Page 24 of Never Alone
No.
I had spent seven months becoming somebody who didn't look like the woman in this clip. I had dyed my hair. I had put in contacts. I had bought glasses I didn't need. I had told myself, every morning, that nobody would see her. The woman on the screen was nobody I knew.
The woman on the screen wasme.
The view count under the clip read2.1M.The number ticked while I watched.2.2M.I refreshed.2.3M.
I put the phone face down on the counter. My hands were shaking. I held them flat against the wood until they stopped.
The bell on the front door jingled.
I lifted my face into the version of itself I kept for the people who came into the shop and turned around.
"Sorry I took so long." Benjie was carrying a small pharmacy bag and a coffee. "The line was insane. There was a lady ahead of me arguing with the pharmacist about a coupon. I almost died."
"That's alright."
The video was still playing in my head. The count under it was climbing the way the count under it had climbed on the woman's phone, on my phone, on every phone in the country, watching it right now.2.3M.It would be2.4by the time I walked out of the shop.3Mbefore the end of the day.
"You okay?"
I looked at him.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
I had been seen. I had spent seven months at this counter, at the school drop-off, at the grocery store, and on the sidewalkbetween Mrs. Thompson's apartment and the bakery, and the disguise had held.
"Tessa?"
"Yeah?"
Benjie was looking at me. His face had moved from his usual face into the small, careful one he had when something wasn't right, and he didn't know what.
"I said, hold on, I'll grab you some water. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Yes. Thank you. Water would be—yeah."
He went into the back. I stood at the counter and tried to keep my hands flat against the wood and not think about the count under the clip and not think about what I was going to do.
He came out a moment later with a glass of cold water and set it on the counter in front of me.
"Here."
"Thank you."
I drank. The cold was good against my throat. I held the glass with both hands.
"Tessa." He had his hands in his apron pocket now. "Why don't you and Noah go home? I've got the rest of the afternoon."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's slow. There's nothing here I can't handle."
"Mrs. Thompson?—"
"I'll talk to her. Don't worry about it."
