Page 129 of The Right Sign

Richard Sullivan’s New Girlfriend Endorses Ru-Carpsel, Scams Fans Out of Thousands

Beneath it is a picture of me. I remember taking that photo. It was recent. Henry and I were in front of the historic townhouses. It was the day those teenagers walked past and made fun of us.

But wait…

I peer closer at the picture. Henry’s the creative director on set, but I’m the one who chooses the photo that gets posted, since I’m the name on the contract for brand deals. I also do a little photo editing—which involves upgrading the lighting and clearing unwanted objects like passersby or stop signs from the background.

I did take a picture in this outfit, but this picture isn’t the one I posted. It has none of my usual editing.

Thumbs tapping frantically, I log into social media, and the red notification icon stops me cold.

2000 comments?

A quick scroll shows that my posts have been hate-bombed. There’s only one persistent fan who keeps defending me.June-bug84. Apart from that, it’s all negative.

A horrified gasp balls in my throat when I realize I’mtrending.

#Yayascam

I’ve always wanted my own hashtag but not like this.

I blink against the tide of rapid-fire mortification, wishing the words away, but the hashtag remains.

What do I do now? The hashtag’s been gaining momentum. It’s already been a few hours since the trend started. That’s partly my fault. Because I rely on vibrations to know when someone is contacting me, I have my social media apps on mute. If I’d seen these notifications earlier, I would have known something was going on.

Heart bursting, I tap on one of the comments.

Yaya is a scam.

Is she even deaf?

I can’t believe she’d support a company like Ru-Carpsel.

CANCELLED!

My mouth falls open.

The air tastes of ice and despair.

I know I shouldn’t, but I keep scrolling.

This shirt is not even CLOSE to what I ordered.

My sunshades fell apart after three seconds of use!!:((

Eyes widening, I tap on that last comment and see the photo evidence. The pieces of her sunglasses look exactly like the sunshades from our latest photoshoot. The one that fell apart on my head.

My brain collapses into a single frantic string of ‘oh no, oh no, oh no’.

What am I going to do? Will I really get dropped from the agency? Am I going to get sued? What if this affects Dare too?

I don’t realize I’m voicing until the car stops moving.

José rips my door open. He signs the word ‘breathe’ and offers me a bottle of water. I ignore him and bend my head down, sucking in giant gulps of air. My closed fists are pressed against my chest, and I can feel my racing heartbeat.

Slowly, I straighten back up.

José gives me a concerned look. His gloved hands are pristine when he signs, “Are you okay?”

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