Follow Me Back

By A.V. Geiger

"Follow Me Back is the perfect mix of fandom with just the right amount of suspense. An enthralling page turner from beginning to end." —ANNA TODD, New York Times bestselling author of the After series

There's a fine line between fandom…and obsession.

Tessa Hart's world feels very small. Confined to her bedroom with agoraphobia, her one escape is the online fandom for pop sensation Eric Thorn. When he tweets to his fans, it's like his speaking directly to her…

Eric Thorn is frightened by his obsessive fans. They take their devotion way too far. It doesn't help that his PR team keeps posting to encourage their fantasies.

When a fellow pop star is murdered at the hands of a fan, Eric knows he has to do something to shatter his online image fast—like take down one of his top Twitter followers. But Eric's plan to troll @TessaHeartsEric unexpectedly evolves into an online relationship deeper than either could have imagined. And when the two arrange to meet IRL, what should have made for the world's best episode of Catfish takes a deadly turn…

Told through tweets, direct messages, and police transcripts, this thriller for the online generation will keep you guessing right up to the shocking end.

Follow Me Back Series:

Follow Me Back (Book 1)

Tell Me No Lies (Book 2)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sourcebooks
• Release date: Jun 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781492645245

A.V. Geiger

A. V. Geiger is a popular online author and member of the elite Wattpad Stars program. Her original teen fiction has received millions of hits on Wattpad, the story-sharing website and was ranked number one in the mystery/thriller genre. She lives in New Jersey with her husband and twin boys. Learn more at avgeiger.com.

Book preview

breathe.

THE INTERROGATION

(FRAGMENT 1)

December 31, 2016, 8:42 p.m.

Case #: 124.678.21–001

OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTION OF POLICE INTERVIEW

—START PAGE 1—

1

PROJECTING

August 12, 2016

You’re not obsessed. You’re projecting.

Projecting? Tessa looked up from the thick coil of long, brown hair that she’d been braiding and unbraiding for the past half hour. She met eyes uncertainly with her psychotherapist, Dr. Regan, sitting on the other side of the bedroom.

It’s a common defense mechanism, Dr. Regan said. Her tone remained emotionless as usual—the human equivalent of a white noise machine—but she shifted uncomfortably as she spoke. She sat perched in a low-slung, pink beanbag chair with her legs crossed at the ankles, striving to maintain a professional demeanor. Normally, she only met with clients in her office, but she made an exception for Tessa.

Tessa’s gaze dropped to the older woman’s panty hose, bunching at the knees, and she couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration. It took serious mental fortitude to brave the heat of the West Texas summer dressed in nylons. Tessa herself wore nothing but a tank top and cotton sleep shorts that barely skimmed the tops of her slender thighs.

Projection, Dr. Regan said. We use that term when an individual takes her own thoughts and feelings and attributes them to another person—in your case, to a celebrity.

But I’ve never met Eric Thorn. I’ve never even been to one of his concerts.

Dr. Regan picked up Tessa’s thought journal and flipped to the beginning. She made no comment on the drawings scribbled across the cover: a hodgepodge of hearts, woodland creatures, and eyeless human faces. Forget projection, Tessa thought, wrinkling her nose. They should probably discuss the fact that she couldn’t even stand her own doodle-people looking at her.

Dr. Regan indicated one of Tessa’s early entries. Tell me about this. What piqued your interest enough to write something down about him?

About Eric? Tessa reached for the spiral-bound journal, and her eyes swept over the page. "I was watching TMZ, I guess. They’d caught him walking around New York City with some actress from Pretty Little Liars. So naturally they assumed he was dating her."

But that’s not what you wrote down.

Of course not. Have you seen TMZ? It’s like fan fiction but less believable.

One of Dr. Regan’s brows quirked upward, the closest she ever came to a real facial expression. She pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose. Tell me what you wrote instead.

Tessa pulled her knees against her chest. She felt a vague unease as she remembered how the grainy paparazzi footage had held her transfixed. Eric and that girl… He hadn’t looked like he was on a date. Not even close. The video showed him walking briskly, with a furtive glance over his shoulder as he picked up the pace. Then the camera zoomed in close. Those piercing blue eyes of his had looked straight out of the screen. And the look on his face…

He didn’t look like some happy guy with a new girlfriend, Tessa told her therapist. Not to me.

What did he look like to you?

Tessa closed her eyes. Like he was scared out of his mind.

Good, Tessa. Dr. Regan rewarded her with a nod. And what do you think that might say about your own state of mind?

"You mean I just imagined it? I’m actually the one who’s scared out of my mind?"

