Don't Follow Vee

by Oliver Phommavanh

  Mum finds her phone, sniffing like a clogged vacuum. It takes her five goes before she can steady herself to take a decent shot between sneezes. Poor Mum.

  She shows me the photo and I post it for her. ‘Go get changed, Mum. I’ll take Snuggles back.’

  Mum sneezes herself up the stairs. ‘Thag you very buch.’

  I stroke Snuggles fur. ‘Thanks for joining Operation DFV,’ I whisper. ‘You can come back again when Mum’s not in the house.’

  Running; sneezing – Mum hasn’t been this active on a Saturday for years.

  I drop Snuggles back at Andi’s place and grab the vacuum cleaner to get rid of all the cat fur. Who would have thought it was one of Mum’s weaknesses. Mum comes back downstairs and her nose is still as red as my Anti-Vee hair.

  ‘I like your enthusiasm, Vee. But you’ve got to keep me in the loop when you’re thinking of posts like that.’

  ‘Sorry, Mum, I didn’t know you were allergic to cats,’ I say.

  ‘Me neither.’ Mum sits on the couch. ‘I don’t think we need to post anything else today. We’re done.’

  A post-free day. Well, half-day. It’s bliss. It’s peaceful. I feel like a nap.

  Operation DFV is taking it out of me too.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Mum falls asleep on the couch. So I resist joining her and go back to my room to scan Matty’s photos of his Mum. I’m up to the last one when there’s a knock on my door then it opens.

  ‘Now what are you up to?’ Mum says.

  ‘Just helping out a friend,’ I say.

  She picks up one of the photos. ‘Isn’t that Mrs Brown?’

  ‘Er, yeah. It’s for a family history project.’

  ‘Are you doing ours too?’ Mum says.

  ‘Well, I was going to just send my history teacher a link to The Chronicles of Vee but it’s only half the story since you’re not on there.’ The Anti-Vee inside me rises. ‘Could you tell me more about your pre-Vee-ious life?’

  Maybe if I get Mum to open up more, she’ll see how great she is, even if it means doing a bogus assignment. I scan the last photo and upload them all onto a USB stick.

  Mum sits down on my bed. ‘Well, you can look at your Uncle Po Ki and Auntie Phear’s Facebook page.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I say. ‘It’s a shame we don’t see them much anymore now they’re in Melbourne.’

  ‘Yes, and all your other relatives live in China,’ Mum says with a sigh.

  ‘Where’s there no Facebook or Instagram.’ It sounds like paradise. ‘I’d love to go visit them someday.’

  ‘They’ll feed us until we explode.’

  ‘And what about my dad?’ I say.

  Dad. It’s not really a word in my Veecabulary. Whenever we talk about him, I always end up asking Mum the same three questions, and I get the same old answers.

  ‘What was Dad like?’ That’s question number one.

  ‘You’ve got his pig nose and his stubby head.’ Mum won’t look me in the eye, and fumbles around with her fingers.

  It’s an oldie answer. I want to know something fresh. Question two. ‘Do you have any more photos of him?’

  ‘I threw away all of his photos when you were a baby,’ Mum says.

  She must have deleted all the Dad data from her brain too.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t have even one hidden somewhere?’

  ‘No, definitely not.’

  Mum’s tone is saying ‘subject closed’. I don’t want to ask question three. It’s one that I wrote down on a piece of paper years ago and then stuffed in the vault. But the Anti-Vee inside me makes me bold. ‘Why did he leave us, Mum?’

  Mum’s face sags. ‘I wish I knew, Vee.’

  It’s the same answer I was given when I was little. So it’s no surprise. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  None of my 160,000 followers have a clue about the pain I feel inside. Like how I don’t find Halloween scary, but Father’s Day spooks me out because it feels like I’m haunted by the ghost of my dad. Would they still follow me if I tell them how hard it is to hide my annoyed vibes whenever Annabelle and her dad are doing ducky kisses. Then there are the countless times I have to fight the awkwardness I feel when my friends talk about their dads, like it’s normal. It’s those times when I think that I’m not normal.

  Our followers have only seen me hurt my knee. Or have a tummy ache. I guess that’s the thing about The Chronicles of Vee. We only show what we want them to see.

  At the end of school on Monday, I stand against the wall of the Science block, casually waiting. I’m carrying Matty’s photos and USB stick in a sparkly purple envelope and have thrown on some star-shaped sunnies.

