Prologue
Hey guys, so I just had to make this video because guess what? I hit 1.9 million subscribers today! Isn’t that cool? Thank you all for believing in me, and hanging out with me, and watching my crazy videos. Honestly, you guys are the best.
Maple’s eyelids flicker but she won’t open them. She wants to live here, in her happy memory, not in the stifling, claustrophobic darkness that actually swamps her. The door to the outside isn’t far away, just a few steps maybe, but it’s too far for her. For the shackles on her wrists and ankles, chaining her to the bed.
But the memory has gone now, reality back behind her eyelids, so she gives in, opens her eyes. Takes in her shadowy surroundings. Within seconds the tears start, like always, hot and sticky on her cheeks.
She’s lying on her back. There’s just enough length in the chains to roll onto her side, but she doesn’t. Her whole body feels too heavy, like her muscles are still asleep and her limbs belong to someone else.
She stares at the ceiling. How long has she been here? Her brain is too sluggish; she can’t figure it out. She wants to fight against it, to think straight, to find a way to escape.
To pray for someone to come save her.
But she hasn’t got the strength to think. She’s too tired.
She closes her eyes again. Drifts off.
Chapter 1
Kirsten
We walk into the arrivals’ concourse, and I spot him immediately. A man in a fitted white shirt, black jeans, and thick-framed square glasses. Sure, he looks exactly like I imagine an advertising executive from California to look, but it’s the laminate card he’s holding that really gives him away. The one typed with my daughter’s name. Maple Clark (talent).
Talent.
I close my eyes and savor the moment. Fourteen years of hard work gleaming back at me in shiny black typescript. The clinking and chiming of Harry Reid Airport’s slot machines somehow the perfect backing track. With my palm on the small of Maple’s back, I maneuver us through the crowd of tourists and gambling addicts toward him.
I smile. I’ve practiced this a lot, getting the perfect balance between gratitude and expectation, and it seems to pay off because his LA-tanned face lights up.
‘Mrs. Clark,’ he says, reaching for my hand. ‘So great to meet you. I’m Jules, from Studio 88, the lead brand agency on this project.’
‘Please, call me Kirsten,’ I say, pulling my hand back, vaguely wondering if I retracted it prematurely, then deciding I needn’t worry. Talent. ‘And this is Maple.’ I give my daughter the gentlest shove forward.
‘Oh, hey,’ she says, lifting one hand into an awkward wave. She clearly hasn’t been practicing as much as me, which is a little irritating, given the number of times I’ve talked to her about first impressions, but I don’t let my disappointment show. ‘Nice to meet you.’
He nods and his eyes linger a second longer than maybe they should, a thirty-something man meeting a fourteen-year-old girl. But of course, Maple isn’t any teenager; if she was, we wouldn’t be here in the first place.
‘Well, welcome to Vegas,’ Jules says. ‘We’re so excited that you were available for today’s shoot; I know it can be hard during the school year, but we’ve got some immovable deadlines; you know how it is.’
‘It’s fine; we get it,’ I say smoothly, pretending that we do photoshoots in iconic locations all year round. Glossing over the fact that Maple skipping school to be here means she will be getting a black mark against her name on the attendance record round about now. ‘Luckily Maple’s school principal is a fan of her work.’
Jules spreads his hands. ‘Well, who isn’t?’ He laughs, a little falsely maybe, then points to the sliding glass doors. ‘I have a car waiting outside, if you’re ready?’
I find my best Hollywood smile. ‘Lead the way.’
We follow him out of the terminal building, then down a ramp toward a line of luxury cars with drivers sat up front. He pauses at one and gives us a triumphant grin. ‘So does this work for you, Maple?’
Maple’s jaw drops, literally, turning her mouth into a black hole. ‘OMG, Mom!’ she squeals. She flicks her face toward me, then back to the car, her golden-brown eyes wide with awe. ‘This is for us?’
Jules grins. ‘If you haven’t cruised the strip in a custom-built baby pink Cadillac Escalade, have you even been to Vegas?’ He opens the door like a chauffeur might, then raises his eyebrows in a way I imagine a chauffeur would get fired for.
