There’d be a message with a link. They’d stopped a hack. Click here to verify your password.
There was a message, but there was no link to restore her account. The message read,Your U-Spin account has been closed for the following issues: 7.4 and 13.2-7. Please see user agreement for details.
Kia’s hands began to shake. She couldn’t breathe.
“Is everything all right?” It was Marley.
No, no, no. Go away.Kia didn’t have the energy to find something polite to say.
“We’re fine,” Deja cut in.
She took the phone from Kia’s trembling hands.
“Article seven is about violating community standards.”
Ordinarily, Kia would stop to praise Deja for knowing even part of the user agreement off the top of her head. Most people had never read it. Now Kia felt like she was drowning and all Deja had to toss her was a tiny float, not nearly big enough to hold Kia up. Deja handed Kia’s phone back. Without her social media accounts, Kia’s career was dust. It was broken concrete in a vacant lot. Her other accounts! She opened them one by one. Closed. Closed. Closed.
“The Oak Tree Snacker’s account got closed once. They got it back,” Deja said. “And Mission Spider Plant. It was basically just a glitch.”
“I know.” Kia’s voice got fainter. “This is different. Mega Eats did this. I don’t know how, but those companies can do anything.”
“Clause 13.2-7 says U-Spin can decide what meets community guidelines and if they say it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” Deja said. “There’s no way to challenge them.”
“This is it. I’m fucked.”
It was like the moment when you learned someone had died. Everything was normal, and in a second everything changed. Except Kia Gourmazing was the deceased. Deja reached over andput her hand on Kia’s forearm.
“We need to reject all the direct payments coming in from your subscribers, or we’ll be taking their money for nothing. And we need to let your sponsors know, stop all direct deposits. We’re in breach of a lot of contracts right now. I’m going to get started. Are you okay? Can you call Lillian or Sullivan?”
Kia nodded. She watched Deja pay at the hosts’ station and head out the door. When Deja was gone, Kia slid out of the booth and stepped outside into the crisp, dusty air. Across the street an antique store, a veterans’ support office, and a store selling glass pipes all looked well maintained and unloved at the same time. Everything was tidy, but nothing was loved. Nothing distinguished this block. Nothing said,I want to be here. That was probably just her mood blanketing the scene.
Kia’s phone buzzed in her hand. She jumped. A text from an unknown number flashed onto her screen. A GIF showed a skeleton dancing on top of a grave, in a loop of jerky movements. On the tombstone read the wordsR.I.P. KIA GOURMAZING.
The last finger of light had lost its hold on the street, leaving charred shadows at the feet of the buildings. A bunch of motorcyclists emerged from the bar, dressed in leather and affiliation patches that might belong to middle-aged fathers grasping at adventure or might have been a gang. They revved the bikes to life, pumping handles and pedals to increase the roar. One by one they peeled out. They must have loved that moment when they all tore down the road. If only she and Sullivan could ride into the sunset like that. But she couldn’t ask Sullivan to help her solve this problem, because she was the problem and, like Sullivan had said that first night they saw each other, Sullivan’s life was collateral damage.
chapter 32
The Mirepoix kitchenwas humming, clanging, and sizzling as it should. The latest shipment of shiitakes from Rainland Mushrooms was delicious. For the herculean task of not using his phone in the kitchen for a whole week, Sullivan had let Blake name the dish Let That Shiitake Go. The name mortified her a bit, but the customers thought it was cute, and it had sold more orders than vegetarian dishes usually did. Maybe Kia was right; maybe cute names did sell product.
Sullivan wasn’t happy though, not since Kia drove south. Camping with Kia had been magical. It was the birthday date she’d always wanted. Fun and sexy. Surrounded by nature and friends but held closest by a partner who cared about her, who knew her. Kia hadn’t taken any videos for Kia Gourmazing, but she had taken a picture of Sullivan on her digital camera. In the picture, Sullivan was standing by the creek, her back to the camera. Early morning light streaking through the trees blended the edges of her curls with dawn.This is exactly how I want to be, she’d said when Kia showed her the picture, and Kia had kissed her. They’d been a couple, and Sullivan had forgotten about everything else until they got back home to Mega Eats’ trucks and Kia left for Grants Pass and wouldn’t take Sullivan.
Through the service window, the head server called out, “Chef Sullivan, there’s a customer with a question about the grass-fedbison. Nothing bad, they said they loved it, but they seriously want to meet you.”
“We gotcha covered,” Opal said. “Don’t we, Blake? We got Chef’s back because we’re not on our phones.”
Blake gave Opal a surly look, but he agreed, “Yes, Chef.”
A man in khakis and a blue button-down shirt sat alone in the corner, his face pleasantly illuminated by the recycled wax tea light that graced every table.
“Please, Chef, sit down,” he asked imploringly.
Hopefully he didn’t have a crush on her. Occasionally customers flirted with her. In school, when her hair had been longer, her walk swishier, and herself flirtier, she’d had no shortage of interested men. Interesting men. She wasn’t interested in anyone now that she’d fallen asleep in Kia’s arms. Sullivan pulled out a chair and sat down on the edge of it, ready to hop up again. “Just for a minute.”
“Of course. Of course. You’ve got work to do. You don’t need me to tell you how amazing your food is.”
“Thank you.”
“Or how special Mirepoix is.”
