“He’s not smart; you just keep forgetting to lock his cage!” Rudy grumbles. Amber can’t help but giggle at his expense, even if he is right. Rudy rolls his eyes and goes for the pizza again, only to be interrupted a second time.
“Hey, you’re sure there’s—” their mother starts.
“No nuts,” all three triplets say in unison.
Rudy takes an exaggerated bite. “See, Mom? The mess of cheese and pizza sauce didn’t kill me. Besides, my EpiPen’s already unpacked and in my nightstand. C’mon.”
All the same, Mrs. Cole watches Rudy carefully as he chews and swallows. Then, satisfied that he’s fine, she turns to examine the spreadsheet on Amber’s computer.
Amber grabs a slice of pizza and a paper plate. “I thought we might not have working dinner this week, you know, since we just got here,” she says, hardly daring to hope.
Sure enough, her mother gives her a tight smile. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it’s not ideal, and I know you guys work hard, but . . . we can’t afford to take a break right now. Not yet.” She turns the laptop to face the rest of the family. “Now, this is very important. This is a big week for us on social media, what with the livestream and the renovation before pictures and those posts from EverBright.”
“I’m telling you, graffiti would be so fun—our followers would love it,” Rudy says.
“But do the sponsors want their paint to be associated with—”
“We’ll use other paint, then,” Rudy says. He tries to keep his tone light, but Amber can hear how annoyed he is. “Come on, I really want to give the fans something cool.”
Mrs. Cole shakes her head. “Image, dear. We’re a renovation channel, not an art showcase. We can’t take any risks right now—we need these sponsors.”
“But—”
“I said no,” Mrs. Cole says. “Maybe you’ll think about this the next time that you post something without authorization.” Of course she’s still angry about Rudy rebooting the livestream to shoot the ending of the home tour. Amber shifts, uncomfortable. Maybe she shouldn’t have enabled him.
Rudy gives their mom a massive eye roll. “Mom, it’s my account—”
“It’s the family’s account.”
“Well, it used to be—”
Mrs. Cole turns to the girls. “Either of you have any good ideas? Don’t forget the three As: attractive, aspirational, and, above all, authentic.”
Rudy catches Amber’s eye and makes a face that definitely isn’t in line with the first A. Amber knows how he feels—he hasn’t had any kind of influence on the content they post since their mom took over. Neither had she. Sometimes she misses doing fashion segments on their channel, but unlike Rudy, she’s never had the courage—or the confidence—to argue with their mom about it. Amber doesn’t think that she can handle having her mother look her in the eyes again and tell her that “her kind of content” just isn’t getting the best engagement, isn’t the best look for their channel. Of course, “her kind of content” doesn’t really mean fashion, does it? At least, not straight-size fashion. So, Amber serves as the camera girl. And the photo girl. And the data girl.
“Amber, I need you to do an analytics check after dinner, make sure our performance is lit, as you kids say,” Mrs. Cole says. Amber cringes. Her mom continues. “Now, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, this house is going to be . . . a lot of work.” Translation: way more work than they’d intended. “Your father and I are going to be contracting out some local help, just to make sure we can finish in time for the big open house. And this means that you—Amber, you especially—need to be very, very careful of your shots. No workers. To our internet followers, this is just going to be us, okay? I don’t care if you film while a crew is here, just so long as that crew is—”
“Off camera,” Amber says. “We know the drill.” Privately, she wonders if any of their followers are dumb enough to believe that the Coles actually flip houses at light speed with just the help of three seventeen-year-old kids.
“But, as always, we need content,” Mrs. Cole says. “Any ideas?”
“We could do some nice unpacking shots,” Amber says. “And the turret room offers some great views.”
Mrs. Cole nods. “Cecily will be doing more makeup videos, of course. Summer looks, in honor of the month of July—gold and green are really in this year. Oh, and Cecily, your sponsored post did come through—they’re sending some makeup and dye products for some kind of rose-gold mermaid look—”
“What’s that, buzzword vomit?” Rudy jokes. Mom ignores him.
“—so be on the lookout for those,” she continues. “Otherwise, we have the paint, the varnish, some cabinets that I think would look darling in the pantry . . . but, of course, we have to be smart, kids. Au-then-ticity, that’s what the sponsors are paying for.”
Mrs. Cole looks around the table, and Amber realizes that Cecily hasn’t spoken for the entire meal. She’s made herself busy playing with Speckles, clearly trying to avoid the conversation. She sighs and returns to the table, grabbing a piece of pizza and making an exaggerated I’m chewing face before Mom can ask her to contribute.
“Ideas? Earth to Amber,” Mrs. Cole says, half-joking. “I can’t think of all these myself!”
“Maybe we can, like, do a poll on colors or something,” Amber suggests.
“And leave the house to the internet?” she asks in mock horror. “No. Maybe we can do some paint-coordinated makeup looks; I have some pastels in mind that would look lovely on Cecily. And you’ll be editing, of course.”
Amber nods and shuts her mouth.
For a second, no one says anything. The house creaks above them through the silence, and Amber’s thoughts stray to the dead girl. She isn’t the only one, because Rudy pipes up.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Mrs. Cole says.
“We’re seriously not going to talk about the dead girl right now?” Rudy asks.
Their mother shifts uncomfortably. Like Cecily, Mr. Cole has also been silent for this entire meal. “There isn’t anything
