Just for Clicks

by Kara McDowell

  Poppy inhales sharply, as surprised by this revelation as I am.

  “I was so scared and so sick by the thought that I could have lost them because of the blog. I blamed myself. But then I realized that quitting the blog was like giving in.”

  “What do you mean?” Lena asks.

  Mom chews on her lip. “Even though the woman was arrested and sent to prison . . . if I let her stop me from blogging then it felt like she was winning, somehow. Up until that moment, the blog had brought so many opportunities and so many good things into our lives. To give that all up because of the actions of one woman didn’t seem right or fair. I also realized that I could not let fear rule my life. I had to keep living it in the way that was best for my family.”

  “And that includes blogging,” Lena clarifies.

  “Yes,” Mom answers. “I did make some changes though. From that moment on I became extremely careful about what details I posted online. The safety of my girls is always my number one priority. Soon after the incident, the blog took a back seat while I built my Instagram brand.”

  “Not everyone is going to believe that you made the right choice, given the circumstances,” Lena says. “What would you say to the people who would question your decision?”

  Mom shrugs. “What else is new? I can’t get dressed in the morning without people questioning my decisions.”

  Lena chuckles. “Fair point. Anything else you’d like to add?”

  “I would also ask that people respect my daughters’ privacy. Even if you don’t agree with me.” Mom grabs my hand and squeezes it. “This is a really personal and difficult thing that our family experienced. The girls have been through enough without having to relive it, and they shouldn’t have to talk about it with anyone.”

  I roll my eyes and pull my hand out of Mom’s grasp. She never even asked if we wanted to talk about it. For all she knows, I want to shout it from the rooftops.

  “Thanks, Ashley. The reaction probably won’t be as bad as you’re expecting,” Lena says as she turns off her tablet.

  “Girls, hail a taxi while I finish up here.”

  Poppy and I stand up without a word and walk to the curb.

  “I can’t believe Mom did that,” I say, while we wait for a taxi to stop.

  “Are you serious? You’re actually mad at Mom?”

  “Did you see what she did? She took something from our childhood and twisted it into her own sob story. We weren’t allowed to say a thing!”

  Poppy turns to face me. Her eyes are filled with angry tears and her face is bright red. “It is her story. Her daughters were almost kidnapped. You think that doesn’t have anything to do with her?”

  I’ve never really thought about it that way. I’m not sure how I feel about Poppy’s question, so I ignore it. “You were such a hypocrite during that interview. ‘Oh, I never read online comments about myself!’” I try to imitate her but my eyes are swimming with tears, and the words come out as strangled sobs.

  “I’m a hypocrite?!” Poppy raises her voice. “You’re the hypocrite. You say that you don’t want everyone to know our business, and then you go and confirm Lena’s story, even though you know it’s the one thing I don’t like to talk about. I know you’re pissed at Mom or whatever, but did you stop to think how I would feel about it?”

  My stomach twists uncomfortably. “I wasn’t trying to confirm Lena’s story. I wasn’t thinking!”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “That’s my point. You should have been thinking about us! Everything you do has the potential to affect our business. You know that.”

  Poppy’s right. I’ve known for a long time that my actions are always a reflection of the business, the brand, and of my family. And that’s the whole problem.

  My tears are building, ready to spill over my cheeks. I look up at the cloudless blue sky and try to blink them away while taking slow, steady breaths. Something warm and sticky splats on my face, part of it sliding into my open mouth. I scream in horror and swipe my fingers against my cheek. I don’t even have to look at them. The disgust on Poppy’s face tells me everything I need to know.

  A bird just pooped in my mouth.

  Email from Anonymous

  From: youareawasteofspace@gmail.com

  To: poppyandclaire@dixondaily.com

  Subject: kill yourselves

  whoring yourselves out at fashion week again? don’t you have anything better to do? oh wait you don’t. instead of brains you have selfie sticks.

