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

by Jen Brady

  I’m not removing your comment because it’s actually gotten a lot of positive support for us from our fans. But please stay on your channel, and we’ll stay on ours.

  Oh, yeah, and passive-aggressively “peace out” to you, too, Rick.

  ~ Joanna March

  I felt my lips turn up in a smirk. I’d gotten to her. I was a bit surprised at the passion in her response. She and Laurence always seemed so dopey and carefree while they ran around doing dumb things on their videos. I figured they’d laugh at what I’d written and delete it, but it seemed my comment had hit a nerve.

  I couldn’t not write back after that message, even though I knew I’d be playing with fire.

  Dear Joanna,

  Nice to hear from you! I accept your apology and would like to pass along my thanks for the many subscribers I’ve gotten from curious viewers who saw my comment on your page and clicked over. (By the way, I was filming on my phone because only reckless people would bring a video camera to the mall that close to Christmas when it might get knocked out of your hand by the crowd or stolen in all the commotion.)

  Hope you had a Merry Christmas!

  Peace!

  Rick

  PS – I’d love to hear what you thought of whichever video you viewed.

  It only took a couple of minutes before my phone buzzed with her response, which caught me a little off guard since the first message had come days after I’d posted.

  First of all, that was NOT an apology. I have nothing to apologize for.

  Second, why would you think I’d have time to watch any of your videos when I have over a million subscribers waiting for my next upload?

  ~ Joanna

  Interesting. Very interesting. I hadn’t pegged her as such a temperamental firecracker.

  Usually, I would have backed off long before now. Life was short; it wasn’t worth getting your panties in a bunch over things that didn’t matter.

  But if she was this easy to rile up, messing with her could be fun. And there was something about her sassy response that intrigued me. I couldn’t stop now.

  Dear Joanna,

  You said the word “sorry” in reference to the inconsiderate move you pulled at Concord Crossings the other day. What is your definition of an apology?

  I don’t post my first name anywhere in text on my channel. The only way a viewer would know me by anything beyond Bhaerly Believable is by listening to one of my intros where I introduce myself as Rick.

  So which video did you watch? Still waiting to hear your thoughts.

  Peace!

  Rick

  She didn’t reply for a while, so I went back to working on my edits, but after nearly an hour, my curiosity won out and I refreshed my inbox to make sure I hadn’t missed a message. I typed JoJo+Teddy into my YouTube search bar, and their channel came up right away. I clicked over to it, intending to check out my original comment and its many replies, but my attention caught on a newly-posted video. The thumbnail was of Laurence, selfie-style, sitting in one of those reclining movie theater seats.

  Against my better judgment, I clicked on it.

  “Welcome to our amazing viewers!” his grinning face said. “I’m Ted Laurence . . .”

  He waited a beat, but there was no response from Joanna, who sat reclined in the seat next to him, her focus on her phone. He nudged her, and she looked up, said, “Oh, I’m Joanna March,” and went right back to glaring at her phone.

  “And you’re watching . . .” Laurence went on, but Joanna didn’t chime in. Finally, after an awkward beat, he gave up and finished by himself. “JoJo Plus Teddy Equals BFF Forevah. She makes me say that. We’re here at Concord Crossings Cinema, ready to take in the latest in the Serenity series, Sword of Serenity. We’ll bring you our spoiler-free review later this week, but first we’re going to make some predictions. If you haven’t seen it yet, feel free to post your predictions in the comments below.”

  “No spoilers, though,” a pretty, dark-haired girl sitting on Laurence’s other side requested, as she leaned in to fill more of the screen with her heart-shaped face.

  “Right,” Laurence agreed. “No spoilers. If you post spoilers, we’ll delete your comment and block you because spoilers are uncool. Predictions only.” He tilted the camera more to the right toward the dark-haired girl, and another girl, a redhead, appeared next to her.

  “Oh,” the other girl said, waving. “Hi, Ted and Joanna’s fans.”

