Subscribing to the Enemy: An Enemies to Lovers YA Sweet Romance

by Jen Brady

  The sketchy dude sitting uncomfortably close to me got up and left, and I enjoyed thirty seconds of sole proprietorship of the bench until a young couple about my age claimed the rest of it. I turned to thank them for saving me from another less-than-ideal neighbor, but they’d already started making out . . . because the fluorescent lights and romantic sounds of children screaming as they passed Santa but didn’t get to sit on his lap were such turn-ons, you know.

  This whole hour of agony would soon be worth it.

  My documentary had to win the Lights, Camera, Vance! competition. It was the only thing I could think of that would show my dad that my “tinkering around with that camera” was a worthwhile endeavor. Dad, the quiet, serious college professor, had always valued academics over art, and the majority of our arguments stemmed from him nagging me to focus more on my studies.

  You’d think that my skipping second grade and comping out of college math and foreign language requirements would be enough for him to be proud of academically, but he still nagged me about choosing a major “worthwhile of study” as the deadline approached. Technically, I was supposed to be a senior in high school getting ready for an easy semester of “senior slide.” Instead, I already had a semester’s worth of college in and, thanks to all the retro credits, found myself facing the dreaded major declaration already.

  Dad had suggested anthropology, psychology, or philosophy—all majors that would slide me right into masters and PhD programs. Mom tried to stay out of it as much as possible. She’d taken the lead during my junior high and high school years. As a middle school English teacher, public school had been her domain, but now that I was in college, Professor Dad knew it all—at least he thought he did.

  Making films was the only thing I’d ever wanted to do with my life, but film studies was most definitely not on Dad’s list of acceptable majors.

  You know that feeling you get when you’re watching a touching life story and the music swells as the subject makes a profound statement that goes straight to your heart? I want to be responsible for that emotion. I want to tell people’s stories, to bring injustice to the surface, to highlight lives that make a difference.

  If I have what it takes to win a national film competition, Dad’ll have to let me give film studies a try.

  I can’t think of anything more boring than reading and studying for the next decade, but that was exactly where my life was heading unless I could convince him there were more important things than collecting degrees and being well-read.

  I focused on the clock to block out the making out couple. I could still see them going at it out of the corner of my eye. Just a few more minutes and my agony would be over. I could go home, upload the footage, and work on my documentary in a glorious peace that did not include mall madness, ugly lighting, and weirdos sitting next to me.

  I needed this win, and nothing would get in my way, not even inappropriate holiday PDA.

  3

  JOANNA

  AS EXPECTED, EVERYONE at the mall was all business today. Elderly mall walkers and bored teenagers knew better than to walk the halls and/or hang out at the food court on December 23rd. The only person we passed as we walked from our parking spot (in the nosebleed section of the parking garage) who wasn’t speed walking like he was on a mission or loaded down with shopping bags was a homeless guy with long, stringy hair Ted gave ten bucks and a McDonald’s coupon to.

  We’d come up with the idea for our Christmas-themed YouTube video the day after Thanksgiving when my older sister Megan and her best friend Sallie went Black Friday shopping. It had been such a zoo, they’d tried to get in and out of each store as quickly as possible, even though on most days, they’d both give Mya a run for her money for the title of biggest shopaholic in Massachusetts.

  Since Ted and I were shopping for the same people, our plan was to choose a store at random from the mall directory, then take turns running into the store (no matter what it was) and getting the perfect gift for a recipient (also chosen at random). We’d time each other on our phones, and whoever shopped the fastest would be declared the winner. Round Two to this challenge would be posted the day after Christmas when we reported whether the recipients liked their gifts or not. The loser had to eat a tablespoon of hot sauce on camera.

  We’d decided I’d shoot and Ted would be on camera first, then we’d switch at some point during our intro. As we took the Level 2 entrance into the mall, I felt excitement fluttering in my chest with a touch of claustrophobia closing in. Inside, it was louder than I’d ever heard it before: hordes of people wishing each other holiday greetings, shoes clacking on the tile floor, and Christmas music blasting from every store.

