Subscriber Wars: An Enemies-to-Lovers-Romantic Comedy

by Kristy Marie

  The air around me eases, but then Sebastian has to go and mess it up.

  “What the fuck are you wearing, Valentina?” His voice is low and threatening. I’m so not in the mood for it.

  “What the fuck are you wearing, Sebastian?” I say his name all growly like he said mine. “I told you those shorts looked like you sat in shit. Why do you still have them on?”

  He mumbles out something that I don’t understand, but I do catch Vance’s words. “Settle down.”

  Oh no. Sebastian is not coming over here in a bad mood and taking it out on me. “Go home, Sebastian. You need a nap.” And a swift kick in the ass, but I leave that part out. I don’t need more drama from the diva next door.

  He rears back, and I know that Malcolm’s taunting got to him. I don’t know who I hate more right now. “I need a nap?” he says aghast, like he can’t believe I would suggest such a thing. “You need some fucking clothes! What is this?” He waves down at my body, and I hear Aspen snicker.

  “Uh, a bathing suit?” I say for the man who isn’t thinking clearly. “You saw me in it earlier,” I remind him. When he was texting me. Why wasn’t he upset then?

  “Uh oh,” Aspen chides, tugging me away from a red-faced Sebastian. “Looks like you might need to find a t-shirt too.”

  She pulls us away from the guys and sends them a little wave. “Have a drink, boys, and settle down. We’ll be back.”

  When we’re inside and tucked away in Drew’s room, Aspen pulls out a shirt from his dresser. “Here,” she says handing it over.

  I grab it and eye the mischievous look in her eye. “You knew this would happen,” I accuse her.

  “That Malcolm would crash the party and spew his drama?”

  I cock my head to the side. “You know what I’m talking about.” I finger my top. “The bathing suit…”

  She puts her hand to her chest in mock innocence. “How would I know that Sebastian would come over all growly and jealous?”

  True, but…

  “He likes you,” she says out of the blue, digging through Drew’s top drawer where he keeps all the condoms and begins stacking them.

  “Who?” I ask, slipping Drew’s oversized t-shirt over my head. “Vance?”

  She turns and catches my eye. “The neighbor.”

  I scoff. “How much have you had to drink?”

  Shutting the drawer, she jumps on the bed next to me. “I think you have a secret.”

  I laugh and push my arms through the shirt. “Trust me, I don’t have a secret.”

  “You have a secret,” she challenges. “I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me.” Her voice is soft and a little sad. It makes me feel like complete dog shit.

  “Come on, Asp. Don’t force me to tell you.”

  Aspen has been my big sister all my life. I can’t stand to withhold something from her, but I just can’t tell her about me and Sebastian. She thinks we were secretly dating, but we weren’t. He didn’t get mad at my bathing suit because he was jealous. He was lashing out at me because of what Malcolm said about his video. Sebastian hates me. I’m the reason his videos aren’t doing well. Granted, I never aired the last prank, so no one really knows why we stopped pranking each other, but we became internet famous together because of those pranks. We lived our fifteen minutes of fame and now it’s over. He just hasn’t accepted it yet.

  Aspen sighs, and after a moment, lies back on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. I follow suit. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to move on?” she says softly.

  “From what?” I roll over and face her. She’s still looking at the ceiling.

  “Loving them.”

  Oh.

  I roll back over and join her in staring at the ceiling. “I don’t love Sebastian,” I admit. “Our situation isn’t the same as yours and Bennett’s.”

  We’re quiet for a moment as the party rages on outside. And then finally, she whispers, “Maintaining the denial is the hardest part.”

  University CamFlix Competition Submission

  Entry Number: 75

  Sebastian and Valentina

  First Interview Continued, also known as another fifteen minutes of torture

  “So you what? Sang with her?”

  Poor Tom is so confused. It’s okay, Vee was too until her comments started blowing up while she was live-streaming her video. The weirdo actually thought only a handful of people would see her belting out that heart going on song. Newsflash, it’s the internet, where privacy is nonexistent and public humiliation is gold.

  I scrunch my face and level Tom with a bored look. “Hell no, I didn’t sing with her.”

