Page 82 of Someone Just Followed You

@Annie.Matthews98, TikTok

Does anyone else think Maple’s dad looks like Chris Hemsworth? He’s hot, right?? And single now I guess?

Nikki swings the fridge door open, leaning on its heavy frame for balance. She’s starving, but as per usual, the options are limited. She decides on her late-night staple, cheese and crackers, and grabs the half-eaten packet of Tillamook. As she pushes the door shut, she tips forward slightly, but manages to right herself, and even stretches onto her tiptoes to grab the crackers without toppling over. Good job, girl, she thinks, proud of herself.

Pickleball was so much fun that the four of them decided to celebrate with an al fresco lunch, washed down with mimosas, of course. Lunch morphed seamlessly into Aperol Spritz sundowners, and then Emily suggested they go drunk bowling. It was hysterical, trying to hold on to a five-kilogram ball by her fingertips while cantering down an over-polished runway in a straight line, and still try to hit the target. But she managed it better than her friends – even got two strikes by some miracle – and topped the leaderboard in all three games.

But now she’s home alone at nine p.m. on a Saturday night, with a hangover starting to kick in. She needs food, water, and to not drunk-call her ex again.

She cuts a few slices of cheese, fills a pint glass from the tap, and takes her supper through the back and outside. When she could finally afford to buy her own place, she chose a run-down 1950s terrace because it had a yard, and she spends as much time out here as possible. She sinks into the lounger her parents gifted her last birthday and – on autopilot – pulls out her phone.

The first thing she sees is a TikTok notification suggesting a new friend, @RealRyanB14, and she rolls her eyes as she recognizes the profile photo – it’s that kid from the sports camp. Yeah, TikTok, spending a few minutes in close proximity to a twelve-year-old on his phone – presumably claiming to be thirteen to pass age restrictions – definitely means she wants to connect with him on a deeper level. No wonder she’s single if this is the help she gets from one of the world’s smartest algorithms.

Except for some reason, she can’t help clicking on the notification, and letting TikTok guide her to Ryan’s profile in the app. He’s only uploaded five videos in total, and when she narrows her eyes to get rid of the blurred vision, she sees that they’ve all been uploaded in the last two days. This must be his new hobby.

Ryan’s first TikTok is from Friday night, which, now she thinks about it, is only a few hours after he got all excited about knowing that girl’s YouTube channel. Maybe that’s what prompted him to start creating content. Intrigued, Nikki presses play.

Hi everyone, my name’s Ryan and this is my first TikTok. I cleared four three at high jump today. Oh, and I’ve just told Dylan Dope what Coco’s YouTube channel is called. And he was SO happy. You know, Coco who’s Maybe Maple’s friend? I watch both their content all the time, and I didn’t even know they were friends. Isn’t that crazy? I like Coco’s channel best though because I love true crime, especially violent murders. It’s called Coco’s Cold Case in case you want to check it out. Okay, and um, thanks for watching my first TikTok. And yeah, bye.

Nikki smiles. She can’t help feeling a waft of affection for Ryan and his awkward sign-off. She wonders if this will be it for him, a few amateurish posts before he finds some other way to waste his time – Call of Duty maybe, Minecraft hopefully. Or if he’ll be sucked in by the dopamine rush of likes and follows, plus the omnipresent belief amongst teenagers that creating content is the easiest way to make millions.

But then again, what does she care. He’s an affluent white boy with the swagger of the privileged and above-average sporting talent. Whatever way he spends his youth, he’ll be fine.

But that same inevitability doesn’t feel quite so clear cut for the YouTuber he’s talking about: Coco. Because posting about violent murders doesn’t feel very appropriate for a teenager. Nikki wonders what kind of parents she has: the liberal type who believe children should be free to experiment, however risky that experiment might be. Or the absent type, the ones who don’t have a clue what their children are doing online.

Curious now, Nikki opens YouTube and searches for Coco’s Cold Case. It comes up straight away, and she clicks on the page.

But then her heart starts to beat a little faster. She blinks, and when that doesn’t work, she rubs her eyes. But nothing changes.

She sits up straighter, spreads her fingers across the screen to enlarge the image.

That’s Coco? But it can’t be. Jesus, is this because she’s drunk? Or is something really fucking weird going on?

Chapter 97

Maple

@JonnieMather.ss, TikTok

It’s been 50 hours since Maple went missing. Sorry but it doesn’t look good #findMaple

It’s too dark in this room.

Nothing to do but think.

I think about my little brother and sister, their muddled faces when Dad blurted out the truth about me. And the last time I saw them, when I told them I’d be back soon, that they shouldn’t pause the movie for me. I know that was Thursday morning, but I’m not sure what day it is anymore. I wonder if they’re missing me. If I’ll ever see them again.

But no, I can’t just vanish. There must be people looking for me, finding clues that will lead them here. But if that’s true, why did Brandon sound so certain that he’s covered his tracks? And he talked about Ella. Was that bullshit to scare me, or is he some kind of serial kidnapper?

I might never be found. And being here is hell now, but it could get even worse. He already touches me in a way that makes me want to vomit. He holds my hand, strokes my hair. So far, when I pull away – which I always do, I can’t not – he lets me go. But will that change at some point? He’s not a big guy, but he’s bigger than me. Stronger. And he’s got a gun.

The thought makes my face crack with fresh tears. I have to believe that I’ll be rescued before then, that Coco will come through for me, like she always does. That any second now, the door will be rammed so hard it breaks off its hinges; a group of feds will run in, throw Brandon to the floor and tell me everything’s going to be okay.

The door flies open, smashes against the wall.

But it’s not the feds. It’s him.

‘Hello, my sweet girl,’ he says. ‘It’s late; shouldn’t you be asleep by now?’