  Block this email address

  Future messages from youareawasteofspace@gmail.com will be marked as Spam.

  FASHION BLOGGER EATS SHIT AT NYFW!

  The video shows a profile shot of Poppy and me, standing on the curb and yelling at each other. I look up at the sky, and SPLAT! Bird poop all over my face. Then it flies back into the air as the clip rewinds and plays again. And again, and again, and again. It’s a five second clip stuck in a time warp, set to the tune of an electronica song.

  I sink as low as possible in my seat and bury my face in my hands.

  “How many views does it have now? No, don’t tell me.” I cringe as Poppy checks her phone. “Yes, tell me.” I have to know how quickly this is spreading. The cell phone video was uploaded before our cab ride was over. It didn’t take long before someone tagged us in the comments. I was mortified but could not tear my eyes away. The second we were on board the plane I made Poppy buy the in-flight Wi-Fi so I could continue to torture myself.

  “Five thousand.” Poppy says. “But at least one hundred of those were you, so it’s not as bad as it seems!” Her voice is light, trying to play this off as no big deal.

  I groan and pull my legs up to my chin, willing this video to magically disappear from existence.

  “Maybe no one from school will even see it.” Mom’s voice cuts through the tragic silence from the front seat, on our ride home from the airport. The only good thing to come out of this video is that she feels so bad for me she’s not angry about what happened at the interview. Not right at this moment, anyway.

  Poppy’s phone beeps. “That’s someone from school, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Olivia,” she confirms. She types a quick reply. “Do you think Rafael will see it?”

  A fresh wave of misery washes over me. I grab my stomach and double over, resting my forehead on my knees. “I can’t believe I forgot about Rafael.”

  “Do I know Rafael?” Mom asks from the front seat.

  “No,” Poppy and I say.

  “Maybe he won’t see it. Isn’t he technophobic, or something?” Poppy says.

  “You’re friends with a boy who’s afraid of computers?” Mom looks in the rearview mirror, trying to figure out what’s going on.

  “No. Maybe. It’s unclear.”

  Mom pulls the car into the driveway. We climb out of the car, and I see a box with my new cell phone sitting on the porch.

  “I thought it wasn’t in stock until next week.” The last thing I want right now is a way to communicate with the outside world. What I need is a way to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist.

  “I found it on a different website and had it sent overnight.” Mom gives me a sympathetic smile and follows Poppy inside, leaving me on the porch.

  “I told you, you didn’t have to do that,” I mumble as I sit with my back against the door. The heat leeches through my clothes uncomfortably, but instead of moving, I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  The video is bad enough, but it’s only one item on a long list of things that have gone wrong today. Pretty soon Rafael will know exactly who I am, and he’ll know I lied to him. And to top it off, Lena is going to write that terrible story about my family.

  I should have known better than to confirm the allegations, but I was so tired of not talking about it. It sounds weird, but not talking about how I was almost kidnapped is a lot of work. I’m probably the only person in the world who gets exhausted by not doing some
thing. When I want to say something but can’t, it takes all of my effort to keep my mouth shut. And I’ve been choking down this secret for nine years.

  But pretty soon it won’t be a secret anymore, and I’ll be free to talk about it as much as I want. So . . . what will I say? And who will I say it to? No one will understand except Poppy, and she’s made her feelings perfectly clear.

  The brown cardboard box is heavy in my hands. I can’t ignore it forever, I guess. Up in my room with a locked door, I plug in the new phone and connect to our Wi-Fi. Within seconds, the buzzing starts. Text messages, emails, and notifications from every social media site available come rushing in. I ignore the backlog of texts from the last few days and concentrate on the recent ones, most of which contain a link to the video. A couple of people from school ask how I’m doing, but mostly it seems everyone just wants to make sure I’ve seen it.

