Page 46 of Anti-Player

“What do you call someone that ruins the reputation of everyone around them?” I ask grimly.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it's just a misstep.”

Pushing my lips together I squint at her in disbelief. “This is way worse than that.”

“Why?”

“Why? Why? Because I was trying to do something good!” I shout, dropping my head in my hands, my phone crushing against my brow. “I wanted to help him, help everyone, by telling the truth!”

My mother's warmth, smooth hands stroke my hair, then cup my temple. I don't look at her. I can't, not now, not like this. “Paige, if all you did was try and tell the truth, then the only monsters are the ones that refused to hear it. You're so honest. You always have been. If that ruins someone's career, even your own, maybe it was never meant to be.”

I lift my head. From the kitchen I can see into my childhood bedroom, the walls where my old zombie posters hang. Mom hasn't touched anything since I moved out. And now, looking at those zombies, it occurs to me that my fans aren't much different. They're a massive, mindless mob chasing after one thing—me.

Or at least the idea of me. And I betrayed them by hiding myself behind a cartoon caricature with a fake name, and doing my best to keep my crush on Mikel Hause a secret.

You're so honest. You always have been.

I make a disgusted face. If I'm all those things, why does the cruel slander everyone is spreading about me exist? If I'm such a good person like my mom insists, wouldn't people shy away from hurting me with such glee?

I know she means well. Yet her words sting. Never meant to be? Did that mean I wasn't supposed to become an internet star? Or that Mikel wasn't someone to fall in love with? Both?

As I mull it over, she tugs at my hands. My mother pulls my phone from me, scanning it. My heart jerks violently—I think she's looking at my text messages—until she taps the screen and says, “Pad Thai. That's my choice.”

When she smiles, it breaks my defense, gets me to smile back. “You always pick the same thing,” I sigh.

“So do you,” she replies. “You're also getting Pad Thai, yeah?”

I take my phone from her, eyeing the menu with the double order in the cart. I picked it before asking her what she wanted. Yes, I did always get the same thing. I don't like to experiment. What works is what works, whether that's favorite foods or hobbies or style or the type of men I date.

Yes, I think, finger wavering over the button to complete the order, I'm the menu browser who fantasizes about new things but never tries them. Someone stuck in their ways. Good ol' honest Paige Pixley. The girl who knows what she wants and never strays.

Tapping the screen, I set my phone in my lap. My mother tilts her head. “Ordered?”

“Yeah,” I say, realizing my pulse is quickening.

“And?”

With a tired, oddly proud smile, I show my mother the confirmation of our UberEats.

She studies it with a light chuckle. “Good for you.”

I chose something new.

Because I'm done being predictable.

And I know what I have to do.

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