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daughter of a world-famous movie star.
    “I use my own name in the chat room,” Ema said, “so I can be just another fan.”
    “Okay, go on.”
    “So anyway, I started chatting with this guy. Then we started e-mailing and texting, that kind of thing.” Her face turned red. “He told me about his life. He told me he used to live in Europe but they had moved to the United States last year. We talked about books and movies and feelings. It . . . it got pretty intimate.”
    My face twisted into a grimace.
    “Ew, gross,” Ema snapped. “Not that kind of intimate!”
    “I didn’t say—”
    “Stop, okay? And never play poker, Mickey. You’d be terrible at it. I mean, we
talked.
We really talked and opened up. At first, okay, I figured that maybe this guy was a fake, you know? Like I was being played.”
    “A prank,” I said. “Catfished.”
    “Right. I mean, you know me. I don’t trust easily. But as time went on . . .” Ema’s eyes lit up. “It was weird, but we both changed. Especially him. He might have started out playing some kind of game, but he became real. I can’t explain it.”
    I nodded, trying to move her along. “So you two got close.”
    “Yes.”
    “You felt like he was starting to open up to you.”
    “Yes. A few days ago, he said that he had something really important to tell me. That he had to confess something. I figured, uh-oh, here we go. He’s really an eleven-year-old girl or he’s married and thirty-eight. Something like that.”
    “But that wasn’t it?”
    Ema shook her head. “No.”
    “So what was his big secret?”
    “He ended up saying, forget it, it’s no big deal,” Ema said. She slid a little closer to me. “Don’t you see? He chickened out. I can’t explain this well. I’m summing up hundreds of texts and conversations. It was like something scared him from telling me the truth.”
    “You’re right,” I said.
    “I am?”
    I nodded. “You’re not explaining this well.”
    Ema punched me in the arm. “Just listen, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    “Jared and I finally set up a meet.”
    “Jared? His name is Jared?”
    “Oh, now you’re going to make fun of his name?”
    I held up both hands.
    “He lives in Connecticut. About two hours from here. So we agreed to meet at the Kasselton Mall. Jared had just gotten his license and could drive down. He said that he had to tell me something really important, something he could only tell me in person. He said that once we met, I’d understand everything.”
    “Understand everything about what?”
    “About him. About us.”
    I was lost, but I just said, “Okay. So then what?”
    “Then . . .” Ema stopped, shrugged. “Nothing.”
    “What do you mean, nothing?”
    “What do you think I mean?” she snapped. “That’s it. I went to the Kasselton Mall. I waited exactly where we said we’d meet—in that back corner of Ruby Tuesday’s. But he never showed. I waited one hour. Then two. Then . . . all day, okay? I sat there all day.”
    “Jared never showed?”
    “You got it.”
    “So what did you do then?” I asked.
    “I texted him. But he didn’t answer. I e-mailed him. Same thing. I went into our chat room, but he didn’t come back. I even checked his Facebook page, but there was nothing there. It was like he had suddenly vanished into thin air.”
    Ema typed something onto her laptop and then turned it to me. It was a Facebook profile for a boy named Jared Lowell. I took one look at his profile picture and without thinking said, “You were catfished.”
    “What?”
    The guy in the profile picture was ridiculously good-looking. I don’t mean everyday-high-school-quarterback good-looking. I mean TV-hunk, fronting-a-hot-boy-band good-looking.
    “Forget it,” I said.
    Ema was angry now. “Why did you say that?”
    “Forget it, okay?”
    “No, why did you say that I was catfished when you saw his picture? It’s because he’s cute, right?”
    “What? No.” But my words sounded weak