Rudy smiles at his sister. “You know, I think that messaging your friend might not be a bad idea after all.”
CHAPTER 7
Amber
Amber stares out the window and counts the number of streets they pass as the Range Rover heads into town. There aren’t many. She stifles a yawn; again, strange noises had kept her up all night. This house “settles” more loudly than any one she’s ever been in. Of course, the real reason for her exhaustion is probably that she’s been awake since early morning, lying in bed and thinking with equal dread about both the impending posting schedule and all the photos she has to edit.
Now, she’s squished in the backseat with Rudy and Cecily while their parents listen to soft rock on Sirius XM. They’re heading into town to check out some flooring at the local hardware store. The Range Rover rounds a corner, and Amber gets a view of the town center in the light for the first time.
It’s larger than she expected; the widely spaced lots and wooded backdrop of the Tremont Street neighborhood make it easy to forget that they did actually move into suburbia. There are a few busy restaurants, some shops, and crowds of high school kids on coffee shop patios, sipping lattes and soaking up the summer sun. On summer vacation. For a second, Amber finds herself wondering what it must be like to be a normal teenager. To go to real school, not their mom’s homeschool, where all the electives are social-media based. To not have, say, a small infinity of photographs to take and edit when they get home.
Mr. Cole pulls up to the hardware store and Amber files out behind Rudy. She looks around, but no one seems to recognize them. No, that’s not right. No one seems to recognize them the way that they usually do—by looking starstruck, or running up to them and asking for selfies. But the townspeople aren’t totally oblivious, either. Their gazes linger too long to be passing over irrelevant strangers. It’s less the feeling of being admired by fans and more the feeling of . . . being watched. Scrutinized.
Amber shakes off her feelings of unease. It’s all right; the majority of the town is probably just too far out of their age demographic to be anything but skeptical of any social media stars, not just the Coles. Most of them probably don’t know what an influencer even is.
She follows her siblings into the hardware store.
Mr. Cole wanders off to find the manager, while Mrs. Cole instantly heads for the accent section, excitedly asking for Cecily’s opinion about what kind of fixtures they should use for the upstairs bathrooms. Amber distances herself from her mom and sister and snaps a picture—a true candid. Of course, once the camera is out, nothing is the same; Mrs. Cole catches Amber photographing and poses Cecily and Rudy among the lighting fixtures, the windows, and the carpeting. Cecily, of course, has to take a break between pictures to touch up her makeup with products from her ever-present go bag. Because she can’t handle a split second of not looking perfect, Amber thinks. She rolls her eyes when no one’s looking and continues taking pictures.
Finally, her mom directs her to be in some shots with her siblings. They pose near some cool-looking doors. After snapping just a few pictures, her mom hands the camera back to Amber and tells her to choose something to post.
Amber hesitates. She knows which one her mom would like best—the one of Cecily beside a chandelier, the light dancing across her face. But Amber doesn’t want to post that one. She scrolls back in their account history. She can’t find the last time she had a solo photograph. She hesitates, then posts the group picture of the three of them. At least she’s in this one.
“You went with the door pic?” Mrs. Cole asks, glancing at the phone. Amber waits for her to argue, but her mom is distracted by the manager’s arrival. “Plan to use the Rudy and Cecily ones all week—maybe schedule those in advance when we get home.”
Amber fights the urge to roll her eyes as she agrees. Her mother turns to Mr. Cole and a graying man in a blue apron who introduces himself as Mr. Brendan O’Donnell, the owner of the store. Mr. Cole instantly launches into talk about dark wood flooring, and the conversation goes smoothly until Mrs. Cole chimes in about their social media following. She’d been unable to get a sponsor for the flooring, but she is still trying to cut costs wherever possible. “We have a large following, you know. I wonder if we can help each other—what if we posted about your store for a discount? We’d expose you to all our followers—”
Mr. O’Donnell’s face hardens. “No partnerships. Sorry.”
Amber watches as her mom gapes like a fish and Mr. Cole cuts in, going back to conversation about varying kinds of dark hardwood. Mr. O’Donnell is polite, but his answers to her parents’ questions are curt. Not exactly fantastic customer service. There is absolutely no material worth vlogging here.
That is, until Mr. O’Donnell says, “Now, for historical authenticity—”
“Oh, we don’t mind about that,” Mr. Cole interjects. “We just want to make a nice home.”
Mr. O’Donnell lets out a small laugh. “Well, I am a high school history teacher, so it’s kind of my area of expertise.”
“Really?” Mr. Cole asks, ever the dad.
Mr. O’Donnell nods. “In fact, I’m a member of the local historical society. We don’t have protections on the Tremont house yet, obviously”—he shoots them a look—“but it is a property that we’re interested in acquiring, since it dates so far back. We’re trying to preserve the roots of the town. I know that to some people, houses like Tremont might just seem like old, out-of-date buildings—or worse, buildings that should be torn down for new developments or
