know of Maya, and she wouldn’t be the last. Faith couldn’t help but feel a little shaken, but compared to some of the other calls she’d gotten, this one was kids’ stuff. Some old chain-smoking prude who’d seen pictures of Faith and Maya in one paper or another, asking her favorite TV host not to let her daughter go out in the world. I see you with her . . . You’re a good mother.
Rosella said, “Are you okay?”
Faith smiled at her. “Sure, honey.”
“That wasn’t her teacher, was it?”
She shrugged. “Nope,” she said. “Loyal viewer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Faith held a hand up. Rosella had only been working for her for a few weeks. “No worries,” she said. “No more calls though, okay? If it’s the pope, take a message. Ashley needs my undivided attention.”
She nodded.
Almost as an afterthought, Faith stole a quick glance up and down the sidewalk. An older woman pushing a baby carriage, huddled against the cold. Three teenage boys in baggy clothes, talking to a friend in a parked car. No one of note. No one “watching.” Of course not. That caller was full of it. Talking about Maya as if they were best pals. Honestly, they read one Ladies’ Home Journal article, these creepy fans think they know everything about you.
Including your cell phone number.
Before she opened the door, Faith closed her eyes. Deep breath. Out with the bad, in with the good . . . She exhaled first, then inhaled very slowly. It was something a Pilates teacher had taught her years ago, and she could swear it lowered the blood pressure, increased the flow of serotonin and whatever other chemicals the body produced to make the brain relax enough to do its job. One more breath—a cleansing breath, the teacher had called it—and she was focused. Here, now. Faith couldn’t care less how the caller had gotten her number, and the only safety she feared for was that of Ashley, her interview subject.
If they only knew how much power they had, Pilates teachers. Faith swore they could run the world.
In her room at Dad and Faith’s, Maya made sure her door was locked before she went online and logged onto her chat room. Immediately, LIMatt61 said, Where the hell have you been? Because he was like that, always pouncing.
Of course, Maya couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t been on in days.
Sorry, she typed. I’ve been hanging out with a new group of kids.
LIMatt61 typed: And, that makes a difference because????? Five question marks? Really, LIMatt61?
NYCJulie cut in with: What did your mom ’s shrink say?
Maya typed: I couldn’t figure out how to ask . She knew she should say more before they all started giving her advice, or, worse yet, scolding her. (One of the biggest drawbacks to being the youngest person in a chat room. Everybody treated you like a kid.)
Sure enough, Matt typed in: You would have been more prepared if you weren’t spending so much time goofing off with your friends.
Maya sighed. She typed: Sorry. She started to type that she wanted to get to know the psychiatrist first before she started asking him probing questions about her own mother, but then her phone burped. She cringed.
Maya had picked out the burp text tone when she’d gotten the phone—her then-best friend Zoe had discovered it and played it for her, the two of them laughing hysterically for probably ten minutes straight. She’d downloaded it on the spot, but for the past week, Maya had been torn between not wanting to hurt Zoe by changing it, and living in fear of getting texted in front of Lindsay.
She switched the phone to vibrate, then checked her screen.
A text from Lindsay. Want to sleep over tonite?
Maya stared at the words. Lindsay Segal. Asking her to sleep over. She read it three more times, just to make sure she hadn’t gotten it wrong.
The problem was, she already had plans to stay at Zoe’s. Zoe had invited her two weeks ago.
Maya texted Lindsay: Don’t know if I can.
On her computer screen, another
Rosella said, “Are you okay?”
Faith smiled at her. “Sure, honey.”
“That wasn’t her teacher, was it?”
She shrugged. “Nope,” she said. “Loyal viewer.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Faith held a hand up. Rosella had only been working for her for a few weeks. “No worries,” she said. “No more calls though, okay? If it’s the pope, take a message. Ashley needs my undivided attention.”
She nodded.
Almost as an afterthought, Faith stole a quick glance up and down the sidewalk. An older woman pushing a baby carriage, huddled against the cold. Three teenage boys in baggy clothes, talking to a friend in a parked car. No one of note. No one “watching.” Of course not. That caller was full of it. Talking about Maya as if they were best pals. Honestly, they read one Ladies’ Home Journal article, these creepy fans think they know everything about you.
Including your cell phone number.
Before she opened the door, Faith closed her eyes. Deep breath. Out with the bad, in with the good . . . She exhaled first, then inhaled very slowly. It was something a Pilates teacher had taught her years ago, and she could swear it lowered the blood pressure, increased the flow of serotonin and whatever other chemicals the body produced to make the brain relax enough to do its job. One more breath—a cleansing breath, the teacher had called it—and she was focused. Here, now. Faith couldn’t care less how the caller had gotten her number, and the only safety she feared for was that of Ashley, her interview subject.
If they only knew how much power they had, Pilates teachers. Faith swore they could run the world.
In her room at Dad and Faith’s, Maya made sure her door was locked before she went online and logged onto her chat room. Immediately, LIMatt61 said, Where the hell have you been? Because he was like that, always pouncing.
Of course, Maya couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t been on in days.
Sorry, she typed. I’ve been hanging out with a new group of kids.
LIMatt61 typed: And, that makes a difference because????? Five question marks? Really, LIMatt61?
NYCJulie cut in with: What did your mom ’s shrink say?
Maya typed: I couldn’t figure out how to ask . She knew she should say more before they all started giving her advice, or, worse yet, scolding her. (One of the biggest drawbacks to being the youngest person in a chat room. Everybody treated you like a kid.)
Sure enough, Matt typed in: You would have been more prepared if you weren’t spending so much time goofing off with your friends.
Maya sighed. She typed: Sorry. She started to type that she wanted to get to know the psychiatrist first before she started asking him probing questions about her own mother, but then her phone burped. She cringed.
Maya had picked out the burp text tone when she’d gotten the phone—her then-best friend Zoe had discovered it and played it for her, the two of them laughing hysterically for probably ten minutes straight. She’d downloaded it on the spot, but for the past week, Maya had been torn between not wanting to hurt Zoe by changing it, and living in fear of getting texted in front of Lindsay.
She switched the phone to vibrate, then checked her screen.
A text from Lindsay. Want to sleep over tonite?
Maya stared at the words. Lindsay Segal. Asking her to sleep over. She read it three more times, just to make sure she hadn’t gotten it wrong.
The problem was, she already had plans to stay at Zoe’s. Zoe had invited her two weeks ago.
Maya texted Lindsay: Don’t know if I can.
On her computer screen, another
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