My [Secret] YouTube Life

by Charlotte Seager

  At the edge of the car park is a small light-brown-haired teenage girl. She’s holding up her mobile phone and frowning at the screen, taking photos of us.

  My heart plummets. She must know who I am. No, no, no!

  ‘Stop! Wait!’

  I start running towards her, but she shrieks and leaps back, bolting out of the car park.

  She must be a fan – why else would she be photographing us? She was probably here for the launch party. Oh God.

  ‘Wait!’ I shout, my voice hoarse.

  I reach the end of the car park, but she’s gone. I look both ways, but the streets are empty.

  Chris steps towards me and puts his hand on my waist, drawing me in. I push him away, my heart thumping. We can’t be seen together.

  ‘She took pictures of us,’ I say, feeling the weight of the situation crash down on me.

  He shrugs. ‘So?’

  The tight feeling around my chest is back. It’s like a thick rope pinning my shoulders to my side, binding my lungs, suffocating me.

  ‘My career is over.’

  CHAPTER 42

  Melissa

  It’s been fifteen minutes, and Chloe isn’t coming back. I can’t believe it. She is such a bitch.

  My hair whips across my face, and the wind brushes up the hairs on the back of my legs. The ground beneath my feet is an ugly grey, flaked with black clumps of tarmac. The pavement and my feet start to blur into one.

  With a sniff, I start walking back the way we came. I refresh my phone screen, but the internet signal is still dead. What am I even doing here? All I wanted was to see Lily and Bryan. Tell them both how much they mean to my life. How they cheer me up when everything else seems unbearable.

  But thanks to Chloe, that is never going to happen. I paid for the tickets, and yet Chloe is the one inside probably being best buddies with Lily.

  It’s so unfair. Chloe isn’t even the type of person LilyLoves would want as a friend. Someone who only cares about looking after themselves. There’s no way Suze would have snuck into the meetup without me.

  An old man walks past me, with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. He doesn’t look up, but I take a step back and hug my elbows. Great. Chloe gets to see LilyLoves while I’m stuck in London with the freaks and perverts and will probably end up getting kidnapped or worse!

  I briefly wonder what would happen if I confronted her at school on Monday morning.

  ‘Because you ditched me, a man tried to put me in his car! I had to fight him off!’ I imagine screaming.

  And what would the boys say? Maybe Andy would shout at her, and Rish would ban her from all his future parties. Maybe she’d run off crying. That’d show her.

  The weird man stumbles off into the distance.

  Oh, who am I kidding? Why would Andy or Rish care if Chloe left me in the middle of London? They probably wouldn’t even listen to my story. If they did, Rish would probably laugh at me and call me melodramatic.

  God, I wish Suze was here.

  At that moment, a muffled, high-pitched scream echoes down the street.

  My stomach drops.

  Suze?

  No, don’t be stupid. Why would it be Suze?

  But it was someone. A girl. What’s going on?

  I crane my neck and there’s another muffled yell and a door slam.

  Oh God, there’s definitely something going on. What should I do?

  ‘Leave!’ shouts a woman.

  Wait a second. I know that voice. I’ve heard it almost every day for the last six years. It’s the voice that makes me laugh, calms my nerves and helps me fall asleep.

  ‘Please don’t!’

  Oh my God. It’s Lily.

  My chest tightens. Is she in trouble?

  Without taking a breath, I break into a run. At the venue car park, the locked barb-wire gate is swinging wide open and Bryan’s car is missing.

  This is serious. Have they been burgled? My pulse drums in my neck.

  Before I see them, I can already picture Bryan cradling Lily in his arms, gesturing to the stolen cars and telling her that everything will be OK as she cries on his shoulder.

  The image is so real that I can almost feel his hand on my hair, his soft words in my ear, my head nuzzled against his chest.

  When I see Lily, my heart leaps. She’s even more beautiful than in her videos. And Bryan is there too, speaking softly – his arms wrapped round her, just like I knew they would be.

  A rush of love for them washes over me.

  But then Bryan lifts up his head and my heart stops.

  That’s not Bryan.