Maple giggles, any awkwardness now gone, and climbs in. I worry for a moment that Jules is going to follow, leave me on the pavement – the forgotten mom, even though I do practically all the work. But of course he doesn’t. He gestures for me to go next, and so I do, clambering inside as demurely as I can manage.
Chapter 2
Kirsten
Jules is right to brag. The Cadillac looks more like a limo inside, with four huge leather seats facing into each other. Maple has claimed one, her forearms wide on the armrests, the soles of her Nikes visible as she sinks into the deep bucket seat. I sit down next to her, and Jules climbs in, taking the seat opposite Maple.
‘As you know, the shoot’s happening in Graffiti Alley in the Arts District,’ he says as he opens a small fridge and distributes cans of ice-cold water. ‘It’s got such a cool vibe – perfect for the street-style look that Azione are going for. We’ve constructed an elevated glass box in front of the artwork, which looks spectacular, and there’s security, so you don’t need to worry about any snooping fans.’
‘But I’ll be inside the box?’ Maple asks drumming her new electric blue shellac nails – a pre-shoot mom and daughter treat – against the can. A note of fear has crept into her tone, and I try not to roll my eyes. Sure, Maple has never liked confined spaces, but the box is made of glass. It will hardly be claustrophobic.
‘Exactly,’ Jules says with a smile. He seems to have missed her new nervousness, thank goodness. ‘It’s the perfect mix of classy and edgy, clean and gritty, you know?’
‘Truly perfect,’ I agree, although I’m thinking less about the creative direction and more about the paycheck. Azione is an Italian clothing brand that Maddie, our PR agent, told me has been trying to break America since it launched in 2012. They finally struck gold when the eldest Hart child gave them a shout-out across all her social media platforms a couple of years ago – I forget her name now, she hasn’t posted for a while, but with eight million subscribers to their @7harts<3 YouTube page, the sales uptick for Azione was immediate.
Having finally caught on to the power of kidfluencing, the brand contacted our PR agency. For a while it was just free clothes in exchange for posts. But then last month, Maddie called to say they wanted Maple to front their digital advertising campaign – a starring role for Maple’s very first modeling gig. I was ecstatic for her, and I can still remember her face when I told her the news. Making your child’s dream come true is so special.
The strip is just beyond the airport, so we’re there in no time, and I turn toward the window to soak up the view. The Eiffel Tower statue at Paris Las Vegas, more beautiful than the original, I’ve heard people say. And the Bellagio opposite, unashamedly opulent with its iconic fountain and grand entrance.
I’ve only been to Vegas once before, a long weekend with Garrett over ten years ago. We were celebrating my first brand deal for Mom & Maple, the original name of Maple’s YouTube channel, and we stayed at the Four Queens on Fremont. It was a nice enough hotel, but it wasn’t the Bellagio. I wonder if that was the moment I redefined my ambition.
We pass other world-famous landmarks, places that make me feel proud to be American, like Caesars Palace and the Venetian, before the Boulevard starts to slip downhill. Not in topography, but the polish leaves the pavements. Tourists are replaced by workers, or worse. I feel a waft of disappointment that the photoshoot isn’t taking place somewhere more glamorous; that even in Vegas, a European fashion brand can choose grunge over glitz. But if they’re willing to pay twenty-five thousand dollars for Maple to spend a day in Graffiti Alley, who am I to complain.
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. ‘You excited?’ I murmur.
‘Yes, I think so,’ she whispers. ‘Maybe a bit nervous. First time, you know. Don’t want to get it wrong.’
My eyes dart to Jules, but he’s hunched over his phone, thumbs jerking against the screen, so I reach out, stroke her long chestnut hair, inhale the scent of Verb shampoo. ‘You will be awesome, my Maple honey,’ I promise. ‘The best model they’ve ever used. And you know why? Because you have been preparing for this moment your entire life. You perform for the camera every single day. And now it’s time to reap the rewards.’
Chapter 3
Maple
This has to be the wildest day of my life so far, for sure.
I’m in a glass box in the sky when I should be in math. Finally proving that filming all those videos for YouTube was worth it.
