Tweet Cute Page 45

“No, no, and absolutely not.”

Well, that’s a lie and a half, but I’m sticking to it. I don’t want him fishing around the aliases in the Hallway Chat and trying to guess which one is me. Or worse—ask me to out someone else.

“Oh, come on. You can’t check?”

And whoop, there it is. “No,” I say, firmly enough that Paul flinches a little bit. I try to relax, try to level with him so he’ll get it. “It’s—that’s the whole point of it. You know? Everyone’s anonymous. Everyone can feel comfortable. So no, I don’t check. I don’t even know if my own twin is on it.”

Paul considers this. “Shit. That’s hardcore.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

The warning bell rings, and in comes Pepper. If I’m expecting any kind of reference to my handiwork on Friday, she makes it immediately clear I’m going to be disappointed. She lifts her hand and wiggles her fingers to wave at me, with a sly expression on her face. I know her well enough by now to properly dread whatever is on the other end of it.

But the rest of the day is eerily quiet. The only tweets that come out of the Big League Burger account are about a charity they partnered with and a stop-motion GIF of a hamburger doing a little dance. The only other notifications on my phone are from Bluebird, making some crack about the pattern of birds embroidered on Rucker’s pants today.

It’s a relief, having her back, just as much as it was a relief not to be talking to her.

I know at some point or another I’m going to have to come clean. We can’t exist in the bubble of Weazel forever. But for now—for now, it’s nice to have someone who isn’t tied up in the rest of the mess that is my life. Someone who isn’t either waiting for me to tweet or ready to jump the second I do. Someone who doesn’t think of me as Ethan’s brother before they think of me for me.

It’s different, in a way, now that someone knows. Maybe even more traitorous, now that I’ve told Paul and not the person I’ve been talking to on it for months now. It also takes away my coward’s way out—just triggering the app to reveal ourselves to each other, and never telling her I was the one who created the app. Now Paul knows. And the only thing bigger than Paul’s heart is his mouth.

Maybe it was meant to happen like this all along. Maybe there was no scenario where I didn’t get in trouble for it. Maybe this is just one of a slew of countless things I have managed to sabotage right from the get-go—only this time, I can’t even blame the Ethan-shaped chip on my shoulder. I did this all on my own.

It’s weird, the way the guilt of it follows me around, but doesn’t quite hit me. I still haven’t done a good job of narrowing her down. Presumably she is not lactose intolerant and isn’t absent today. She seems not to come from a super wealthy family either, but it’s hard to tell who falls into that category anyway since we all wear the same school uniforms. Maybe if I were on Instagram, I could rule the richer kids out, but it seems creepy to obsess too much.

So instead, I just walk around feeling vaguely apologetic at every girl I pass in the hallway, making way more eye contact than I intend to, until the female half of the school probably thinks I need glasses.

Pepper, on the other hand, doesn’t even acknowledge me on the pool deck, but the ghost of that smirk of hers seems to be on her face whenever I’m within ten feet of her. It isn’t until I’m walking out of the locker room after practice that I know why.

“Dude. I thought you said you were on top of this.”

I scowl at Ethan, who has shoved a screen with the Big League Burger Twitter page so close to my nose, he nearly squashes it.

“Who says I’m not?” I ask. “Besides, shouldn’t you be frenching on some concrete steps about now?”

“I would be if it weren’t for this.”

I sigh, taking the phone from Ethan’s hand. “What could possibly be so—”

Oh. As it turns out, it’s not Big League Burger’s page I’m looking at. It’s Big League Burger’s branding on the header image, and a picture of Big League Burger’s “Grandma’s Special” on the profile avatar, but it is very much the Girl Cheesing Twitter handle. Well, what’s left of it—the name on the page has been changed to #1 BLB Stan.

“Pepper.”

“You better fix this before Dad sees.”

My fingers clench around his phone. “It’s not like we’re locked out of the account. You could have just fixed it yourself.”

“This is your job, remember? I’m not supposed to touch the precious account without your permission.”

And then, just like that, a table I never thought was capable of turning has shifted. Ethan’s not angry because of Pepper’s little prank. Ethan’s been angry.

It should probably strike some sort of empathetic chord in me, but it doesn’t. For seventeen years now, I have stepped to the side for him and never once made him feel bad about it. I can’t believe he won’t do the same for me over something this stupid.

“What’s your problem?”

Ethan’s nostrils flare. “I don’t have a problem,” he says, with an edge that says he very much does.

The irritation surges up in me like a live wire, like something I have spent too much time trying not to ignite. “You’re really this pissed off because for once Mom and Dad are counting on me for something instead of you?”

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