  It’s some weird guy in an orange anorak – which clashes terribly with his hair – who looks like he’s never even seen a Topman. What is he doing here? This isn’t right. Where’s Bryan?

  It’s like watching an accident happen in double time. Even though I know something catastrophic is about to happen, I can’t look away.

  Lily pulls back from him, and he brushes her fringe out of her eyes.

  No. No. NO.

  She tilts her head up.

  My heart is in my mouth. I want to yell ‘Stop!’ but the words die on my tongue.

  He smiles down at her, and they kiss.

  It feels like my whole world is splitting in two. I want to run over and wrench them apart, scream at Lily at the top of my lungs.

  WHAT THE HELL IS LILY DOING?

  I raise my phone, try to stop my fingers trembling, and click on the camera.

  SIX YEARS

  EARLIER

  CHAPTER 43

  Lily

  My bedroom doesn’t look right. I’ve stuck Christmas fairy lights to the beams above my bed, but they keep catching on the headboard. I grab a handful of bulbs. They’re not hanging evenly. If only I had more nails to pin them up like this, that would look better. But I’ve used every nail in the house. My thumb starts to feel sore as I nibble at a flap of skin. Why does it look so wrong?

  The cushions on my bed are also not right. I pluck at wisps of fluff on the pale pink pillow. Does the cream cushion look better, or should they be all white? The pink one feels a bit twee. I flick on my bedside lamp and the whole room is bathed in a soft, warm light. Hmm, definitely the cream cushion.

  I’m not even sure how this will all look on the webcam . . . it’s so blurry. I squint at the picture on my computer and my shoulders sag – you can’t even see the cushions. The fairy lights look strange on the screen too: tiny pinpricks of white. They almost look like stars.

  It’s too dark; I’ll have to use the main light. Tiptoeing across the floor, I wedge my heavy wooden door shut with an old dictionary. Then I flick on the switch, praying it doesn’t wake Mum.

  The image on the screen lights up. Hurrah.

  As quietly as I can, I set out a comb, hairspray and curlers on my desk and pull my long hair over my shoulders. Where should the webcam sit? I try attaching it to the top of the computer, but my face looks strange – huge, bulbous eyes and too-small lips. I try again, attaching it to the side of the computer. Much better.

  I glance at my door to make sure Mum is still sleeping across the hall, then I turn to face the eye of the webcam.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ I whisper. ‘Today I am going to show you how to do a Cheryl Tweedy-inspired hair look, with backcombing and curling. You will need a comb, like this, and hairspray – I use this, which is actually my mum’s . . .’

  After I’ve finished filming, I play back the recording. It’s awful. The glare from the main light means half my face is bright white, while the other is in total darkness. My voice is also way too quiet. You can’t even see the fairy lights. There’s no way I would watch this.

  I crush a fist into my cheek. Why am I so bad at this?

  People like Glitterbuzz make it look so easy. In one of her videos, she taught me this amazing trick of bending the wand of your mascara to make it lift your lashes, which I do all the time. In another, she explained how to do these immaculate quiffs with just a comb an
d two hair grips. I’ve worn that style almost every day to school since.

  I’ve even spoken to Glitterbuzz online. Well, sort of. Last weekend she did a Q&A under one of her videos, and she actually answered my question! I asked: ‘Should you wear make-up every day of the week?’ And she wrote: ‘I usually try to have at least one day a week without make-up, to help my skin breathe.’

  I click on my profile and read the comment again. My neck tingles with delight. I can’t believe she replied to me. She makes these amazing videos and she actually spoke to me, Lily Henshaw.

  I so desperately want to make videos like her. My friends are always asking how I do my hair at school, or where I find my eyeshadows. I’ve learned so many things just from experimenting at home. Often I blend two colours together, or dip my brush in water to darken the colour. It’s hard to explain how to do it without showing people. I love it.

  Art is my favourite subject at school, and when my teacher Mrs Larsson heard me explaining the intricacies of my eyeshadow mixes, she suggested I create a piece of artwork for my GCSE portfolio painted entirely in make-up.

