And yet I couldn’t deny I was intrigued by Basile, by everything he represented. I wanted him to like me, wanted him to teach me more about his Reality Paradox, about what it could do. A world where your mistakes were erased, where things could be different … where maybe … where maybe my little brother hadn’t killed himself.
Since we’d met, I could barely tear myself away from Basile’s TikToks. I hated watching them, but I also couldn’t stop. In part, I’d blamed social media for Aaron’s death. I never liked how everything you posted was attached to that little fear in the back of your mind—will this flop? Every statement watered down to some easily digestible segment that had already been stated days before by someone else precisely so it wouldn’t flop. The entire system encouraged sameness, every thought and image subjected to peer approval. That wasn’t even mentioning what happened when you didn’t get their approval. How the suicide rate of girls was at an all-time high. How every single like and comment you didn’t get on a selfie or swimsuit picture subtly scraped away at your self-esteem, your self-worth subject to a jury of your peers. You want likes? Dance for the masses. Show us your tits so we can judge them. And how it must have been for someone like Aaron, a shy eighteen-year-old who wasn’t classically handsome or entirely comfortable in front of a camera, who grew up thinking his worth was in his follower count. The sick way social media companies were beholden to nothing—no code of ethics or responsibility to the mental health and well-being of the public except through what they themselves established and in spite of the countless studies conducted by their own researchers that found the platforms directly responsible for the decline in mental health of their users. And instead of doing something to fix it, they tried to make it more contentious by testing adding downvotes, so now unpopular takes and the people who housed them could be bullied into oblivion.
And then they said,Hey, how about we make a version for children?
Despite the guilt and shame I felt, how with each swipe and scroll and little double tap I contributed to the same system that made my brother and countless other kids feel worthless, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of Basile’s posts. With a frenzied, compulsive fervor, I started counting myself one of his many fans, just another in a sea of numbers. The difference between six thousand likes and six thousand and one. I, along with thousands of others, Basile, waited with anticipation for new content to drop, for you to fill us with new words so we could drink from your cup like a god.
I turned to Max. “Mind if we meet up a bit later? I forgot to eat lunch.”
“Sure,” Max murmured. I could still feel his eyes on the back of my neck as I walked away. Like he’d give anything to pry open my head and figure out what I was thinking.
It was fine. Normal, in fact. I was an academician. It was only natural for me to want to know more about any groundbreaking theory.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ididn’t tell Max, but I went to see Dani the next morning. Ever since the day at Maritza’s, Max had obstinately refused to see Dani, and I knew if he found out he might barricade me in my room to stop me.
This time, I wasn’t as naïve as the last. I listened to Maritza, and I only entered when she told me it was safe. I walked in as she was sweeping a bundle of herbs over Dani’s body.
“Rue and basil,” she explained. “My mother was acurandera, a folk healer.”
Behind her, there was a table of lit candles and a shrine with a photograph of Don Pedrito Jaramillo.*
She saw my look of confusion. Also on the table were crosses and figures from Magiclore, ancient mystics, and early alchemists.
“There is more than one path to God.”
“What does it do?” I asked, gesturing to the herbs.
“It’s to retrieve her lost soul.” She stored the bundle on a shelf, then said quietly, “She is calmer today, but the sedative has made her sleepy. I don’t know if she will hear you.”
“That’s okay, I just wanted to sit with her, if that’s alright.”
Was I hoping something would come out of it? That she’d rasp out who was responsible in her sleep, without resorting to any of the gyrating or trying to throttle me to death like last time? Sure. But I also thought maybe she’d want some company.
She seemed weaker today. I sat beside her and held her hand, just talking to her like I’d want someone to talk to me if I was alone and scared. She didn’t say anything back. Every so often a breath rattled her lungs.
I thought of the only post of Dani on her girlfriend’s social media during their entire relationship together and of Dani’s prized possession, her telescope. The telescope that had not been given to her by parents, but by a teacher at school. The council still hadn’t called her parents, but at the same time, Dani’s parents hadn’t called here wondering why they hadn’t heard from their daughter. I wondered if they were just two more people who overlooked her. I squeezed her hand a little tighter.
All of a sudden, the bed creaked like someone had applied weight to it. Dani lifted into the air, back arching, arms dangling behind her. I jerked my hand back and stood, breath catching in my throat.
“It’s okay,” Maritza said.
“Does she do this often?” I whispered, afraid that Dani would hear me, that somehow, she’d wake and become that terrible thing she was last time we were here.
“Once or twice a day, then she floats back again. I imagine her body doesn’t have enough energy to sustain it.”
It shouldn’t have scared me so much, the levitation. Though it was levitation that was happening while she was unconscious … which shouldn’t have been possible. None of this should’ve been possible.
When I came out of the cottage half an hour later, Max was waiting for me. His hat was tipped low over his face, and his lips were pulled in a firm line.
“Thought we were supposed to meet up. I didn’t realize you were going to see Dani.”
I pretended not to hear the disapproval in his voice. “Sorry, thought I still had some time,” I said, shifting my weight.
He cleared his throat. “So, uh, how is she?”
“Not much change, a little weaker. Maritza’s not staying in there anymore overnight, just watching over her in shifts with Dr. Nguyen and some other staff. I just hope Dani will be alright.”