Dr. Regan leaned forward intently. She tucked a strand of graying hair behind her ear.

I suppose that’s possible, Tessa said slowly. That’s one of my worst fears, I guess. Walking around some crowded city sidewalk, not knowing if I’m being followed…

Dr. Regan took the thought journal and flipped it closed. Excellent. Keep going.

It wasn’t just that one time though, Tessa said, thinking aloud. Every time he looks straight into the camera, you can see this glimmer of fear.

Fear of what?

Like he feels haunted by something. Haunted or— Tessa broke off, searching for the right word. Her eyes slid over the journal cover and landed on one of the baby deer she’d drawn, running for its life. Hunted, maybe? I don’t know.

That’s very interesting, Tessa.

Really? It’s interesting? Tessa couldn’t help but laugh. Interesting. That must be one of those obscure psych terms for when the patient has a total one-track mind.

Every time she sat down to do her mindfulness exercises, she just ended up writing stories about Eric Thorn. Tessa had already filled two whole journals with all the elaborate plots she’d imagined. It can’t be healthy, right?

Dr. Regan pulled out a yellow legal pad and recorded a quick note. You may feel safer exploring your own anxieties by assigning them to someone else. That can be quite useful, actually, as long as you recognize what you’re doing. Try to think how your theories about this celebrity might connect to what happened in June.

Tessa responded with a choked noise, hugging her knees even tighter. She’d spent the month of June in New Orleans, part of an eight-week creative writing program for teens—or it was supposed to last eight weeks at any rate. Tessa had left the program halfway through and fled back home to the safety of her childhood bedroom. Now the whole summer had nearly come and gone, and she still couldn’t bring herself to talk about why she’d left. No… You said I didn’t have to…not until I was ready—

OK, Tessa. Dr. Regan raised a calming hand. Remember your breathing. That’s it.

Tessa swallowed. The rising anxiety threatened to engulf her, but she focused her mind on her one most trusted distraction. Eric. Eric Thorn. Tessa chanted his name inside her head as she sucked air deep into her lungs. She was supposed to hold her breath for a five count, but she had her own little spin on this particular relaxation technique. Eric one… Eric two… Eric three… Tessa watched her chest slowly rise and fall until the tension in her shoulders ebbed.

Good, Tessa, Dr. Regan said. We can keep the conversation framed on Eric Thorn if that’s where you feel most comfortable.

I just don’t understand why I chose him. Why Eric Thorn of all people?

You tell me. Why do you think you’ve fixated on him?

Tessa felt her face heat up. She’d considered herself a fan since his debut album a few years ago, but her fascination lately had reached a whole new level. It went way beyond the stories in her thought journal. Every time she came across a new picture of him, she felt this overwhelming compulsion to save it to her cell phone camera roll. She had more images of Eric Thorn squirreled away than anyone she’d ever known in real life. Here in her bedroom, Tessa had taken down all the other photographs that used to decorate the pale-yellow walls, but she’d left her Eric Thorn concert poster in its place of honor above her bed.

I don’t know, Tessa said. Maybe because he’s hot? She glanced over her shoulder at the poster, and her eyes lingered on the familiar scene: Eric performing onstage, with an electric guitar slung across the sculpted muscles of his chest. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed, lost in the music…

Dr. Regan peered over the rim of her glasses at Eric’s sweaty torso. I’m guessing there’s a little more to it than that, she said. But let’s leave it as something for you to think about for our next session. Now, what about your desensitization exercises? How did it go this week?

Tessa bit at her thumbnail, already chewed down to the nub. Her therapist filled the silence as she hesitated.

Last week, you were able to sit downstairs in the living room with your mom and your boyfriend, Scott, for half an hour.

Yeah, Tessa muttered.

And your goal for this week was to try touching the front doorknob of the house.

That didn’t exactly happen. Tessa bit down on her cuticle, tearing it with her teeth. She knew that she’d messed up. It had taken her more than a month of therapy just to summon the courage to set foot outside her bedroom door, but the past few days had felt like a huge step backward. I’ve just been really overwhelmed this week, she said. There’s this…thing…happening. It’s stupid.

Dr. Regan frowned. What thing?

Nothing. It’s just something that happened on Twitter.

The therapist stopped scribbling notes and looked up. You’re on Twitter?

I’m really sorry, Tessa said. She hadn’t mentioned her Twitter account before. It hadn’t seemed relevant. She rarely ever tweeted nowadays. But this past week, Twitter had somehow managed to occupy most of her waking thoughts. I know what you’re going to say. I should probably deactivate so I can focus on my exercises better.