  I can’t wait to start it. I may also do my friend Emily’s hair and make-up and photograph it as part of the project. She’s a redhead, so make-up on her looks so dramatic against her pale skin. My mind starts buzzing with ideas. I could do a post on the right thickness of eyeliner flicks for different eye shapes, and I could show people how to dot lip liner to make your lips look big but natural. I perfected that last week. I could even film the way I curl my wet hair overnight without heat by rolling it up in socks.

  I look back at my webcam and frown. I should be able to do this. There must be a way to get the lighting right. Glitterbuzz uses a webcam and, though some of her videos are a bit bright, you can still see what she’s doing.

  I pull the webcam lead as far as it will go and spin round the room, keeping an eye on the computer.

  My face changes instantly on the screen. The light glints off my cheek, then my hair . . . then the whole image is incredibly dark. I stand just under the light, and my face becomes ultra-exposed, two dark eyes and no nose or mouth.

  I finally find a decent spot – not too dark, not too light – but it’s in the middle of my room, and there’s nowhere to put the webcam. Carefully I stack up Mum’s dictionaries and thesauruses, which I’ve pinched from the kitchen, and sit cross-legged on the floor. Hmm, still not high enough.

  I tiptoe across the room and gently pull my bookshelf to the centre of the room. With the books propped on the highest shelf, the webcam is just about the right height.

  My face is bright and perfectly lit, and my hair pools around my shoulders on the screen. I prop up a mirror on the shelf too, behind the webcam, so I can see what I’m doing. Perfect.

  I glance quickly at the door.

  ‘Hello, everyone,’ I say, as loudly as I dare. ‘Today I’m going to show you how I do my favourite Cheryl Tweedy-inspired hairstyle . . .’

  SIX YEARS

  LATER

  CHAPTER 44

  Melissa

  Oh God, she saw me.

  I’m standing down a side street, my chest pressed up against a wall, too rooted to move. My whole body is quivering from head to toe and my chest is rising and falling madly. I try to unlock my phone, but my fingers are too jittery to type in the password.

  Crap.

  I strain my ears, listening for Lily’s footsteps – but there’s only the blended rush of traffic.

  Taking in a shallow breath, I slide open the image on my phone.

  It’s not great, all grainy and blurred by my unsteady hands – but you can definitely tell it’s Lily. And you can see she’s kissing someone. Someone who doesn’t have pale skin and a neat, black beard. Someone who isn’t Bryan.

  I tighten my grip on the phone. If I lose this, no one will believe me. I need to get to a computer, upload it to my blog and make copies of this photo as soon as I can. My phone has the single most important file on it I’ve ever owned.

  As I walk further up the street, I get a notification from Google Maps, and a route back to the bus stop appears on my phone. Thank God. At least now I know how to get home.

  Wait a minute . . . does that mean I have internet?

  CHAPTER 45

  Lily

  A big misshapen ulcer on my wrist is healing. Every time it starts to form a blister, I scratch it and it stings again, bleeding on to my fingertips. It starts to scab over, but I slice it with my nails and a gloop of pus oozes out of the sore. I flinch. Somewhere nearby, there’s a faint humming noise. It feels distant, like it’s not part of me, not part of this place. Gradually, the noise filters through to my conscious, and my mind starts to stir awake.

  The buzzing stops and I slip back into sleep. Then it starts again – angrier this time – screaming at me. I squint one eye open and see my phone shaking the bedside table – vibrating so hard that it’s creeping closer and closer to the edge.

  There’s an empty feeling in my stomach, but I don’t know why. For a few seconds I don’t remember anything. Groggily, I reach round our bed to tell Bryan about my weird dream. But his side of the bed is cold. Huh. Maybe he’s already up, in the kitchen.

  The humming phone thuds on to our wooden floors, jolting me awake.

  As I open my eyes, the memories of yesterday hit me with full force. He’s gone. Bryan’s not in the kitchen. He’s not in bed. We’re over. He texted last night to say he’s staying at Nina’s.

  A cold feeling grips my chest. There’s something else. Something worse.

  I glance at my phone. Why is it buzzing so much? At once, the memories click into place. Me and Chris. That girl. She took a photo. She knows.

