Tweet Cute: A Novel

The dinner is nothing short of a disaster.

First off, Landon is a no-show. A bit after six o’clock, my mom ushers his father into the dining room, where I’m already waiting in my blue sweater set and a pair of khakis like a Stepford child. She raises an eyebrow at me. The displeased eyebrow. More specifically, the I thought you told me your friend would be here eyebrow.

I don’t know what’s worse—my mom’s disappointment or the crush of embarrassment that immediately follows it. It’s so quick and so searing, it feels like he stood me up on an actual date.

“Where’s Landon tonight?” my mom asks, taking Mr. Rhodes’s coat.

“Oh, you know. Homework. Swim team stuff,” his father says.

I bite my tongue before I give in to the reflex to say I’m on the swim team too. My mom offers me the subtlest of nods as a thank-you. The last thing she wants to do is make him uncomfortable.

And maybe that would have been the end of the awkwardness, if my mom could just relax. She’s saying all the right things—hyping up the universality of Big League Burger, citing comparable successes from companies that expanded overseas, talking about emerging markets in countries that haven’t had a lot of chain expansions in them yet—but she cannot for the life of her stop checking her phone.

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Rhodes asks.

“Hmm? Sorry,” says my mom, putting the phone down with a smile that’s all teeth. “We’re having a slight issue with the company’s Twitter page.”

“Oh?”

“We had a security breach. Our team is still trying to figure out how.” My mom stabs at a piece of her parmesan roasted broccoli with more gusto than necessary.

I’ve been doing my best all night not to make eye contact with anyone and say the bare minimum required of me, so I can enjoy this fancy meal and start outlining my French essay in my head in peace. But even I’m not immune to the sudden shift in the room, to the way Mr. Rhodes’s lips press into each other and his eyes briefly go to his plate.

“That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about—the Twitter account.” He straightens up a bit, firm but apologetic at the same time. “You talk a lot about this being a family company, and I just don’t see those values reflected in the company’s social media presence.”

The air in the room seems to come to a complete standstill. For some reason, my mom’s eyes sweep over to me—like she needs me to toss her some kind of lifeline.

I look down at the table and refuse to look back up.

“Well—of course, of course, I understand your concerns.” I can hear the slight edge in her voice. That nervous lilt I used to hear growing up when she had to talk to the landlord about rent being late that month, or prep herself in the mirror to talk to someone at the bank about business loans for Big League Burger with my dad. “But you know how it is with social media these days. The more of an impression you can make, the better for business.”

“You aren’t afraid the impression you’re giving might alienate some of your customer base?”

As pissed as I am at Landon right now, I could hug the life out of his father for this.

Because as much as my mom refuses to believe it, this whole thing has been a bad PR move for us. Most of the replies to tweets sent by the account are still either cat emojis, people who are up in arms about the protection of small businesses, and straight up trolls. I was almost relieved when Girl Cheesing started to rack up tens of thousands of followers—at the very least it evened the playing field so we didn’t look like total bullies.

I can tell my mom is trying to answer carefully. Despite everything, I wish, in that moment, there was something I could do to help her.

But it turns out, she can’t even help herself. I’m expecting her to concede. To smile and tell Mr. Rhodes that rerouting the social media strategy is certainly a consideration she’d be willing to make, especially given what’s at stake here. The idea of an international expansion is all she has talked about since she moved us to New York in the first place.

“If anything, I think it will make our brand even more recognizable overseas.”

Mr. Rhodes smiles one of those smiles that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well. Maybe.”

Whatever my mom was hoping would get set into motion tonight falls so flat, there is no mistaking it. I basically tune them out after that, all but running into my room and shutting the door as soon as my mom ushers Mr. Rhodes out. I brace myself, waiting for her to knock—we’ll talk, maybe, and decide to drop the Twitter thing. And then we’ll go into the kitchen and bake something, the way we used to when things didn’t go our way. International Funding Rejection Pie. Something ridiculous, something that will make us both laugh.

But she doesn’t knock. I hear the door to her room click shut, and that’s the last I hear from her for the rest of the night.

I wish I could call Paige. But instead, I find myself opening the Weazel app, hovering over the chat between me and Wolf.

Bluebird

You know that whole thing about parents wanting stuff for you that you don’t know if you want?

Bluebird

Well, I get it.

I set the phone down, not expecting an answer. Almost hoping I won’t get one. I’m angry at Wolf for ghosting me, angry with Landon for standing me up, angry with myself for caring as much as I do.

Wolf

Yikes. Going full teenage angst on this glorious Friday night, huh?

I startle at the sound of the notification coming in. The relief is crippling, almost humiliating. Like I’ve been in solitary confinement and someone has finally poked their face in through the bars to say hello.

Bluebird

Let me guess. You’re out drinking and partying with the rest of the reckless youth

It’s not meant to sound passive-aggressive, but I suppose it does. I wonder what Landon is doing right now that was so much more important than sucking it up and coming over here for two hours. Maybe this way I can find out.

Wolf

Nah. Much dweebier than that. Mostly messing around on the computer

My throat is tight. So, not important at all.

Wolf

How about you? Getting wild and reenacting Gossip Girl plotlines?

Bluebird

Yeah, I’m blowing through my trust fund as we speak

Wolf

Anyway, sorry the ’rents are giving you trouble, birdie. What do they want?

It occurs to me, in that moment, I’m not even really sure what my mom wants for me. I know all the immediate things—come up with tweets. Get good grades. Get into a good school. But beyond that, I have no idea what she wants me to do.

Beyond that, I don’t really have any idea what I want to do.

Bluebird

The usual, I guess

Bluebird

You’ve been busy, huh?

I think for a moment that’ll scare him off again. That the texts will peter out the same way they did before, and we’ll go back to the odd silence between us.

Wolf

Kind of, yeah

Wolf

But I’ve missed this

It’s not quite I missed you, but it’s close enough that just like that, the anger evaporates. Just like that, I forgive the murkiness of the last week with a kind of swiftness that should maybe alarm me. I don’t care. It’s nice to have someone in my corner again, even if that corner is one I can’t see.

Bluebird

Yeah, me too

Bluebird

Even though you have not made a cupcake locating app yet, which to me is a clear sign of disrespect for the institution of dessert

Wolf

Shit. Am I gonna wake up tonight with Cookie Monster two inches from my face holding a knife?

Bluebird

Sleep with one eye open