No, Tessa. That would only isolate you further. Dr. Regan jotted furiously as she spoke. Any kind of social interaction can potentially hold therapeutic value.

Really? Tessa glanced skeptically at her phone, resting on the bedside table in a red leather cell phone case. She’d left it there, facedown, so she wouldn’t be distracted by any new Twitter notifications during the hour-long session.

Dr. Regan nodded. Our goal is for you to interact with other people in the outside world of course, but social media can serve as a positive first step.

OK. Well, that’s pretty much all I did all week, so…

Do you have followers? People with whom you interact?

Tessa laughed. What a question. If anyone had asked her a few days ago, the answer would have been different: a couple hundred followers, who mostly ignored her existence. But when Tessa last checked her account today, the follower count stood at 30K. Tessa still felt a little dizzy, thinking of it. Thirty thousand followers. Thirty thousand sets of eyes watching her every tweet. Her emotions kept swinging back and forth like a pendulum, from terror at the thought of them all to an irrational desire for more. Her fingers itched to check her phone again. How many more had she gained in the time since she and Dr. Regan started talking?

It’s kind of intense, she said, as she picked up the phone and glanced down.

Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric

FOLLOWERS:

30.1K

She showed the screen to her therapist.

Very interesting. Dr. Regan pressed her pen against her lips, considering. She wrote something else on her pad.

My account kind of blew up this week.

What happened?

Tessa ducked her head. She avoided Dr. Regan’s gaze, fiddling with the frayed hem of her bedspread. It started with a story I’ve been writing. About Eric. I posted one online last weekend. Tessa watched a row of stitching come undone as she pulled at a loose thread. I called it ‘Obsessed.’ It was supposed to be a little joke at my own expense, you know?

And what happened?

I started this hashtag, #EricThornObsessed. Do you know what a hashtag is?

I’m familiar with the concept. Dr. Regan’s tone remained perfectly deadpan but her eyes lit with amusement, and Tessa bit her lip. She generally assumed that anyone Dr. Regan’s age didn’t even know how to download an app, but she must have misjudged her therapist. Tessa’s mouth curved into a shy smile as she continued.

I was trying to get other fans to read it. So I made all these tweets with sexy pictures of him and the link to my story. And it just…blew up somehow. It happened so fast. First one of the bigger Eric Thorn fan accounts retweeted me. And then @Relatable retweeted. And then @Flirtationship retweeted. And then… I forget after that. I think it was @GirlPosts? Or maybe @SoDamnTrue? One of those big accounts that everyone follows. And then it was everywhere after that. I think it hit number one on Wednesday? Maybe Thursday? Look. Tessa swiped across the screen of her phone and held it out to Dr. Regan again. See? These are all the hashtags trending worldwide.

And there, still hovering third on the list, were the words Tessa had first typed into her phone six days ago, now amplified by more voices than she even dared to fathom:

#EricThornObsessed

21.8 million tweets

2

#ERICTHORNOBSESSED

Eric opened Twitter and pulled up the list of trending topics.

#EricThornObsessed

21.8 million tweets

Shit, he swore softly, chucking his phone down on the bed beside him. Still third on the list. The damn thing refused to die. Couldn’t all those stalker-iffic parasites find anything better to obsess about?

At least he wasn’t first anymore.

He slumped back against the velvet-upholstered headboard of the hotel bed. A lock of his shaggy, dark-brown hair fell over his eyes, and he raked it away in annoyance, grimacing at the crunchy texture of leftover hair gel. He should have showered before turning in last night. He’d put in another sixteen-hour day of interviews yesterday, and he’d been too tired to do much more than kick off his clothes and pass out on top of the covers by the time he made it back to his hotel room.

No point showering now anyway. His morning workout regimen began in twenty minutes, and his trainer would give him hell if he showed up late. Then again, his hairstylist would give him hell if he showed up in the makeup chair afterward with a tangle of sweaty, hair-gel-caked disgustingness. Maybe he should hop in the shower just for a sec…

A faint creak sounded from the other side of the bedroom door, and Eric paused, his spine stiffening. Someone was in his suite. Maid service? No. They knew better. Did he forget to turn the deadbolt before he passed out last night? But then it could only be—

He shrank back against the pillows as the bedroom doorknob turned.

"Who’s there?" His lips formed the shape of the words, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to make a sound. He grabbed a bedsheet to cover himself—undressed except for yesterday’s pair of boxer briefs—while his eyes made a quick scan of the room. Anything he could use as a weapon? Bedside lamp? No. Just wall sconces in here. No ashtrays either. Shit! Maybe that ceramic vase over there—

Hey, kid, you decent?