  ‘Do I look suspicious?’ I say as Matty walks up to me.

  ‘Not at all. You pull off the spy look way better than me.’

  ‘Spy look? I was just being sun-smart,’ I say, slipping him the photos.

  ‘Well, your envelope is obviously undercover,’ Matty says. ‘My mum won’t suspect a thing! Seriously, though, thanks for doing this, Vee.’

  ‘Fingers crossed that it works, Matty.’

  He nods enthusiastically and heads off.

  I see Annabelle and wave.

  ‘I have a milkshake hole in my stomach. Want to go home via Candy’s Cafe?’

  Annabelle licks her lips. ‘Best cure for Mondayitis.’

  We join the herd of kids heading for an arvo snack. Most of them stop by Red Flame Chicken for the two dollar hot chips. All the shops here have cheap snack deals for hungry school kids. Candy’s Cafe has a special where you get a dollar off drinks when you wear your school uniform. It almost makes me want to wear my uniform on weekends.

  We catch up with Bryan just as he’s about to dive into Dino Burgers. ‘Hey, Vee and Annabelle.’

  ‘What freak burger are you gonna try today?’ I ask.

  ‘They’ve brought back the ribbasaurus,’ Bryan says. ‘It sold out by 4 p.m. last time so I’m not missing out this time.’

  I slowly nod. ‘You really take this seriously.’

  ‘I want to be a professional funsta,’ Bryan says. ‘That’s what I call YouTubers and Insta-stars.’

  ‘My mum wants to be a professional funsta too, except she wants me to have all the fun,’ I say.

  ‘And that’s a bad thing because …?’

  ‘I want Mum to have some of her own fun, and I’d be happier if I didn’t have to share all my fun with the world,’ I say. ‘It was fine when I was younger but I want my own life.’

  Annabelle bounces on her toes. ‘I want to be a professional slime maker.’

  ‘I’d love to do calligraphy all the time,’ I say. ‘But Mum says if I focus on it, I’ll alienate my followers.’

  Bryan grins. ‘Unless all of your followers are aliens.’

  ‘You must be an alien,’ I say. ‘How else can you eat all those burgers and still stay thin?’

  Bryan laughs. ‘Ah, that’s my secret superpower.’

  ‘That’s pretty lame,’ I say.

  ‘You say that now,’ Bryan says. ‘But when a giant burger monster attacks this city, they’ll call on me.’

  We walk over to Candy’s Cafe to get our milkshakes. They have over twenty flavours up on the board. Mum always encourages me to get strawberry or banana but Anti-Vee feels like bubble gum so that’s exactly what I get. Mum would freak if she saw me have this, she thinks blue milk should be banned.

  ‘Can we swing by the public library?’ I say, slurping noisily at the last drop of bubble gum.

  Annabelle nods. ‘Have you borrowed all the spy thriller novels from our school library?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But I’m also doing some research for Operation Don’t Follow Vee.’

  The library is around the corner, where it’s overtaken by kids of all ages, doing everything except reading or studying. I check out the community noticeboard, with its colourful ads for groups and clubs.

  ‘Just looking for something for Mum to do.�
��

  ‘How about Knit Club?’ Annabelle says.

  ‘Mum once spent an hour trying to thread a needle,’ I say. ‘Final score, threaded needle 0, Mum’s thumb 5 needle holes.’

  ‘Fit Club?’

  ‘We’re already training for the Colour Run.’ I spot a bright yellow paper in the corner. ‘Merry Glee Club.’

  ‘Glee? Like that famous TV show?’ Annabelle says.

  ‘Maybe.’ I read out the poster. ‘Make new friends. No auditions. Just come and sing.’

  This club was made for Mum. I take a photo of it and send it straight to Mum, along with a few snaps of a photography club and a baking group. Plenty of things for Mum to post about when she replaces The Chronicles of Vee with herself.

  ‘You should have a Vee club,’ Annabelle says.

  I laugh. ‘Think I’ve had enough of Vee for now, but what about a slime club? You could be the president of that one.’

  ‘I can’t believe there’s no slime club in high school,’ Annabelle says. ‘If I make one, would you join?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say. Even though secretly, I think no one would be caught dead in one. It just feels like something we used to do in primary school. I’m not really into slime anymore. I only do it because of Annabelle. You can write that on a note and throw it in the vault because she’ll never, ever know.