  Ted took it all in stride as we headed for the escalator to the ground floor. He stepped onto the moving stairs first, and I left a couple of steps between us so I could get more than his nose and eyes in the frame. Filming is a lot easier when Bethany’s involved. She trails us and catches all the action. But there was no way we were getting my introverted sister into the mall anytime during the busy month of December, much less two days before Christmas, so I hadn’t even asked. Trading off camera duties and a few selfie-style clips would have to do.

  I pointed at Ted and pressed the record button.

  “Merry Christmas to our amazing viewers!” he exclaimed, flinging his arms out and almost smacking a lady moving past him on the “up” escalator. She didn’t seem to notice, as she had three shopping bags in one hand and her phone up to her ear in the other. I stifled a snort and kept my focus on Ted.

  “As you can see,” he went on, “we’re here at busy and bustling Concord Crossings to do a little something we like to call ‘Speed Shopping.’ If you’re a procrastinator who needs some last-minute shopping tips, hit that Like button.”

  Ted pointed both index fingers down where the “Like” button would appear on our finished video. He flashed the wide grin that often prompted our female viewers to post things like *swoon* followed by heart emojis in the comments, held the pose for a beat, then dropped it. I hit pause on the camera and lowered my arm.

  “Don’t trip,” I said, poking him in the shoulder as the escalator disappeared into the floor. We stepped off, and I handed the camera to him.

  We did a quick strategy session on how to frame the rest of our intro as people hustled about around us. The escalator had deposited us on the ground floor, right in the center of the mall, next to the huge fountain. Some of the seating nearby had been removed for the season, a small gingerbread-looking house set up in its place with Santa and Mrs. Claus sitting in front, waving at passersby. There was a roped-off section in front of them that had been open last weekend for kids to stand in line to get pictures with the North Pole couple. Now, it was just the actors waving, so every kid who got dragged by slowed, stared, waved, and/or cried because they didn’t want to pass Santa without making last-minute Christmas wishes.

  We had to wait a few minutes for the area to clear out enough that we’d get a good shot of ourselves in front of Santa and Mrs. Claus. The only people not walking in and out of our shot were a couple making out on a bench kitty-corner from us and a guy about our age who sat smooshed on the bench next to them. He hugged the armrest as if he were trying to get as far away from them as humanly possible. I didn’t blame him. Who makes out at the mall during the Christmas rush?

  He looked like he’d been there a while, as a half-empty, clear plastic cup of Orange Julius balanced on the arm of the bench, and his jacket, hat, and scarf had been taken off and wedged between him and the kissing couple. He sat forward, looking at his phone at an odd angle, almost as if he had it pointed up instead of down.

  There had to be better places to wait for your mom or girlfriend to be done shopping than a bench right in the middle of the main traffic flow, next to a bunch of gross PDA.

  Girlfriend. He was definitely waiting for his girlfriend, not his mom. He was this scruffy college type with messy just-rolled-out-of-bed wavy hair and why-bother-shav
ing-for-a-week-because-I’m-on-break stubble covering his square jaw. Not exactly classic clean-cut heartthrob material, but definitely good-looking in a raw, natural way.

  People like that annoy me. You should have to put at least some effort into looking good, and it was obvious this guy hadn’t, judging by his unkempt hair, faded flannel shirt, and broken-in, holey jeans.

  “Selfie video time,” Ted announced, as he positioned the camera at arm’s length to capture both of us in the frame. “Then we can turn and we’ll go right into you saying something funny in front of the Santa house.”

  I dragged my eyes away from Bench Guy.

  “Okay. Sounds good,” I agreed.

  Ted lifted his arm so I could tuck under it, close to him. “In three . . . two . . .” He nodded and paused a beat. “Welcome back to another video, guys!”

  “I’m Joanna March . . .” I began our usual intro.

  “And I’m Ted Laurence. And you’re watching . . .”

  Together, we announced, “JoJo Plus Teddy Equals BFF Forevah!”

  Ted leaned in and added, “She makes me say that,” then shifted the camera so he was out of the frame.