‘You okay up there, honey?’ a voice calls out. It’s the woman with cropped blond hair and loads of tattoos. Lois. She’s the creative director from Studio 88 and seems to be the person in charge. It’s crazy to me that someone who’s surrounded by gorgeous models all day makes zero effort herself, and I can’t decide whether that’s super rogue in a good way, or bad.
‘I’m great, thank you.’ I smile, follow Mom’s rules: look pretty, act grateful. But the truth is I’ve spent nearly four hours in and out of this box and I’m kinda done now. Hungry, thirsty, tired. Six outfit changes feels like a lot, especially as it’s hot as hell in here and my head’s hurting. There may be four men on scissor lifts holding diffusers and strobes to even out the light, but the Nevada sun is still finding its way through.
‘You know, the shots look amazing,’ Lois goes on. ‘Exactly what I was hoping for, and the client absolutely adores you.
Another twenty minutes and we’ll have everything we need. You can cope in there okay? You don’t need another break?’
I eye Mom, pick up the subtle shake of her head. And I suppose if the client really does adore me, this could be the start of something bigger. Maybe a commercial for TV. The Superbowl even. I can’t wreck my chances by being all needy now. ‘No, I’m good, thank you.’
She nods, smiles, then turns to the cameraman, Paul, and starts a conversation I can’t hear. Paul has a bald head and a goatee so black it must be dyed. He barely comes out from behind his camera – his assistant is right next to him, also taking photos, but I haven’t seen them interact once – and I can’t help thinking he’s a bit creepy. In fact, if I think too much about it, it’s lowkey freaky that he’s looking at me through his zoom lens. He could be staring at my knobbly elbows, the pimple on my chin that Destiny, the makeup lady, promised she could hide, or even my . . .
It’s crazy to think I have tits now. And proper ones with cleavage. This time last year I barely needed a bra, but a lot can happen in twelve months, I guess.
‘Hey, Maple, could you lie down on your front, then lift up onto your elbows?’
I do as Lois says, even though that means most of the top I’m wearing is now hidden. Except the straps are super cute – cream lace with a vintage vibe – and the cut of the neckline is low and curvy. I guess that’s enough to sell it.
‘Beautiful, I love it,’ Lois calls up. ‘Now dip your head to one side, no, the other side. That’s so much better. Let your hair fall over that shoulder. Wow, Maple. You’re a natural!’
There’s a sudden clatter to my left and I jump at the sound. One of the men in the scissor lifts has dropped the piece of equipment he was holding.
‘Shit, sorry, man,’ he shouts down, grimacing. ‘My hands are so sweaty, it just slipped out.’
He does look sweaty. His dark hair is wet at the edges, and there’s lines of it running into his beard and down onto his Raiders T-shirt. His eyes are blinking unnaturally fast too, like maybe he’s high.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Paul grumbles from below, his toe nudging the diffuser now lying torn on the ground. ‘That cost me a hundred fucking dollars.’
I don’t know why, it’s not like I’ve never heard people swear before, maybe it’s the heat, but from nowhere, I feel a giggle work its way up from my belly.
Lois watches me crack. And it must be infectious because she starts giggling too. Mom picks up on the vibe and follows suit, and then Jules joins in. Soon the whole production crew is laughing except for Paul; even his assistant’s sniggering, I think, although he’s doing a good job of hiding it behind his camera. I sense the man who caused this mayhem looking at me, and I instinctively turn toward him, expecting gratitude for the distraction. But his expression is weird. Super intense. The giggle inside me dies, and my smile drops. My stomach clenches and I have a sudden urge to throw up.
Because this middle-aged guy with a sweaty head doesn’t look grateful. He looks hungry.
Someone Just Followed You
You’re trending. They’re obsessed.
Maple Clark goes missing.
Maple Clark is like many teenage girls. She’s awkward around boys and feels misunderstood by her parents. But she is also an internet sensation with a huge income and a mom who is driven to do whatever it takes to make her more famous. She’s constantly creating content for her millions of followers. Until the day the content stops.
Maple Clark has vanished.
And there are 1.9 million suspects.
Anyone could have followed her. Only one person knows where she is…