“You’re a magician,” I said, astonished at the subtle changes to my face.

“I know, right?” she said, raising her phone and pointing it at me.

Instinctively, I twisted away and shielded my face. “What are you doing?”

“Posting my handiwork on Insta,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Come on, move your hand.”

“Don’t.”

“Really?” she asked, sounding annoyed. “You’re not seriously still that phobic about social media, are you?”

It was the same tone of voice she’d used the first time I stopped her from posting my image on social media. All throughout college, I’d let her paper the internet with pictures of me, pictures in which I looked less than perfect while she was smiling flirtatiously. But then, during Jasmine’s bachelorette party, I’d gotten a notification that Audrey had tagged me on Facebook. I’d looked at the photo and choked on my pink champagne.

“Take that down!” I had demanded. “I’m interviewing with law firms next month. I can’t have a picture of me wearing a penis necklace on the internet.”

“Relax, Kitty-Cat. It’s obviously a bachelorette party. They’re not going to think you’ll, like, show up in court wearing it or something.”

“Law firms are conservative,” I’d insisted, ripping off the flimsy necklace as my panic grew. “I need you to take it down. Now.”

Audrey had made a show of rolling her eyes, but she complied. After that, I stripped my Facebook profile and locked it down. I knew Audrey didn’t mean any harm; she just didn’t understand why I wouldn’t want that picture online, just as I didn’t understand her seemingly pathological need to share every detail of her existence. How could I explain to someone like Audrey that social media reminded me of a high school cafeteria, a place where you and your vulnerabilities were on full display for the jackals who were your compatriots? I couldn’t release my hopeful, made-up face for their consumption. I couldn’t put myself through that again.

“You’re being silly,” she said, aiming the phone at me once more.

“Don’t!” I shouted, the alarm in my voice surprising us both.

She lowered the phone. “What’s going on?”

I drew a shaky breath as I gathered myself. “I … I don’t want people to make fun of me.”

“What?” she asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “Cat, no one’s going to make fun of you. You’re a total babe.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get it. How could you? Everyone loves you.”

“Everyone loves me?” she echoed in disbelief. “That’s a joke, right? Have you ever read the comments on my Insta posts? Did you know there’s an entire thread on Reddit devoted to what a self-obsessed airhead I am? Here, let me pull that up for you.”

“Don’t,” I said, putting out a hand to stop her from typing on her phone. “I get it. But, Audrey … that’s different. So a handful of people on the internet are giving you a hard time. You still have, what, thousands of followers—”