  I nudge Vee in the side. She’s stiff and tense, so I pull her close and give her a fake boyfriend squeeze before adding, “I stood behind her and put my arms out like the guy did in the movie and mouthed “watermelon” until she realized I was behind her. Which took a while. Had the comments from people laughing not started chiming, we probably could have gotten through the whole song.”

  Two things I wanted out of my college experience: fame and more fame.

  This clusterfuck of a conversation is neither of those things.

  “All I’m saying is, it wasn’t that funny.”

  I eye Rowan with something like disbelief. Or is that malice?

  “It was just lame pick-up lines.”

  The playing cards clenched in my hands bend inward. “They weren’t just pick-up lines,” I argue. “They were the best of the best in cheesy lines.”

  Rowan shrugs, and my voice rises with my poor judgment in friends. “I used them to hit on my chem teacher!”

  You had to be there.

  “I didn’t think it was funny.”

  Is he serious? “Let me show you,” I offer, settling into my chair and leaning forward.

  As if Rowan were my chemistry teacher, I lick my lips like I did to her and say, “If I was an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes.” I grin and give him one more. “You must be calcium bicarbonate, because if you let me get you wet, then the reaction will be explosive.”

  “Dude.” Maverick chuckles. “That’s so lame.”

  And Ms. Harp agreed, ushering me to the campus counselor and giving me the crisis hotline number as if my pick-up lines were a cry for help.

  I slouch back onto the metal chair. “It’s not lame, it’s clever.”

  Needless to say, yesterday was rough. Hence the reason for my hangover this morning. Something had to wash away the looks of pity.

  “I’m just saying it wasn’t your best stuff,” Rowan adds, his gaze on the pot of chips in the center of the table.

  Wasn’t my best stuff… I shake my head. “This coming from a guy who thinks The Fast and the Furious deserved an Oscar.”

  Rowan’s head snaps up from his hand of cards. “Don’t even start with the Vin Diesel jokes tonight. All I’m saying is, since you and Vee stopped your prank war, your feed has been inconsistent. You need to find your niche. You can’t just keep posting random videos. Your audience needs to know what they can expect from each clip.”

  They can expect me to kick Rowan’s ass soon.

  My lips flatten, and I feel the muscle in my cheek twitch. “Thanks, Mark Zuckerberg. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I ask for your fucking opinion.”

  Maverick sighs like the old man he is. “I raise.” He’s trying to get us to focus back on the game and not continue to argue about how my last video performed. The one that Malcolm referred to as lacking substance tonight. Never have I wanted to kick someone’s ass as much as I did Malcolm’s. If it wasn’t for Vance shoving me back toward my house, I think I might have stalked over and beat the shit out of him, just because I had to stare at Valentina’s cleavage the entire time I endured talking to him.

  All I wanted to do is sit out on the back patio in Vee’s chair and watch her fall while she attempted to kick the ball, but then Vance showed up and was talking to the little liar, distracting me from my entertainment for
the evening. So by the time Malcolm monopolized even more of my shitty night, I was done.

  I don’t even care that my UniCamFlix entry video yielded less than optimal results. I have eight weeks to submit more. With my new cameraman, I plan on stepping up my game on the next one.

  Rowan takes his turn and stays his hand. “Forget the singing chick, dude. Malcolm is your newest competition. Watch his videos. He’s hilarious and consistently finds fresh new material to use. Here—” Rowan thrusts his phone in my face. For a second, I worry I might crack a tooth from how hard my jaw is clenched, “—watch. It’s the funniest shit I’ve seen.”

  I push his phone away. I don’t need to see how sucktastic Malcolm’s material is. He’s never been a threat to me.

  “Please.” I scoff. “Malcolm couldn’t get views unless he offered a hand job with each watch. The only reason he has sponsors is because he bought most of those subscribers with Mommy and Daddy’s money.” Malcolm’s videos suck just as much as his 90’s haircut. I’m not worried about his ridiculous spoofing videos.