  I ignore them and log into the BITES message board. The one-up game has thrived in my absence. I scroll through several familiar comments from the regulars. Nora is complaining about her latest red-eye, one of Gideon’s brothers did something unforgiveable to the keyboard of his laptop, and Serge evidently got into it with a clown, if I’m understanding his use of emoji. I crack my knuckles and type out my contribution.

  I didn’t tag anyone in my post, but Nora’s response is instantaneous.

  I can’t help but laugh. Of course Nora wishes she could switch places with me. I don’t know why, but she always acts like she wants her parents to give up travel blogging for the less transient gig my mom has, while I’d be happy to take the next flight to Iceland or Thailand or Greece. Especially right now.

  Another text comes in. My heart skips a beat, wondering if it’s Rafael, before I remember that he doesn’t have a phone. Or my number. Or a reason to contact me.

  Olivia

  That video is insane! Maybe it’ll make you more famous?

  I roll my eyes.

  Olivia

  I met Rafael. Super cute.

  I’m tempted to open my window and throw my phone into oncoming traffic, but I know it would be pointless. A new one would just show up on my doorstep tomorrow. I flop down on my bed, close my eyes, and let my mind wander to Rafael. The first thing I noticed about him was his dark eyes, followed by his unruly hair. But it’s the smile that I can’t shake from my mind, and the way his grin dominates every feature on his face, demanding attention. And most intriguing of all is the way he has nothing to hide. He offered to tell me anything, and I asked for nothing. It’s not a mistake I’ll make twice.

  Resentment floods my stomach as I picture him eating lunch with Olivia. She would shake her curls, obviously. It’s her go-to move, and it mesmerizes the boys every time. Rafael would smile, and they’d take turns asking and answering questions about their childhoods and their favorite foods and pet peeves. And Olivia would answer honestly, because she’s got nothing to hide. Instant connection, just like he described. I hate how much this warped fantasy bothers me.

  Jealousy is new territory, because even though Jackson never had feelings for me, I always knew he liked me best. Of all the girls at Highland, I was his favorite. The thought of competing with Olivia for Rafael’s attention is as uncomfortable as it is unfamiliar. The only person I’ve ever competed with is Poppy, and it’s pretty clear how that’s turned out. She wins everything, every time.

  I go to YouTube and find the video of me. There are now twenty thousand views. Fan-freaking-tastic. I scroll down to the comments, even though my gut is screaming that I shouldn’t. Poppy and I don’t even moderate the comments on our own videos, because it takes too much time and energy. It’s also depressing as hell.

  It’s mostly people laughing, at me, which doesn’t feel good, but there’s meaner stuff too.

  Princess Claire got exactly what she deserved.

  These girls are dumb and ugly I don’t understand why they’re famous!!!!!

  Bird shit is a better look than most of the crap she wears.

  Come to my house and I’ll show you what you can eat.

  If I have to see one more picture of these skanks modeling clothes, I’m going to lose it. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR DAMN OUTFIT OF THE DAY.

  I roll my eyes at that one. Maybe no one should care, but my entire life is proof they do.

  I continue reading the comments.

  Did you ever notice that Claire is the obvious misfit of the family? Ashley and Poppy are both tall and gorgeous and Claire’s not. I feel bad for her, I really do.

  I won’t lose sleep over any of today’s comments, but what will they say when they find out Poppy and I were almost kidnapped, and Mom kept blogging like nothing had happened? It’ll probably be horrible stuff about how Mom doesn’t love us and she only uses us to make money.

  In other words, nothing that hasn’t been said before.

  Email from Mint Condition

  From: advertising@mintcondition.com

  To: poppyandclaire@dixondaily.com

  Subject: Sponsorship Opportunity

  Hi There!

  My name is Caleb Woods, and I work in advertising at Mint Condition Antiseptic Mouthwash. Our team has seen your viral video, and we love it! You girls are young and fun and exactly the right people to help us launch our new Antiseptic Mouthwash for teens! Now is the perfect time to capitalize on all your new viewers with a funny and lighthearted take on the “bird incident,” while also helping your viewers get cleaners mouth, stronger teeth, and fresher breath.

