“How else am I supposed to keep them straight?” She says it as if I’m the weird one. “There’s Club David, Bartender David, Phone David, and PowerPoint David.”
“You know what? I’m not even going to ask.” I take a long pull from my wine straw. “What else does the presentation have?”
She clicks forward. More screenshots.
Marcus at black-tie events.
Marcus volunteering at a food bank.
Marcus with puppies at an animal shelter.
“He’s performing progressive masculinity,” Alex explains. “Posts about women’s rights. Equality. Social justice. He even has a highlight on his Instagram calledListen & Learnwhere he shares posts from activists.”
“The irony is making me nauseous.”
“Same.” She clicks to another slide. “But here’s what’s really interesting—his political content is actually pretty vague. He talks aboutdoing betterand fighting for Philadelphiabut there’s no real policy substance. It’s all vibes.”
“Vibes and fur coats.”
“Exactly.” She takes a sip of her wine. “He’s not really a politician. He’s an influencer who just so happens to hold a position of power.”
“An influencer who murders women.”
“An influencer who murders women,” she agrees. “Which brings me to my conclusion slide?—”
My phone buzzes on the coffee table.
We both ignore it. Alex is already clicking to what I assume is the last slide.
It buzzes again.
“Just check it,” Alex says without looking away from the screen. “Might be your mom.”
I pick it up casually, still half-watching the TV where Alex has brought up a slide titled,RISK ASSESSMENT: WORKING WITH SUBJECT.
My whole body goes still.
Instagram: MarcusAshfordOfficial started following you
I freeze. Hand locked around my phone. Lungs forgetting how to work.
“What?” Alex looks at me. Then at my face. “Dylan, what?”
I can’t speak. Can’t form words. Just turn the phone around to show her.
She reads it. Blinks. Reads it again.
“What the fuck.”
“How—” My voice comes out strangled. “How does he have my Instagram?”
“Is it private?”
“I—I don’t think so?—”
“Why isn’t it private?!” Alex lunges for my phone, but I pull it back, staring at the notification like it might change if I look at it hard enough.
“I didn’t think—I barely use it—I just post pictures of food and?—”