  Who else knows?

  I grab my phone and see twenty missed calls from Mindy. It starts reverberating wildly in my hand, and I click answer.

  ‘Hello,’ I croak.

  ‘Lily! Where have you been? I’ve been trying you all morning. The papers are on it and we need to get a response out ASAP. I wish you’d told me yesterday. Tell me now: is it you? In the picture – I need to know. If not, I’ll put in for a legal retraction. Lily . . . Are you there?’ She says this so quickly that I accidentally drop the phone on my lap.

  I hug my knees, which have started to shake. Clammily, I pick up the phone, and hold it to my cheek.

  ‘W-what papers?’

  ‘Oh, honestly! You haven’t seen? Well, don’t read it; it’s not worth it. We need to . . . Hello? Lily? Are you there?’

  My phone has clattered to the floor, and Mindy’s voice is muffled. Biting my lip, I pull my laptop towards me.

  In the Google search bar, I type in ‘Lily Henshaw’. Then I start to type ‘LilyLoves’ to make sure it comes up, but I don’t need to – the page is already flooded with results.

  YouTube star LilyLoves caught in love triangle

  SNAP! Fans outraged as YouTube celebrity LilyLoves caught cheating on boyfriend Bryan

  Busted! YouTube star Lily Henshaw caught in cheating scandal by fan

  I stare into a rolling sea of articles from the Daily Mail, the Sun, the Star – even the Guardian has written an opinion piece on whether YouTubers are good role models for teens.

  Shaking, I click on the first one.

  Superstar vlogger LilyLoves is caught cheating on boyfriend Bryan by devastated fan

  I scroll down the page, my heart thudding.

  She crafted a sizeable fortune from filming her everyday life, but YouTube sensation LilyLoves – who is reported to make £30,000 a month in endorsements – has left fans devastated after cheating on her vlogging boyfriend, Bryan, with a mystery man.

  In the middle of the article – blown up for all to see – is the picture that girl took. My head is thrown back and Chris has his arms wrapped round my waist. You can’t see our lips, but it’s pretty obvious what we’re doing.

  The photo is dark, and the image is low-quality and grainy, but you can see my floral jumpsuit and spiky blonde hair. T
here’s hundreds of pictures online from me yesterday wearing the exact same thing – it’s definitely me.

  I scroll down to the comments. There are over 500 of them. My head starts to throb.

  Who cares? Who is she? Just another worthless slag.

  We continually try to tell our daughters (and sons) the value of marriage and relationships – yet all they’re exposed to is whores like this. By normalising this kind of thing, what hope do our children really have? Teens are so impressionable at that age, and LilyLoves thinks it’s OK to go around sleeping with whoever she likes. If LilyLoves was targeting adult women I would not have a problem, they are old enough to think about the consequences, but teenagers and young girls need to learn the importance of loyalty – how can they when someone like this is their role model?

  The feature is punctuated with photos of me and Bryan beaming at each other – taken from Instagram and our vlogs. The caption says: LilyLoves pictured with boyfriend, Bryan, days before being seen kissing another man.

  I feel weirdly detached from it all. I see the words – but it’s almost like I’m reading about a celebrity’s love life. They can’t be talking about me, Lily Henshaw. They must be writing about someone else.

  Almost in a trance, I click open TweetDeck on my phone. My Twitter has 21,000 notifications. The tweets are rolling in thick and fast.

  @LilyLoves how could you do this to us?! What have you done? You and Bryan were perfect!

  What a scumbag whore. I guess you never really know people. @ LilyLoves you should be ashamed. Unsubscribe.

  Then there’s an angry debate between my followers over whether the papers have got it wrong.

  That doesn’t even look like her! DW, Lily – your true fans know you would never do that. Ignore the haters. We love you!

  Then I read the worst so far.

  GO CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND DIE YOU FUKING WHORE. YOU DESERVE TO BE TIED UP, RAPED AND YOUR HEAD SEVERED BEFORE—

  I throw the laptop down, breathing heavily. I can’t read any more.

  A tinny, disembodied voice is vibrating out from the floor.