TweetyGram

5 - #IHeartMalibu.com

Although Fiona held a bachelor's degree in English, she'd told me she wanted to be a puzzle editor. I guessed she was serious about it. And yes, I guessed I was being a little too paranoid.

"I'm writing about the effects of TweetyGram on athletes' performance." Devon Watson swaggered into the room, his dark hair slicked back in a three-inch high pompadour, probably to compensate for his below-average height.

"Who asked him?" I mouthed to Fiona, who chuckled in response.

Standing with his back to us, Devon poured coffee for himself and asked, "Did you know that athletes who spend more time on TweetyGram tend to perform worse than those who don't?"

"News to me," I answered.

"Yep," Fiona agreed.

As Devon kept talking about the negative influence TweetyGram had on athletes, my phone buzzed.

There was a new follow request on TweetyGram.

My attempt to stay anonymous on TweetyGram had failed miserably. Paris must've told everyone she knew about my account because I'd received ten new follow requests from my former classmates today. And it was only 9 a.m.

Out of curiosity, I tapped on the notification.

@QueSeraSera has requested to follow you

The user's profile picture was a snapshot of my former bandmate-slash-BFF Serafina Martin with a handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed man who was gazing at her with adoration.

Unlike Nat and Paris, Sera hadn't changed much from the last time I'd seen her, although she'd clearly upgraded her make-up skills. Shades of gold, bronze, and copper brought out the warmth in her hazel eyes, highlighted her gorgeous cheekbones, and flattered her fair olive skin. Her golden-brown hair now sported gentle caramel highlights, and it was much longer than her usual bob cut. With a carefree smile on her face, she seemed happier than ever, maybe because she had such a loving boyfriend by her side.

The two looked so perfect together. They even had matching dimples on their cheeks.

Now that is what I call lucky.

Medusa Lindsey lurked in the dark, her bottle-green eyes watching me with intent. As she crawled out of her hiding place, an awful, venomous feeling seeped into my stomach. Soon, I began to question why my love life wasn't remotely as wonderful as Sera's, why my academic life wasn't as smooth as Paris's, and why my professional life wasn't as accomplished as Nat's.

What did I do wrong?

"For what it's worth, I think you should write about The Malibu Wolf," Fiona said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "We die-hard Malibu fans need someone to voice our concerns. I'm telling you, this wolf is the worst. Not only do they exploit our love for that super-awesome TV show, but they also take advantage of our generosity and compassion for others in need."

"What do you mean?"

She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with gossip. "The victims were tricked into thinking that they were donating their money to charities. Plus, this is only speculation, but we believe it's an inside job."

My curiosity was piqued. "How come?"

"Because the wolf keeps posting photos taken in the Malibu set—which is why we call them the Malibu Wolf, by the way. And ever since a reporter sneaked into the set, leaked the identity of AJ Barker's killer back in season five, and eventually forced the writers to rewrite and reshoot the season finale, the studio has prohibited anyone other than the cast and crew—and the celebrity entourage, of course—from entering the set," she explained, speaking so fast it took me a few seconds to process everything.