Eric squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of the familiar voice. He relaxed his death grip on the bedsheet as his manager, Maury, sauntered into the room.

Dude! Eric exclaimed, his heart fluttering like a caught bird inside his chest. You don’t even knock anymore?

Sorry, kid. Were you sleeping? Maury looked like he’d been up for hours. Eric couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his manager dressed in anything other than polished wingtip shoes and designer-label suits. The man deserved a GQ fashion spread—probably could’ve landed one for himself, if he hadn’t been so short and fat and bald.

No, I wasn’t sleeping, Eric said. That’s not the point. This is my bedroom!

Maury roved his eyes appreciatively around the well-appointed room. Technically, this is a hotel suite paid for by your record label, he said, brushing a hand against the duvet cover. What is this, Egyptian cotton? Probably eight hundred thread count. Did you sleep cozy? His manager didn’t bother to mention the room rate, and Eric knew better than to ask.

So we’re not even going to pretend I have privacy anymore?

Maury poked a toe at the pile of dirty clothes that lay discarded on the hand-loomed carpeting. Maybe hang a sock on the door if you’re gonna have a girl in here, he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Eric made no response. He punched his fist into one of the overstuffed pillows.

Oh, come on, kid. Lighten up. It’s a joke!

You’re hilarious, Maury.

Relax! I’ll knock next time. I promise.

Thank you. Can I get dressed now? Eric clasped the bedsheet tighter around his shoulders, but his manager didn’t take the hint. What? Eric asked. Is there something you needed?

Maury reached for Eric’s cell phone. Yeah, I just got off the horn with social media. The #EricThornObsessed trend fell to number three overnight, so they want you to give it a little shot in the arm—

No! Eric swatted the phone out of reach before his manager could get his paws on it.

They just want you to do a little follow spree, Maury said. Follow a few fan accounts. You know the drill.

Eric thought he might throw up. Seriously? Did those words seriously just come out of Maury’s mouth? Didn’t anyone at his record label watch the news?

Eric buried his head in his hands. He knew he must sound like a broken record, the way he brought up the murder case on a daily basis, but he couldn’t put the ugly story out of his mind. His manager’s words had summoned up all the sordid details once again. A follow spree… Eric let out a low moan.

Maury cast his eyes upward. Oh, for the love of God, he said. Let me guess. Dorian Cromwell?

"Maury, don’t you get it? That’s exactly what happened to him! He did a follow spree!"

Kid, I understand you’re freaked out, but—

He followed some obsessed teenager, and she got all carried away. Convinced herself that they were soul mates. Star-crossed lovers. Some bullshit like that. So she found out where he was staying and waited for him to come out of his hotel. And when he didn’t quite see it the same way? Eric tilted back his head and slashed a hand across his throat.

Listen to me, kiddo. Maury shuffled over to the side of the bed and dropped a fatherly hand on Eric’s shoulder. That girl had issues. You understand that, right? They locked her up. It was a one-in-a-million thing—

See, that would be a lot more reassuring if I didn’t have fourteen million Twitter followers.

Eric—

So, by that math, I only have fourteen potential ax murderers following me. No big deal.

Maury laughed. "You

Reviews for Follow Me Back

[nikkiyasmin · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is such a good book, but the last line made me take away 1 star... I mean, what? I just read the sweetest ending to a really well written book, and I expect to see the acknowledgements the page after, but then I see another detective interview. I think, "Oh, sure. I'll read that. It's probably just some more sappy lines to make my heart feel nice and melt." And then, BAM! THAT LAST LINE! WHAT EVEN? It just confused and irritated the hell out of me. What does it mean? Please explain.

[lvstrongpuff · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Okay so the book leaves on a cliffhanger, but I loved it up till then. I hate cliffhanger books, but this one makes me want to read the next book. For a WATTPAD book this was well written and I was quite surprised by it.

[mervilyn-4 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

View full review

I’ve read this book in two days time (that’s because I have to sleep) and I have 6 highlights inside. I don’t normally highlights on ebook but this time I did. That clearly tells that I’ve loved the book a lot! This gem has a second book called Tell Me No Lies whose blog tour post will be posted on June 7.

Let’s start by judging the book cover. Ah-huh, intriguing way of blurring the girl’s face. Tessa actually suffers from agoraphobia, she fears an actual or anticipated situation, such as using public transportation, being in open or enclosed spaces, standing in line, or being in a crowd. That’s according to MayoClinic and the book cover truly depicted Tessas state of mind.