  Please let us know as soon as possible if you are interested in a collaboration, and we can talk specifics.

  Have a great day!

  Caleb

  “Hey Claire! Want to come to my party this weekend?” Parker’s voice carries across my first period English classroom.

  I sit taller in my seat and fix him with a withering stare. “Not on your life.”

  “But my boy Wyatt is bringing a keg.” Wyatt smirks as Parker slaps him on the back. “We’re going get shit-faced!”

  At least half the class bursts into laughter, but no one is louder than Parker and his buddies.

  That’s how my morning goes. Views on the video were up to fifty thousand by the time I left for school. I begged Mom to let me stay home, but she sent me out the front door with a smile, a wave, and the unhelpful advice to “shake it off.”

  When the bell rings for lunch, I make a beeline for the library. I’m not about to face a crowded cafeteria full of people who are openly laughing at me. I weave through the stacks, looking for an empty table where I can wallow in peace, when a voice stops me in my tracks.

  “What’re you doing here?” Rafael clears away a pile of books to make room for me to sit. My stomach catapults into my throat and my hands start to sweat for reasons that have nothing do with the temperature in the room. I hesitate, torn between competing desires to sit down and run away.

  “What’re you doing here?”

  He holds up his physics textbook in response. “How was your weekend?”

  I narrow my eyes, unable to believe he hasn’t seen the video, or at least heard about it. But then again, he’s sitting by himself in the library, he’s new at school, and he doesn’t have a cell phone. Maybe I’ve lucked out big time. I push aside a handful of flyers for the school blood drive and sit down across from him.

  “It was . . . unexpected.” Since I’m on the verge of being caught, I may as well keep the lies to a bare minimum.

  “Well, I missed you. Parker and I were partners in College Prep. He was even less interested in talking than you.”

  “That’s not fair! I like to talk.”

  He raises an eyebrow and waits. An invitation to talk, to ask any question. I don’t want to start with something too personal, but I want to know more than his favorite color. “What do you miss most about India?”

  He runs a hand through his hair with a dreamy look in his eyes. “That’s a good one. Probably the festivals. There’s always
something to celebrate, and I loved that.”

  I mentally add India to my bucket list, and make a note to ask Nora if she’s ever been there.

  “What do you miss most?” He asks, catching me off guard.

  “About what?”

  “Anything. Your choice.”

  No. No, no, no. I did not sign up for this. “Pass.”

  “Sure thing, Parker.” His smile is playful and inviting. Just like him.

  I sigh, resigning myself to the question. This is one thing I won’t lie about. I’d never do that to my dad. “I miss my dad. He died.”

  Rafael’s face falls, and I’m compelled to keep talking. “I’ve forgotten a lot of specific details about him, which makes me feel guilty and sad—and also a little relieved. And then I feel guilty that I’m relieved. If it hurts this bad with the few memories I have, I can’t imagine how unbearable it would be if I remembered everything. But I still think I’d rather remember, because those memories are all I’ll ever have, you know?”

  I’m pretty sure that jumbled mess of word vomit made zero sense, but Rafael nods anyway, like he really does know. His eyes lock on mine. In this instant, I feel more seen than I ever have on the internet, despite the thousands of likes and comments and views from strangers.

  “See?” I sit back in my chair and attempt to lighten the mood. “I can talk.”

  He pretends to bow before me in worship. “You put Parker to shame.”

  “Oh, come on now. I’m sure that Parker is halfway toward falling in love with you after staring into your eyes during class.”

  His eyebrows shoot up, and I realize way too late that my attempt at a joke makes it sound like I’m halfway toward falling in love with Rafael. “Not that looking into your eyes means that someone is going to fall in love with you. I mean, I still don’t believe that science experiment you told me about. I just meant that, you know, Parker’s a pretty good-looking guy. I wouldn’t blame you if you two hit it off.”