  “You’re in a shitty mood,” notes Mav, shuffling the cards in his hands. “I thought you wanted to come to Gigi’s tonight.” He eyes my hand and the stupid small bets I’ve been tossing in the pot.

  I sigh. I did—I mean I wanted to come to Gigi’s. I could certainly use the distraction, but instead of poker distracting me, it’s the image of Vee in that fucking bikini smiling up at Vance’s stupid ass with his talk of recycling. Please. I could smell the lame from all the way in my backyard.

  “The neighbor piss you off again?” asks Rowan, putting his phone away and pulling his cards toward his chest. No one is looking at his fucking cards. He’s going to lose regardless. I can already tell Mav has a good hand. That damn cigarette hangs from his mouth carelessly and relaxed.

  I shake off my mood. I need to focus on the game. Not my video and definitely not Vee. I mean, I don’t give two shits that she had been hit on by several fuckwits by the time I’d left for Gigi’s. She’s a big girl and can take a man down without warning. But shouldn’t Drew or Bennett be looking out for her? Isn’t that what they do in between classes and games? Stalk the ever-loving shit out of my neighbors… No one gets close to Vee and Aspen. And here Vee was… For God’s sake, I could see every one of her curves, the swell of her tits, the soft edges of her hips—

  “So you entered the competition?”

  I force myself to unlock my hands from clenched fists. “Of course. No one dominates the internet like I do.”

  “Except for Malcolm,” Rowan adds, getting a laugh out of Maverick who adds, “And Vee.”

  They both can eat shit.

  “I didn’t realize you both were so interested in my film career,” I snap.

  A light chuckle goes through Maverick. “We aren’t. We’re interested in when this pouty bitch phase is coming to an end. The competition will be good for you. It’ll give you something to focus on instead of—” He shrugs, not wanting to say her name. Which is good because her name evokes powerful emotions like rage and lust and I don’t have room for that right now. I only have room for ambition. I’m getting out of Georgia, no matter what.

  “We came here to play poker, didn’t we?”

  Maverick grins, knowing when to leave me alone. “Yes, we did. So don’t cry when you’re two grand lighter tonight.”

  I’m not fucking losing. Not while I’m in this mood. I push all my chips to the middle. “I’m all in.”

  “Sebastian!”

  Fuck, I did it again.

  I roll out of bed with a groan and fall to the floor. The wood floors are cool against my skin. I could sleep a few more hours before class starts, if the banging would stop.

  “It’s Brick! Your new cameraman. You know, the one you hired yesterday.”

  The name sounds vaguely familiar. And then it hits me.

  Last night.

  I pull my hands close to my face and focus. The permanent marker is still there. A grin, the size of something really huge—I’m hungover, don’t judge me—tugs across my face as I remember bits and pieces of last night.

  Her keys.

  My failure of a video.

  Her stupid bird feeder that she just had to hang in the tree that I park next to.

  Her ‘Save the World’ attitude.

  Her stupid texts.

  All of it came to an explosion that ended up with another drunken idea.

  “Sebastian?”

  I spring from the floor, ignoring the pounding in my head, and wrench open the door to find my shiny new cameraman. He’s sober and has two coffees clutched in his hand.

  I tip my head. “Hurry. Get your camera.” I literally pull him through the door and slam it shut.

  “Hurry. She gets up at 7:30,” I bark, snagging one of the coffees and chugging.

  “Who?”

  I find a shirt on the sofa and pull it on. “Vee. My neighbor. Are you rolling yet?”

  He fumbles with his camera bag, and I rush to the window, prepared to pull out my phone, just in case.

  “I’m rolling. I’m rolling,” Brick says, out of breath and really flustered for a guy who seems like he has his life together. “Do you want to livestream this?”

  I shake my head. “No. I want to go back and edit it later.” I can feel the warmth of the coffee making its way down to my stomach and staving off the hangover. Why does messing with Valentina bring such joy to my miserable soul?

  “Where do you want me to set up?”

  My last cameraman didn’t need this much instruction.

  I push up the window above the kitchen sink. “Here.” I tap the sink.

  Brick’s eyes widen before he cocks a brow. “You want me to set up next to the sink?”