The other main character named Eric Thorn @EricThorn is a celebrity and Tessa Hart is one of his fangirls @TessaHeartsEric. But recent events that includes another celebrity being killed by his fan has made Eric aloof from his fanbase. Then again there’s this whole #EricThornObsessed going around recently that put the biggest spotlight on him. There comes another account to destroy the Eric Thorn Obsessions with the username @EricThornSucks, to turn the spotlight off.

The story is told in three different ways. I know, unique! The first one is like investigation dialogues. It is very formal and truths are told in a manner. The next telling is called twitter conversations such as DMs and tweets. Very techy and millennial? And the last is the usual novel story telling in chapters. JUST Imagine these three ways in one book a.k.a. amazing writing style.

I just hate the fact that the interviews come first before the novel-story-telling so its like these are spoiling me. The book’s a lot of fun, so it’s funny and mysterious, thrilling and also swoon-worthy. If we are talking about a rollercoaster of emotions then this book perfectly fits! I love Eric Thorn and all his mystery.

“Please, just this once. Let me be the guy that takes you home.” -Eric Thorn

So right I am officially part of the #EricThornObsessed craze! I am so recommending this book. It is perfect for a boring day for all its twist and turns. Go read it and have the “I can’t wait to start the second book” like me.

[nibbles_243 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

since I don't have a Twitter account I did not comprehend that Twitter was the basis for this book. with that said I found this book very confusing. lots of back and forth and trying to figure out what is what.

[veeshee-1 · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Wow. I wasn't expecting this novel to be ... so ... bad. In the beginning, I was intrigued because the first chapter opens up with a police transcript. Immediately, the reader knows that things get serious. However, as the story continues, it becomes apparent that this is nothing more than just some fanfiction romance. This novel reads like fanfiction. And it's not even GOOD fanfiction! We have a whiny, condescending pop star with an irrational fear of his fans. We have a PR team with no empathy, or conscience whatsoever. And we have an insipid fandom that apparently consists only of shallow girls. Oh, except for our one unique fan, Tessa, our snowflake. This bothered me so much because fandoms are really not like that at all. I'm not very involved with any fandom but I know that there are a lot of fans who take the time to get to know the celebrities they love, who analyze their work, and who really appreciate the celebrity for their art and for their personality. It's not just "about the abs" as Eric depicts it in the book. This novel suggests that it is going to be a thriller but is really just a romance. At the 80% mark, we finally see the thriller that we are promised but it is really badly executed. We have the introduction of a random character with their random plan that was not properly incorporated at any point in the story. It was just such a mess, and it was so confusing to read. And then there is another cringe-worthy romance scene, followed by another twist. And the story ends as a cliffhanger, with the promise of a sequel. It was just too much for me to handle. My concluding thoughts? This is just some really bad fanfiction that is full of cringe-worthy and hard-to-believe romance (seriously, these characters DO NOT understand what love is) and a last minute thriller thrown in as an attempt to satisfy readers. I will not be reading the sequel and I will not be recommending this novel to anyone. 1/5 stars from me.

I received this novel as an advance copy from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

[lilibrarian · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Tessa hasn't really left her bedroom after what happened to her last summer. Her contacts are limited to her therapist, her mother, and her boyfriend - and that last is fading as her agoraphobia lasts. But she is active in the twitter fandom of a pop star named Eric Thorn, and through that she forms online relationships, including one very close one. When she arranges to meet her online boyfriend, she has no idea who he actually is.

[jenn88-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Tessa Hart suffers from agoraphobia after a traumatic experience during a summer program she was attending. She has even deferred her freshman year of college. She spends all her time in her room obsessing over pop star Eric Thorn on Twitter.

Eric Thorn is worried his fans will attack him. This fear started after another artist had been stalked and murdered by one of his fans. Eric is fed up with all the fangirls and the social media publicity and promoting he's forced to do, so he creates another account to anonymously bash himself and his fangirls. He decides to message one of his top followers, which happens to be Tessa, to tell her her life is meaningless and Eric Thorn will never like her. But what blossoms into a strong friendship may have deadly consequences.

I enjoyed this book. The ending was great! I'm a sucker for books like this - told through Twitter messages and police interrogations. I liked the suspense. It starts off with a police interrogation then we learn about Tessa and Eric and how the police became involved and in between we're given more interrogations. I liked both Tessa and Eric and found their problems real. It's relevant today with almost everyone in the world being connected through the internet. Hopefully this book is a reminder to some that we never know who we're talking to online and that it's better to be safe than sorry.