16. Kira

16KIRA

“You going out?”

I tense, but it’s just Corinne. She’s sitting at the table, looking up from her watch.

“Yeah,” I say, tightening my shoelace. “I was just going to walk around for a bit. Get some air.”

That’s one way to put it. Really, I need to escape. My head is pounding, my nerves tight. If I have to stay in this house with my thoughts for another minute, I’m going to snap.

“Mind if I crash?” Corinne asks.

On instinct, I want to say I’d rather go by myself, but as she stands, I feel the panic start to ebb. It would be nice to not be alone, to have someone to distract me from the whirlpool of thoughts in my head. Plus, I like Corinne. She’s one of the few people here who seems to have at least one foot in reality, so as far as panic-walking buddies go, she’s the ideal choice.

I give her a small smile. “Let’s go.”

It’s hotter out than it was this morning, the air damp and thick with saltwater. The mannequin is still lying by the shore, face up to the cloudless blue sky. It looks so much less scary in the daylight, like a theater after a horror movie when they turn the lights on and you remember the half-empty soda cups, the popcorn crunching under your feet.

“Which way?” she asks.

“We could make the loop around. See if there’s any boats passing by.”

Even as I say it, I know there won’t be, but still, it feels good to have a task. We walk down to the shore in silence, the damp sand squeaking under our feet. Then, Corinne takes a breath.

“I think there’s something off with the watches.” It comes out of her in a rush of air, like she’s been holding on to it since we stepped outside.

“What?” I stop. The tide reaches out, foam curling close to my shoes.

She holds up her watch. “Look at the message app. Notice anything weird?”

As far as I can tell, it’s the standard message app—green square, white message bubble. But then, I notice that it’s ever so slightly off: the green is the wrong shade, the message bubble more square than circular.

“It’s not the normal app,” I realize.

Corinne nods, pulling on her necklace pendant, gold and clover-shaped. Looking closer, I realize it’s the four buttons of a video game controller, a different shape etched into each prong.

“At first, I figured maybe this was a different app that works better in remote locations, or something. But…” She looks over her shoulder one more time before facing me again. “I’m starting to think they specifically coded this app so that we could receive messages but not send them.”

Suddenly, the strap of my watch feels too tight. “What does that mean? Like, why would they do that?”

I stare at her, waiting for her to give me some other explanation, some computer logic that stops this from being so sinister. But the phones, the boat, the gun, the messages, Cole …

“They planned this, Kira,” she says. “They were never going to let us have contact with the outside.”

It’s like a terrible equation, all the numbers falling into place. I turn and start for the house.

“Wait, where are you going?” she asks.

“We have to tell everyone. We should take these watches off.”

“No.”

The severity of her tone stops me. I turn to find her still standing close to the shore, water crawling up behind her.

“Why?”

“For one, watches may not let us reach help, but they let us have contact with Tilly—or our ‘Sponsor,’ whoever that is. Even if we can’t respond to their messages, it’s our only link to them. And two…” She sighs. “I don’t trust them.”

“The Sponsor? I don’t think any of us—”

“No, them. The others.” She looks at the house, where sun glints off the big front windows. We can see right into the living room, and for the first time, all that natural light seems menacing, like we’re living in a big glass cage.

When Corinne speaks again, it’s quiet, like she’s scared they’ll hear us from all the way out here.

“I don’t trust them enough to know that one of them isn’t … involved in this somehow.”

A chill races through me. Corinne’s right. I don’t think there’s a single person in that house who I trust—not even Max, not fully.

My next question comes out small. “But you trust me?”

Corinne nods, her hand finding her necklace again. “You’re the only one who seems like you’re here for the right reasons.” She makes a face. “Not to sound like I’m on The Bachelor. I just mean … you’re in school. You didn’t move to LA to live in a giant TikTok mansion on the corner of Delusion Street and Asshole Avenue. You still have a connection to the real world, and I get the sense that unlike everyone else, you’re actually here to take a break from everything.”

I know she’s at least sort of joking, but a nervous feeling prickles at the back of my neck. McKayleigh’s clothing line, Max’s documentary, whatever is going on with the Bounce House and Logan … Corinne’s right. It seems like everyone came here with an ulterior motive.

Corinne gives a half smirk. “Also, anyone who gives McKayleigh Hill an epic takedown speech is immediately a friend of mine.”

I grimace. “Okay, that was a first for me. I’m not usually an epic-takedown-speech kind of girl.”

“All I’m saying is, it had to be done.” Corinne’s tone warms, and for the first time, I really register what she said just now. She trusts me. Corinne, with her cool energy and coding brain and outfits that shouldn’t work but do, thinks of me as a friend. I didn’t realize how much I needed that right now. The sudden flush of comfort reminds me of home, where Alex is probably hunched over a video game or another Twitch stream, pizza rolls in the oven.