  “You guys know Joanna’s sister Megan,” Laurence announced from behind the camera as the girl next to him waved. “And this is Megan’s friend Sallie, who you might remember from a certain hair video we made a while back.” The redhead laughed and blew kisses. “Ladies, what are your predictions as to how the Serenity saga will end?”

  Sallie leaned forward and started in on her ideas, but I wasn’t interested. I ran my cursor across the time bar on the bottom to see where the next four minutes would take us. With about a minute left, the thumbnail changed back to a selfie of Laurence with Joanna next to him. I clicked so the video would skip Sallie and Megan and get right to that point.

  “And finally,” Laurence said, “Joanna, how do you think writer/director Sam Cameron will choose to end this franchise?”

  He waited, but she didn’t answer. She kept glaring at her phone and thumbing away at what I assumed was the keypad. He nudged her, and she looked up.

  “What?” She took in his outstretched arm and the camera. Her eyes narrowed in either confusion or irritation. “Are you filming? Why?”

  “Predictions to go with our review. Remember?”

  “Oh. Um . . .” She shook her head. “Turn it off for a sec. You have to see what this guy wrote me.”

  The lights dimmed then, and Laurence pulled the camera close. “Looks like we’re out of time, guys,” he said, his raspy voice a mock whisper. “Previews are starting. I’m going to sign off here and upload this while we watch.” A couple of giggles sounded from off right of the camera as the screen went black.

  Just before the lights dimmed, I caught a glimpse of Joanna’s expression. Her lips were pinched together, her eyebrows furrowed. Her nose wrinkled a little, which was adorable.

  I’d definitely gotten to her.

  Now, I had to get back to my edits. I had way too much to do to get sucked into a YouTuber feud.

  I still had to upload some of the establishing shots I’d taken and add them to their designated spots. That would be quick, easy, and painless. Then I could cross three things off my list, work on the application for twenty minutes or so, and veg out in front of a movie, leaving things that required actual creativity for tomorrow.

  I hooked up my video camera to my computer and switched it on, then wiggled the mouse to wake up my computer. I waited for the upload prompt to appear.

  Nothing happened.

  I checked the camera for the green light that indicated it was powered on. Finding nothing, I pressed the on button again. Nothing.

  The battery must have died, even though I specifically remembered charging it before heading to the mall to get the establishing shots this morning. I needed to get better about double-checking that I turned my electronics off when I was done using them. That had burned me a few times in the past.

  I opened my bottom desk drawer and reached for my camera bag. I pulled the jumbled power cord out and hooked it up to the camera without bothering to untangle the mess. I leaned over to plug it in to my power strip.

  The green charging indicator went on immediately.

  That was odd. If it was charged enough to read green rather than orange or red, it should have turned on without being plugged in.

  I pushed the on button again.

  Nothing.

  My heart sank to my stomach.

  Three more increasingly-frantic attempts confirmed my worst fears—my camera wouldn’t turn on. The last time something similar had happened, I’d had to take it apart, pull the battery out, and put it back in before it would start again.


  I groaned and rubbed my tired eyes. Forget knocking a few easy things off my to-do list and relaxing. I was in for a long night of how-to fix-it tutorials.

  7

  JOANNA

  “WOULD YOU LET IT GO already?” Ted asked three hours later, as he and Megan followed me into our house. “His dumb opinion isn’t worth starting a comment war over.”

  “They’re private messages, not comments.”

  “Yeah, but he could screenshot them and share them with the world. So don’t say anything hot-headed or snarky.”

  I heard stomping and looked up to see my sister and Ted knocking snow off their boots and removing them at the mat by our front door, belatedly realizing I’d crossed the room and sat down in my mom’s comfy easy chair while still fully geared up for winter, having left a trail of snowy footprints across the living room carpet. I’d been so engrossed in the message thread on my phone that I hadn’t taken in much going on around me since the first notification from Angry Scruffy Bench Guy had dinged at me.

