yourself.”
“That’s what everyone does, Max. Not taking pictures of yourself doesn’t make you better than me.”
“Ummm, it might.”
I slap his arm and try to remember that line from theMySelfieexhibit about how selfies make the world more democratic…
“I just mean that you should take anything anyone says to you on Instagram with a grain of salt. It’s not like she’s testifying in court.”
“But that’s the beauty of Instagram, Max. You can be anyone you want online. There’s a filter for any look you want to achieve, any mood you want to set.”
Max gives me the side-eye. “I mean, that’s nice if you only care about what’s on the surface, but it’s ultimately fake. Who cares if some chick in Florida likes your photos if your life actually sucks? I think people need to pay attention to what really matters.”
I shake my head. “What are you, eighty?” I don’t even know how he’s surviving in this day and age.
“My point,” he says, “is that you shouldn’t trust everyone you meet online.”
“Max.” I look at him. “Not all of us need people to be hooked up to a brain scanner to understand if they’re telling the truth.”
He looks at me and starts laughing. “Oh, trust me—it helps. I’d take it with me everywhere if I could.”
“You’re going to have to make it a little sleeker, in that case. And really, do you always want to know if someone is telling the truth?” I stand and snap a few selfies with the ocean in the background, taking five shots at just the right angle until I have the perfect photo. After I filter it through Clarendon,which makes the blue of the ocean and my eyes pop, I show him the result. I look like I could be on the cover of any magazine. “Isn’t this nicer than the reality that someone tried to kill me a few days ago and I have no memory of who I am?”
Max nods. “Yep, you look gorgeous—like a model, even. A beautiful girl in front of a beautiful view. But something’s missing.” He gets a sparkle in his eye and pats the bench next to him. “Come over here.”
I start laughing. “Oh, I have an idea of what you think is missing.”
He laughs, takes my phone from me, and slings his arm around my shoulder. He holds the camera in front of us, capturing the gravel turnaround in the background rather than the ocean. “There we go. Nowthat’sa good picture.”
I study the photo. Our heads are pressed close together. He has a cheesy grin, and I’m mid-laugh. We look happy.
“It captures exactly this moment and what I would want to remember.”
“Itisreally cute. But if I were to redo it, I’d pose us in front of the ocean and filter it. And I’d make sure that you could see my whole dress and then maybe tag it#loveor#firstdateor#myboo.”
Max shakes his head. “It’s perfect. Our expressions say it all.”
What does he think our expressions say? “You’re gonna have to hashtag it for me then.”
He laughs. “Enjoy the mystery.” He leaves his arm around my shoulder, and we look at the sunset for at least a minute before I pull out my phone again.
On our way back to Long Beach, I call Crystal. She doesn’t answer. A small part of me is relieved to avoid the verbal harassment, not to mention a window into my past life I might not want to take a peek through. If it weren’t for the $35,000 at stake and the fact that Jules is waiting for his foulmouthed dream girl, I would delete her from my contacts.
But I’m starting to think I should warn her about Kobra, or at least give her a heads-up. Maybe he’s fine and just dying for another date with her, but…maybe he’s as scary as he looks.
Crystal’s voicemail message is intimate and cute: “It’s me. Leave a message,” she says like the only people who call her are her best friends.
I channel my inner BFF. “Crystal!! It’s me. Mia. I got you a date with an amazing guy. It’s on Sunday. Call me!” After I hang up, I text her the details.Date with Jules at 8 pm in two days. Sorry for late notice! He’s super excited to see you!!!
Also, Kobra is looking for you…
I wait a beat and then decide to throw a Hail Mary and tell her the truth.Sorry for whatever happened between us. I had a head injury last week and my memories are a little fuzzy. Hope you’re not still mad!
