“It looks like two more than you have girlfriends. I wonder if he’s rich too?” I say, just for Max’s benefit.
“He’s not even a person, Mia. He’s probably a bot. He’s going to DM you and ask for your banking information and the last four digits of your social security number any minute now.”
A second later, I receive a DM from @Jules_In_Briefs. I squeal.
Max glares at me. “What is it?”
In a higher-pitched voice than normal, I announce, “Jules…he just texted me. Whoever he is, Max, he knows me. I need to know what he knows.”
Max sits up straighter. “Don’t open it, Mia. This is serious. Whoever is talking to you is not that guy. It’s probably some zitty teenager in his mom’s garage trying to steal your money.”
I smile at Max. There’s no way I’m not talking to @Jules_In_Briefs.
“Whatever you do, don’t click on any links.”
Not that it’s wrong to buy flattery from beautiful people/bots—we are in California—but I’m happy to find back-and-forth convos in the comment threads below my posts, implying that Jules and I have some sort of relationship. “I definitely know Jules. He’s commented on my posts like a hundred times.” I might be rounding up for Max’s benefit. He’s cute when he’s all flustered and paying attention to me.
“Relationship with a bot,” Max counters.
“You’re just jealous.”
Max continues to glower.
Another message pops up: Where you @ gurl?
I respond: Taco truck, wru?
Him: You forgot!
Forgot what??!! Deleted all my texts by accident!
He sends a screenshot of our earlier convo.
He had written: June 16. Meet me at 3 at Laguna Beach. To which I had responded: Koo, cu then.
I look up at Max. I’m supposed to be in Laguna Beach right now in a bikini. I’m missing a date with @Jules_In_Briefs. I don’t really know who he is, but I want to know more. I want to be there—RIGHT NOW!
I quickly write: OMG!! Leaving now!
He responds: On set, but we can still talk.
I don’t know who Jules is to me, but I need to find out. “Max, I have to run to Laguna. I’m supposed to be with Jules right now.”
“Mia, are you insane? You can’t go meet this guy. You don’t even know who he is.”
“I set the date before I lost my mind. I’m sure it’s fine.”
Looking unbelievably annoyed, he says, “He’s probably a creep. You can’t go alone.”
“Um, no offense, but I think it would be weird if you came along. I mean, I’m an adult and I know him. He might be my gay bestie or a client.”
“What about…JP?” Max asks, fumbling for any excuse.
“What about him? I still don’t know what I have with JP, but clearly my pre-amnesia self thought it was okay for me to meet Jules, even while dating JP. I have to trust her.”
Max looks huffy.
“I really don’t want to go with you. I don’t want to be weird and paternalistic, but you just woke up from a coma. If you insist on meeting a stranger who sent a photo of himself in his underwear, I’m going. I’m not going to be responsible for your death.” He shakes his head. “I won’t be able to live with the guilt when I see your murdered face on the news later.”
“Fine. As long as you promise not to get in a pissing match with this dude.” Just to push his buttons a little, I add, “No matter how jealous you get.”
He looks annoyed at the suggestion. “I’m not jealous. I’m just worried.”
“It’s okay if you’re jealous. I am sort of your girlfriend, or your boss, or both. However you want to play it.”
Max looks beyond exasperated and I decide maybe I should stop messing with him, even though it’s so much fun.
“What the hell is an Instagram model anyway?”
I can see from Max’s expression that he doesn’t get it and that the concept is making him mad. “Can anyone be an Instagram model? Like, all you have to do is take a picture and put it online, right?”
“Yes and no.” He’s obviously never thought about Instagram before.
“Could I be an Instagram model?” he asks.
I laugh. “You’re like someone’s grandpa.”
“I mean, who decides that he’s an underwear model? You can’t just say that you’re a genius or a model or a doctor. Someone else has to verify that. Like how a university can’t be a university without accreditation.”
I remember Brenda and Cindy talking when I first woke up. Maybe you’ll find out you’re a movie star or a rocket scientist. Nothing stopped them from dreaming big on my behalf. “When it comes down to it, all you have to do is tell the world who you are,” I say. “That’s why the internet is so powerful. Anyone can be anything.”
Max arches a brow. “That’s one way to look at it.” He pulls out his phone, opens an app, and starts rapidly typing. “Well, looks like he’s famous enough for a Wikipedia entry. Jules Spencer…born June 11, 1987…got his start like most Instagrammers by taking a lot of selfies…starts each day by posting a pic in his underwear…has 30 million followers waiting to see his daily selfie…used this platform to launch his own line, JulesBrand, a monthly subscription service for boxer briefs…starring in a remake of The Fast and the Furious…and his personal life is a long string of high-profile breakups.” He looks at me, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “There you have it.”
“They’re remaking The Fast and the Furious?” I ask, momentarily distracted. “I thought they were still putting out sequels?”
Max stares at me. “I bet you’re setting him up on a date.”
I flash a coy smile. “Or I’m going on a date with the next Paul Walker.” Suddenly I know inside that I’ve watched the whole Fast and Furious franchise with my brother or my dad. I don’t think I would watch them on my own but I’ve definitely seen them. It’s my third day as New Mia. When is someone besides a hot guy going to come looking for me? Where are my parents, and why don’t I have my mom’s number?
* * *
Laguna is everything. It’s beautiful, much like Long Beach, but without oil wells in the harbor or suspicious black puddles on the sand. The bus doesn’t run this far down the PCH so there aren’t too many tweakers and bums. It reeks of money, instead of weed and piss.