“Okay, this might not be any of my business,” I start, “but my brother would never forgive me if I didn’t ask why you haven’t been streaming.”

Corinne looks away quickly, something I can’t read flickering on her face. “Things have been busy, getting ready to start college in the fall and everything. I guess I needed a break, too.” She looks back at me with a weak smile. “Some vacation, right?”

It hangs between us, weighty and thick, and for the first time, I feel like I can say the thing that’s been on my mind for months.

“I’m thinking about quitting,” I tell her. “Instagram, YouTube. All of it.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh.”

“My manager is always trying to get me to leave school and do the LA thing, but…”

“Everyone else who does that kind of sucks?” Corinne nods at the house with a small smirk.

I laugh, but it fades quickly. “Yeah.”

Corinne shifts. “I’ve actually thought about it. Not necessarily moving to LA, but trying to make Twitch a full-time thing. I mean, supporting myself with something I love—something creative and flexible, instead of some soul-sucking tech job … that’s the dream, right?”

“Yeah,” I echo, barely even scratching the surface of the countless nights I’ve spent turning this same idea over in my mind. The pros are impossible to ignore, and money’s at the top of the list. I’ve seen people my age, like Elody, buy their own houses with what they make influencing. Growing up, we always had everything we needed, but my parents are both teachers. It’s not like they’re … well, Max’s parents, with boats and New York City real estate. And the thought of having my own space, being able to take care of my family …

“I guess I can’t get past the risk,” I say. “You know? One slipup, and it could all go away.”

Or there’s the even worse and more likely option, the one I don’t say aloud: people just losing interest. And what would happen then, if I left everything behind and moved to LA, if my family came with me, and it all fell apart?

“I get it,” Corinne says. For a moment, it looks like she’s going to say something else, something serious, but then her tone shifts, lightening. “Also, I’m a Chicago girl. I could never do LA. Any place with weather that isn’t inhospitable to human life for half the year is not a place I trust.”

I laugh, and for a second, it feels normal. Good. Then I remember where we are, what’s happening, and tension floods through me again. I hug my ribs.

“Those folders,” I say. “Do you think they really have something on all of us? Something as bad as what McKayleigh did?”

Suspicion shadows her face. “Is there something you’re worried about them knowing?”

“No, I just…” I breathe in, out. “Clearly, Tilly or whoever’s doing this is out to get us.”

And there it is, the real source of my panic. I know I haven’t done anything truly worthy of being canceled, no buried tweets or drunken mistakes, but somehow, this is worse. Because there’s still a folder with my name. I’m still not safe. Anyone could sift through the pieces of me that I’ve shared online and hold them under a microscope until they find the crack. Until they broadcast my flaws before I’ve even thought to hide them.

Suddenly, I need to ask the question I’ve been holding on to since I first saw the folders, maybe even longer.

“Do you think they’re doing this just because of who we are? Like, being ‘influencers’ and everything—” I fight the urge to put air quotes around the word. Even after all these years of being one, I still don’t feel comfortable claiming it. “Does that make us bad people?”

Corinne presses her lips together, quiet for a few seconds.

“I don’t think it’s inherently bad to want a platform,” she says finally. “And I sure as hell don’t think we’ve all done something like what McKayleigh did. But we’re all capable of doing bad things, I guess. It’s easy to lose yourself, once you start feeling like a product instead of a person.”

The truth of it is like a stab, sharp and quick. All the workout videos and vlogs, the carefully curated pictures … maybe there was a time when I did them for me. But now, there isn’t a single thing I post without considering my brand or the algorithm first. Sometimes, I’m not sure if I’m the creator or the content. If all I am is something to consume.

I wonder if Corinne feels the same way. Something in her expression pulls at me, her faraway look.

“Is that why you came here?” I ask.

But she’s not looking at me anymore. Her attention is fixed on something behind me, and the look melting over her face sends goose bumps crawling on my arms. I turn, but there’s nothing there.

“Do you see a boat?” I ask, hopeful in spite of the empty horizon.

“No. There.”

She points, and I see it: a sun hat riding the breeze, tumbling over the rocks and onto the sand like a wounded seagull. All of my muscles tighten, like armor trying to protect me from what my instinct tells me this could mean.

Corinne starts to walk faster, toward the rocks, and no. That’s not what this is. This is only leftover adrenaline from this morning, too much sun and fear—and now Corinne’s running, and I’m behind her, the panic closing up in my chest until we’re close enough to the rocks to smell the waves beneath them, and then we’re standing at the edge.

The rocks lead down to a small patch of sand, no more than a six-foot drop. And there, lying at the bottom, is McKayleigh. Her eyes staring lifelessly at the sky. A puddle of blood, sticky in her red hair.