  I ignore him and hop up on the counter, excitement coursing through my veins. “No, not next to the sink.” I toss last night’s dishes onto the counter and rest my feet in the stainless steel bowl, a clear indication where I’d like his delaying ass to set up.

  Getting low, I peer out the window and into the courtyard, not bothering to see if Brick takes the hint. If he wants a job, he’ll get his ass up here quickly. “Did you know National Geographic photographer, Krystle Wright, dangled off the side of a Tasmanian cliff to get a perfect shot?” I ask him.

  My mood has really improved in the last few minutes. “I think if she can put on her man pants and hang from a cliff, you can squat in the sink for a few minutes.”

  I don’t look back to see if I might have hurt his feelings. If I did and he leaves, then I’m better off. I don’t need a chickenshit cameraman on my payroll.

  A few seconds and a sigh later, his camera is plopped on the counter on the opposite side and then his body follows. My eyes never leave the courtyard.

  “Remind me what I’m shooting,” Brick says, a little edge of attitude seeping out.

  “Did I hire you to film or ask an annoying amount of questions?” Seriously. I realize this isn’t his expertise, but if I’m staring out the window, and I ask you to roll, I mean for you to shoot wherever the hell I say.

  “But there’s nothing in the courtyard,” he adds, continuing to grate on my nerves.

  “It’s almost time,” I say, watching the back door of Vee’s townhouse like it’s a stripper pole. “She’s coming. Just make sure you stay on her the whole way. Don’t veer off and film her friend. Stay on her.”

  I think Brick nods, but he may have taken a sip of coffee. I won’t ever know for sure because Vee opens the back door and all my attention goes to the trash bag in her hand.

  A stupid and completely unwarranted grin pulls onto my face. I shouldn’t get this excited. Vee is the enemy. She should not be eliciting these types of feelings.

  “You want me to film her picking up the party trash?” Brick’s words are nearly a whisper, but I don’t miss the disgusted shock buried in them.

  I nod, the stupid grin still going strong. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

  I don�
�t much care if Brick thinks I’m this crazy, drugged-up college student. Mine and Vee’s prank battles run so deep that he’ll never grasp the lengths we go to get one up on each other—or at least we used to.

  But looks like old habits die hard.

  Literally.

  I turn from Brick, hoping he doesn’t see my sweatpants tenting in the center. Watching my neighbor bend down and begin picking up trash is like watching the opening commercials to the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. Anticipation that you’re sure to see the tightest of bodies with the bitchiest of looks.

  If Brick didn’t think I was weird before, he’ll for sure think it now. “Stay on her,” I mumble. It’s annoying how hyper I am at seven-thirty in the morning.

  “I got her, don’t worry,” he reassures me.

  Finally, someone sounds like he’s taking his job seriously. Fine, okay, it was me who wasn’t taking this job seriously.

  “Are you awake?” Vee asks into her phone, bending over and picking up a plastic cup and tossing it into the bag. “It’s a half past seven.” She pauses, grabbing a beach ball and popping the air tube.

  My heart feels like it spasms a bit. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “I’m already out here… I don’t care if they are asleep! Wake them up, Asp. I’m not cleaning all of this up by myself.”

  She’s frustrated, and I’m going to take a not so wild guess and say it’s from being the only one in her crew awake this early with a huge mess in front of her.

  “Okay, bye.” Vee hangs up her phone and stuffs it into the front pocket of the shorts she’s wearing.

  I do a silent drumroll to myself, seconds away from sneaking outside and getting a front row seat to her soon-to-be fury. A quick glance at Brick confirms he is, indeed, recording.

  “I got her,” he mumbles, with what will soon be our company motto.

  I nod, refusing to acknowledge aloud that I’m being a little psycho about all of this. But fucking with Valentina brings way too much joy to my life. Don’t judge me.

  The beauty, who is very much a beast in everything she does, leans down and picks up the first slide. It’s muddy and grass clippings stick to it. But in true Vee fashion, she doesn’t fuss over her nails or the dirt getting onto her hands. Instead, something catches her eye, and she cocks her head to the side, her eyes narrowing.