  “So, you guys, check it out,” I said, leaning close to the camera like I was letting them in on an exclusive. I backed up, and Ted walked with me. I turned and pointed, and I knew he would follow my lead and zoom in on the North Pole setup. We could basically read each other’s minds when it came to filming. “Even Santa is here doing some last-minute shopping of his own.” I backed up closer to the red and green garland rope barrier, and Ted walked with me. “And if you’ve been good this year, maybe, just maybe—”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  The angry voice seemed to rise out of nowhere above the rest of the mall din. I startled, and Ted almost dropped the camera as Scruffy Bench Guy jumped to his feet. The precariously-balanced Orange Julius cup fell to the floor. The lid popped off, a puddle of orange fizz pooling between the bench leg and a fake plant next to it. You’d have thought that’d be enough commotion to break apart Kissing Couple, but they kept at it as Scruffy Bench Guy stomped the short distance to us.

  His brown eyes were stormy, and his thick eyebrows narrowed as his jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly. He glared at us as if we’d just announced to the entire mall that he was on Santa’s naughty list. He ran the hand that wasn’t clutching his phone through his messy hair, then clenched his forehead. His ripped jeans, white T-shirt, and faded flannel didn’t give off such a laid-back vibe when he was glaring at us and yanking at his hair.

  “I’ve been waiting months to get that shot, and you ruined it!”

  “Ruined what?” I asked, pushing past Ted, who towered between me and Scruffy Bench Guy.

  The guy was only about an inch or so taller than me, but he was solid with broad shoulders and looked seriously ticked. I probably should have stayed safely sheltered behind Ted, but I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me.

  “My Santa and Mrs. Claus shot!” His eyes ping-ponged back and forth between the clock and his phone as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I needed that shot!”

  “Dude, chillax,” Ted said, holding a hand out in a placating gesture. “We can move so you can take your picture.”

  “It wasn’t a picture, and it’s the only day they’ll be here. Stupid dummkopf.”

  I wasn’t sure what a dummkopf was, but given that it was prefaced by “stupid,” I was pretty sure it wasn’t good. From the look in his eyes, we were about to have a showdown at the Concord Crossings Mall.

  We were saved by two squealing teenage girls rushing up to us.

  “Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh!” one shrieked, pulling her phone out of her jeans pocket.

  The other jumped up and down, her shopping bags bouncing and rustling at her sides. Hopefully, nothing breakable was in them. “I can’t believe it! Joanna and Ted! It’s Joanna and Ted!”

  “Can I get a selfie with you?” the first girl asked, craning her neck to look at Ted with awed admiration in her big, green, heavily-mascaraed eyes.

  “Of course,” Ted said, slinging his arm around his pretty, blond-haired fan. She held the phone out, but her arm shook so hard with excitement that Ted took it out of her hand and did the honors.

  “Omigosh, Ted Laurence touched my phone!”

  “My turn!” her friend said. She stood between us and put an arm around each of us, and her friend took her phone from Ted and backed up for the shot. She backed right into Angry Scruffy Bench Guy, which did nothing to calm him down.

  “Do you mind?” he snapped.

  “Oh, sorry,” the girl said, turning. “I didn’t see you. But look! I can’t believe it!” She gestured at the three of us, resuming her bouncing up and down. “Do you know who they are?”

  Angry Scruffy Bench Guy’s stubbled jaw clenched as his eyes swept over us. They locked onto mine and I couldn’t help staring back at him. He had beautiful (albeit livid) brown eyes, and the longer I looked, the more I realized the anger was masking something else. Disappointment? Sadness? Defeat?

  Something passed between our gaze, and for half a second, I felt as if we did know each other somehow. Then he narrowed his eyes and said flatly, “How would I know who random shoppers in the mall are?”

  Definitely not a fan of our channel then.

  The girl’s eyes widened. “How can you not know JoJo Plus Teddy? Everybody does!”

  “Can I have your autograph?” the girl standing between Ted and me asked.

  “Of course,” Ted said. “Got a pen?”

  She giggled and grabbed onto his arm, the way all girls do when he turns on the Celebrity-Ted Charm.

  “Me, too!” the other girl pleaded, rushing toward us.