  I honestly didn’t remember much of the movie I’d been looking forward to for so long, which made his comments even more annoying. He’d ruined Sword of Serenity for me.

  Bethany paused the Hallmark Christmas movie marathon she was still binge-watching. It looked like she hadn’t moved much since we’d left, although she did have Cider, our calico cat, snuggled into her side and two of Cider’s kittens (Grayface and Orange Paw, as I referred to them) on her lap, so you couldn’t blame her for staying put under all that fluffy cuteness.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, worry clouding her eyes. She reached up and twirled her side braid around her finger.

  “It’s nothing.” I tried to relax my body language. Bethany is the sweetest person in the world, but she worries every time anybody is less than content. I hate upsetting her. She takes on the world’s problems like it’s her responsibility to endure them for everyone else. “Just this annoying guy we met the other day at Concord Crossings.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s why you should never go to the mall in December. Too many people. Half of them are crazy. I told you.”

  Megan hung her coat on the coatrack and flopped down next to Bethany on the couch. She scratched Cider between her ears and leaned in toward our sister.

  “I think Joanna has a crush on this guy.”

  “What? No way!” I protested way too quickly.

  Megan pointed at me and let out a screech. “See! She does like him! Like like likes him.” She grinned smugly at me and sat back to give Cider another pet. “That’s why she keeps messaging him!”

  “I do not like him. He’s majorly obnoxious.” I felt my neck and face warming and hoped the high collar of my winter jacket would mask my body’s betrayal. I’d made the mistake of picturing his beautiful brown eyes. But beautiful brown eyes or not, he’d still called Ted and me dummkopfs and our channel drivel. So no, I did not like like him. I didn’t even just plain like him. “You should have seen how rude he was at the mall the other day.”

  “Here, look,” Megan went on, as if I hadn’t just set them all straight. She took her own phone out of her pocket and her thumbs started flying over the keypad. “He’s this serious journalist, but you can tell by his smile that he’s got a playful side. Totally Joanna’s type.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ted said as he lowered himself to the floor and sprawled out on his stomach on the cushy carpet. “Joanna doesn’t have a type, remember? Guys are—”

  “A total waste of time,” Bethany and Megan chorused with him. “Especially in high school where your self-worth should be based on much more than insignificant things like prom dates and social circles.”

  I might have been known to say that a lot. But in my defense, it’s true. There’s way more to high school than dating. I most definitely wanted no part in that useless scene. Megs had dated a couple of guys over the years, and it always ended in drama and tears. Pass, thank you very much.

  “Is he cute?” Bethany asked, leaning over Cider and the kittens to get a better look at the screen now that Megan held it out.

  Megs shrugged. “Meh.”

  Meh? Meh? Angry Scruffy Bench Guy was way better than “meh.” But there was no way I was admitting that, and Megan wouldn’t agree anyway because she was into clean-cut, popular jocks who showed off their biceps, not messy-haired guys bringing back the alternative/grunge look.

  “Oh, I know that guy,” Bethany said.

  “What?” I exclaimed. There was no way my sweet sister had crossed paths with Angry Scruffy Bench Guy.

  “I mean, I don’t know him personally,” she amended. “But I saw him around the hospital a few weeks ago. He was doing a story about Shanna in the NICU. He wanted to interview me about volunteering, but I said no way.”

  “He’s just jealous anyway,” Ted said. “He’s barely over the 150K subscriber mark. The only way he’s ever getting a Gold Play Button is farming Likes and buying subs. His channel’s a bunch of boring documentaries.”

  “The one about Shanna was interesting,” Bethany said.

  “Of course, you think that. You know Shanna,” Ted pointed out.

  Plus, Bethany doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She always sees the good in people. She would watch the Bhaerly Believable welcome video and say he had good stage presence or a nice smile. Not that I’d noticed his stage presence or the dimple that appeared in his left cheek when he smiled. But they were things my overly-kind sister would notice.