  I’m back at home, with one eye on homework and the other on my phone, scrolling through Mum’s Instagram feed. Mum’s favourite chef Alec Ma keeps popping up. Mum’s been a huge fan since he made the top 5 in MasterChef last year. He’s hip, quirky and cooks up weird concept dishes. It’s been a recipe for 80,000 followers for him so far. An Insta-story flashes up from Alec Ma and I click on it. He’s opening a pop-up restaurant called Black Spot, just for tonight at Cabravale. I bet Mum would love to meet him. My Vee senses are tingling. I message it to Mum.

  As soon as Mum gets home, she leaps on me. ‘You’re sure about this Black Spot? The Insta-story has already disappeared.’

  ‘That’s what I read,’ I say. ‘Come on, Mum, it’s time to be spontaneous!’

  ‘Can you wear some of your Instagram clothes?’ Mum says. ‘We could do a triple-tag tonight.’

  ‘Okay, sure.’ I’ll do anything to get Mum out, so I quickly change and we drive to the Black Spot restaurant.

  We’ve been waiting in a long line and just as we get to the front, Mum clutches my arm. ‘That is Alec Ma, in the flesh.’

  ‘Well duh, this is his pop-up,’ I say.

  ‘He looks shorter in real life.’ Mum takes out her phone and is aiming it at him when a lean-looking lady steps in front like a bodyguard.

  ‘Sorry, Madam, no photos tonight.’ She passes us a black box. ‘Please place your devices in here.’

  I snap my fingers. ‘I get it, Black Spot.’

  Mum’s cheeks start to wobble. It’s like she’s been sent to detention. ‘Are you serious? What if I have an emergency or …’

  ‘Sorry, madam, they’re the rules if you want to go inside.’

  Mum sighs. ‘Okay, okay.’ She drops her phone in the box. I’m having a flashback to when Emily first had to give up her phone in class earlier this year. I’ve seen kindy kids less clingy of their parents on their first day.

  We sit down at a table right in the middle. Mum looks around, probably making sure that nobody else has a mobile.

  I touch her hand. ‘I dressed up for no reason. We could have rocked up in our tracksuits!’

  Mum reads the menu. ‘Duck waffles with soy syrup? Creamy chocolate chicken.’

  ‘It’s like Alec stole my recipe book,’ I say. ‘I’m game.’

  A waitress takes our order. Mum sips her table water and leans back. ‘I don’t get it. What’s the point of eating out if you can’t post it?’ She looks thoughtful for a second. ‘I do vaguely remember people used to talk to each other while they were waiting for their food.’

  ‘Let’s give that a shot,’ I say. ‘Do you think you’ll go along to the Merry Glee Club, Mum?’

  Mum copies the ‘rolling eyes’ emoji. ‘Really, Vee? Glee?’

  ‘Your new friends are waiting for you,’ I say.

  ‘I dunno …’

  ‘I did heaps of things for the sake of Trysday Friday and it didn’t hurt me,’ I say. ‘Except for that karate class. I still have a mark on my thigh after that one!’

  Mum looks down at her empty palm, probably out of habit. ‘I know what you’re doing, Vee.’

  I gulp. Is Operation DFV about to get prised out of the vault?

  ‘You think I’m lonely, don’t you?’ she says. ‘You’re worried that I’ll end up as one of those crazy old cat ladies.’

  ‘A sneezy old cat lady,’ I add.

  ‘Do you want me to have a boyfriend?’

  Boyfriend. Another word that’s collected dust in my Veecabulary. Make that Mum’s vocab too. Since Dad left, Mum’s only ever had two boyfriends, and both were when I was really young. She hasn’t dated anyone since. If Mum did date someone, she’d have a million reasons to post things about herself, but that’s a discussion for another century.

  ‘I just want you to meet more people, Mum.’

  ‘Singing would be a great stress relief …’ Mum says. ‘Okay, I’ll do it! No guarantee about the new friends bit, though.’

  ‘Awesome! Good one, Mum.’

  Another part of Operation DFV is sliding into place. I wriggle uncomfortably in my Chic Hub skirt. I don’t need Emily to tell me that it’s a fashion label as big as Stella but I would kill for my old jeans right now. And a novel to read. Mum and I could have had a speed-reading race together. But we end up playing a few rounds of I Spy instead. Then we play chess with the salt and pepper shakers before our entree of caramel tacos arrives.