  Angry Scruffy Bench Guy shook his head slowly, muttering something under his breath I didn’t understand that ended with another declaration of “dummkopfs!” and turned abruptly to snatch his jacket and scarf off the bench. He didn’t bother to pick up the Orange Julius cup.

  As our female fans giggled and fawned all over Ted, I watched Angry Scruffy Bench Guy walk away, tucking his phone in his back pocket.

  I knew I’d never see him again, which was probably a good thing because the combination of his casual confidence and fiery, intense eyes might have been enough to make me give up my no-dating-in-high-school vow.

  4

  RICK

  I’D LIED TO THE FANGIRL at the mall.

  I knew exactly who they were.

  How could I not? Everyone around here did.

  That’s what happened when you reached a million subscribers and earned the coveted Gold Play Button from YouTube. You became local celebrities, especially around the high school- and college-aged crowd.

  I just didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of being recognized.

  JoJo+Teddy=BFF4EVAH is the epitome of everything that’s wrong with YouTube. It’s a pointless, stupid channel that doesn’t help anybody or make one iota of difference in the world.

  They waste so many resources pulling dumb stunts like completely toilet papering every tree in their yards (as in the trees looked like mummies) just to capture the shocked reactions of their parents/grandparents on camera. You could have stocked the public restrooms of a small country for a year with the massive amount of toilet paper they wasted on those trees.

  Worse than that, they’re total sellouts. They unabashedly churn out videos with click-bait titles and hawk their merch (like shirts with their faces on them) in every episode. Not that I’ve watched many episodes, of course. I don’t waste my time on drivel like that.

  Also, can we take a minute to talk about their name? Their channel is basically called JoJo+Teddy=Best Friends Forever Forever. Because BFF stands for “best friends forever” so saying BFF Forever (or “Forevah” or whatever dumb way they choose to pronounce it) is adding an extra “forever” onto the F that already stands for forever. It’s like people who say “ATM machine.” ATM means Automated Teller Machi
ne. You don’t need the extra “machine” at the end unless you’re actually trying to say “Automated Teller Machine Machine.”

  See? Dumb. And these people have 1,214,732 subscribers. I mean, that’s a rough estimate. It’s not like I just checked or something.

  The only good thing about the entire channel is Joanna March’s long, beautiful, caramel-colored hair and striking gray eyes. She’s naturally pretty in this no-makeup, girl-next-door way. If their channel had any sort of substance to it whatsoever, I’d subscribe just to watch her.

  Ted Laurence? That guy’s a punk with too many credit cards. Seriously, if I were his parents, I’d cut every single one of his cards up. You should see the stupid things he wastes money on. Stuff like thousands of bath bombs to dump in his grandpa’s pool for the bath bomb challenge. If I were his grandpa, I wouldn’t let him come over to my house anymore. They’re always doing ridiculous stunts, challenges, and pranks there because the grandpa apparently lives next door to Joanna March’s family. Usually the LOL climax (and I use the term “LOL” loosely here because I don’t laugh, much less out loud) of their videos is the grandpa’s reaction to whatever crazy thing they’ve done. Yeah, the punk would be written out of my will by now if it were me.

  I have no idea what Joanna sees in that guy. Oh, they claim they aren’t dating, but come on . . . a guy doesn’t buy a girl five thousand bath bombs and put them in his grandpa’s pool because he likes camping out in the friend zone. The “just friends” thing is a farce, like everything else about their channel.

  It defies explanation that they have a Gold Play Button while I’ve been sitting stuck at 150K subscribers for almost a year.

  And now, thanks to stupid JoJo Plus Teddy, I had to figure out a new transition sequence for my scenes. I was running out of time.

  I know, I know, I should have been more on top of the deadline. Ideally, I’d be putting the final touches on at this stage and working on perfecting the application that goes with the submission. But when you’re working on a documentary, you have to rely on other people returning your messages, carving out time for you in their own busy lives, and following through with promises to meet with you. Documentary content is way more difficult to create than repeatedly ordering only one item from a drive-thru and laughing like hyenas at the baffled expressions the minimum wage workers give you on your sixth driveby.