  Mya walked through the living room from the kitchen, a bowl of potato chips in one hand and a soda can in the other.

  “What are you guys doing?” she asked. Mya’s never met a conversation she hasn’t butted her unwelcome nose in on.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, but Megan had already started speaking.

  “Showing Bethany the guy Joanna likes.”

  Mya pulled a confused face. “But there’s more to high school than prom dates and social circles.” When the others had quoted me, it was obviously done in good-natured fun. When Mya did it, she made me sound like some sort of self-righteous prude.

  I, literally, had to bite my tongue to stop myself from snapping at her to shut up. Controlling a temper as fierce as mine wasn’t easy.

  Mya sat down on the couch on the other side of Bethany. She reached over and pulled the Grayface kitten into her lap, which was beyond rude because Bethany had been the one snuggling with him. Bethany, of course, didn’t protest because she’s nice like that.

  “Well, this is a fascinating conversation and all,” I said, standing up. “But we have a movie to finish for the Lights, Camera, Vance! competition. Come on, Ted.”

  “But I’m comfortable,” he said from the floor.

  I nudged his shoulder with my toe as I walked by, and he stirred, then staggered to his feet.

  We climbed both sets of stairs to the attic. I’d wasted way too much of my time and energy on Angry Scruffy Bench Guy for one day. Or forever. I didn’t have it in me to tackle the audio-synch scene, but it was time to finally choose a piece of music for the ending credits. Even Ted, Mr. Procrastination, couldn’t object to a couple of hours of thumbing through music snippets.

  I grabbed my laptop and flopped onto the couch. Ted followed, grabbing the pillow and setting it on my leg before settling in. The music of Fortnite sounded even before I could type in the URL to my favorite royalty-free music site.

  “Mute it, please,” I requested. Ted immediately complied.

  “Are you working on Megan’s voice matching up with her mouth?”

  I looked up. Mya had, once again, followed us.

  “No, we’re doing music. And you’re not invited. It’s private.”

  “But I want to watch you work,” she said, this big, giddy smile on her face.

  “You have. Almost the entire break.”

  “You were so close, though. I want to see how the scene turns out.”

  I had no idea why she was so adamant about watching me work.
Didn’t she have a drawing to sketch, or friends to text, or a nose to obsess over?

  “I guess I should take another look at the scene,” I said.

  I minimized the web browser and logged into Wrap Up Pro, the online subscription we had to Vance Sanders’s movie-making software. Since I hadn’t closed out and backed everything up earlier, I expected the timeline screen to appear exactly as I’d left it. What I saw was the main screen asking for my login name and password.

  “Weird,” I muttered. It didn’t usually log me out on its own. I clicked on the first box, and it auto-filled with my info, then I hit enter. It circled for a few seconds, then brought up . . . a blank “My Files” folder. “What? Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” Ted asked absentmindedly, his thumbs firing away in his banana-head avatar’s battle.

  “The movie. It’s gone.”

  “Karma,” Mya said in a singsong voice, throwing a smirk my way. Then she turned, tossed a hunk of blond curls over her shoulder, and bounded down the stairs, seeming quite pleased with herself for some reason.

  “There’s no such thing as karma!” I shouted after her.

  At least she was gone and I could hunt down my file in peace. But not only was the working file gone, my entire dashboard screen was blank.

  And then it all made sense.

  “No. No, no, no.”

  I looked over and locked eyes with Ted. His forehead wrinkled in concern as he sat up and set down his phone, his banana-head guy mid-fight.

  “What?”

  Fire ignited inside me. I jumped to my feet so fast I saw stars and had to catch the laptop before it slid to the ground. Anger burned from my chest to my brain as I worked it all out.

  “She deleted it.”

  All of today’s work had gone down the drain. Hours of playing back Megan’s audio and trying to get it to line up with the many different shots we had.