  Mum stands up as if she’s about to take an overhead shot, then realises she doesn’t have her mobile. She’s not the only one. She frowns. ‘Have you got a pen, Vee? I can use this napkin.’

  I grab a fluffy feather pen and a spare Typo notebook from my bag and pass it across the table. ‘Are you going to sketch these dishes?’

  ‘Just so I can remember,’ Mum says.

  The crazy dishes keep on coming. The duck waffles and crunchy caramel dim sims are disgustingly tasty. ‘I’m surprised I don’t feel sick,’ I say.

  Mum grabs a toothpick. ‘I’m really full, though!’ she say. ‘I’m so glad we did this, Vee. Even if it’s not on Instagram.’

  I tap my head. ‘We’ll store it in here.’

  Mum asks for the bill and there’s an envelope that comes with our receipt. She opens the envelope and there’s a set of Polaroid pictures with the dishes we’ve had.

  Mum claps. ‘Very clever, Alec Ma.’

  We pick up our phones at the door. I see Mum’s fighting the urge to kiss hers.

  ‘Can we take a photo outside the restaurant?’ Mum asks the lady at the front door.

  ‘Sure.’

  Mum does a fist pump. ‘The Chronicles of Vee is saved!’

  ‘Wait, you’re Vee?’ The lady blinks at me rapidly. ‘Sorry … I had no idea.’

  ‘Um, yah.’

  ‘Can you wait here?’ The lady hurries into the kitchen and comes out with Alec Ma.

  ‘Hi, Vee,’ Alec says. ‘Great to meet you!’

  Mum and I turn into a pair of flushed roses.

  ‘Ohhh, hi, Alec,’ Mum says. ‘My daughter is a big fan of yours.’

  ‘And my mum is a bigger fan,’ I say. ‘I loved your food tonight. Have you considered making jam noodles?’

  Alec wipes his hands on his apron. ‘Mmmm, not really, but maybe it could be the start of an idea. Could we take a selfie?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, thinking we’d better be quick before Mum faints.

  Alec grabs Mum’s phone and takes a snap of the three of us. ‘You’ll have the only photo of us in Black Spot.’

  He disappears before Mum can ask for another photo. Mum looks at the photo as we walk down the street past the huge queue that sti
ll curls around the corner.

  ‘The light in this is shocking. I’ll need to do some emergency filtering later.’

  I do my best impression of a siren all the way home. Mum barges through the front door and performs surgery on the photo, applying lots of filters and editing the photo until it looks brighter and vivid.

  ‘It’s a keeper, Mum! Post away!’

  ‘I just need to crop it so it’s only you and Alec,’ Mum says.

  ‘Just post it,’ I say. ‘So what if they see you?’

  ‘The angle is all wrong. My face looks like the moon …’

  ‘Okay, Mum,’ I say. ‘I guess you have the final say.’

  I go back to my room and check the latest Vee post. It’s just Alec and me. Mum did a great job of blurring herself along the edges. I wonder if that’s how she sees herself. A blur.

  By the next morning, the post with Alec Ma has racked up a ton of likes. It’s the only photo inside Black Spot, so it went viral. A lot of Insta-foodie lovers and restaurant bloggers used it for their reviews. The whole thing gave us a huge boost, as well as more new followers.

  It’s a major set-back to Operation DFV. I desperately need to make it work, otherwise Mum might keep herself locked up in her own vault forever.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  At school, Bryan does his usual moan about how easy it is for me to get likes and followers.

  He checks his phone again at recess. ‘Look at this. My ribbasaurus post has only got 56 likes.’

  I look over his shoulder and read out one of the comments below the post. ‘That’s pathetic, Booger Bryan. Who is this guy, T-Wrecks?’

  Bryan groans. ‘He’s some burger fan who’s trolling me.’ He clicks on his Instagram. ‘He thinks I’m just a baby because he smashes all these other freak burgers.’

  I take out my phone and check out T-Wrecks’ Instagram. Bryan’s not kidding. Some of the burgers could be mistaken for meaty Jenga towers. I feel queasy just looking at the waterfalls of liquid cheese and sauces.

  ‘Don’t worry about him, Bryan. The Chronicles of Vee gets trolls all the time and we just ignore them.’