My Life Uploaded

by Rae Earl

  Anyway, I should just get over myself and ask for more advice.

  “Yeah. You should … ask … or talk or … whatever you think is the right thing, Mills.” Lauren seems distracted. “Sorry!” She sounds embarrassed. “I’m looking at the Instagram photo of the Canadian bottom again.”

  I’m still a bit uncomfortable with it. I would hate it if someone did that to me, but I just have a quick look. It is fabulous. It’s a really tremendous view of someone’s back. Since I commented on it, it’s got loads of likes and more comments, including—

  “Lauren. LOOK at the comments!” We’re late for history now, but I am FULL of rage. We read it together.

  I hope @LeanneP asked permission from @DannyTruds before posting this #Creepy

  It’s from Erin.

  She’s also replied to my comment about Canada with the embarrassed monkey emoji. Maybe my Danny love wasn’t so subtle after all.

  Lauren points to the phone and says every word in slow motion. “Can you EVEN believe the total hypocrite, two-facedness of it? After what she did to you with the exercise bike … She really is a major piece of work.”

  I know the real reason why Erin is acting like Miss Moral Social Media. Hot boys unofficially belong to her till she says otherwise. And she has to be the first to know all the gossip. Still, we’ve been warned.… I explain this to Lauren, and she looks really impressed.

  “You are basically a psychologist, Millie,” she says. “You just need to do a vlog that’s actually good and doesn’t make you sound like a seven-year-old that’s just got hold of his mum’s phone while she’s hanging out the washing.”

  I death-stare Lauren.

  “It’s a compliment. Sort of,” she says.

  #FakeFeminism

  I am not wise. I’m certainly not brave. If I like Danny, I shouldn’t let Erin stop me from trying to get to know him. I should be asking for his number, not writing messages about Canada.

  And that’s pathetic, isn’t it? I am completely changing what I do just so she’ll ignore me. That’s not wise. It’s dumb.

  I think about all this during history and miss some key points about World War I. This makes me feel completely guilty, because clearly it was totally dreadful and really mattered.

  The end-of-school bell charges me out of a total spiral of worry. Lauren rushes over to me, brandishing her phone with a face of total fury. “LOOK! HOW. Does. SHE. Do. It?!”

  I look. There for all to see and already with thirty-two likes is a selfie of Erin and Danny. It’s a fantastic aerial shot. She’s obviously used her selfie stick and her phone cover with backlighting. The filter makes them even better-looking than normal.

  Erin has captioned the picture:

  Welcome to @DannyTruds from Ontario #NewBoy Thank you, Danny, for letting me post this cute selfie! And let me tell you all, my new BBF (Best Boy Friend, before you ask) is a keeper;) Remember, girls, #StrongMen like #StrongWomen, and don’t be too shy to make a boy your friend #Feminism

  “Can you even believe it?” Lauren says. “The truth is, no one has been more evil to you or to me than Erin Breeler. If being a feminist means you are nice to all women, then she is not one.”

  I don’t think feminism means that. It means we as females believe we are entitled to be treated equally and ought to have the same opportunities as men. And that we should not be judged completely on our looks.

  Lauren has a different point of view. “Well, I think it should be about being nice to women. And if it’s about not being judged JUST on how we look, then I am not taking anything from a woman who has an Instagram account about how pretty she is!”

  Lauren does have a point there, but Erin has SLAIN us on this one. She bags Mr. Beautiful Boy AND gets to sound like a cool and independent woman who doesn’t look at secret photos of men’s bums and is great at life advice.

  “One good thing,” Lauren shouts excitedly, “is that it’s completely fine to stare at his photo now. Danny Trudeau. He sounds like an amazing brand of car tire that would never let you down in any sort of terrain! He’s way out of our league, Millie.”

  Lauren is right, but this makes me cross. “Why is he? We’re attractive, funny, clever, modern women. He’d be lucky to go out with either of us.”

  I don’t believe this, but as Aunty Teresa says, fake it till you make it.

  “Yes, Millie.” Lauren rolls her eyes. “There is no doubt in my mind that you’re going to end up married to him.”

  This is Erin’s fault. She makes Lauren sarcastic and me either frightened or ridiculous.

  Lauren doesn’t need to say it. We all know who he’ll end up going out with. Erin might be pretending that she’s got a new guy friend, but we know her game. No way is she letting him out of her sight now. She’ll share the picture of their first official coffee, their first time at the cinema, and the first lovely photo of them under a really nice tree with lots of dramatic branches. That’s real life. That’s how it works. We’ll get to see their entire annoying love affair all in the Valencia or Hefe filters. And of course I’m going to look. I know I shouldn’t, but I will.

  And yes, MASSIVE jealousy face. Jealousy and annoyance at horrible girls snogging lovely boys IS common sense and right and would probably be approved by any sensible leader of any sensible country.

  #Shook

  When I get home from school, both Mum and Gary are waiting for me in the front room. I give MUM a hug. She looks at me with one of her eyebrows firmly planted on the ceiling and says, “Hello, Millie. Next time you come around, can you make sure I’m there? It would be lovely to actually speak to you.”

  I’m rumbled. “How did you know I was there?”

  “Gary sensed a disturbance.” Mum looks annoyed, and Gary looks distressed. “He felt there was something slightly out of place … and you accidentally locked the robot vacuum in your room when you left and closed the door behind you. It was going berserk. Like a trapped dog. Gary was very concerned.”

  Gary says seriously, “His little motor was a bit scorched, but he had a little rest and everything is okay.”

  I think I am meant to be relieved at this. The truth is, McWhirter is one of the few things in the world I am not worried about.

  Betrayed by McWhirter. Lauren wasn’t paranoid—she was right. That hoover has totally got it in for us. Mum carries on. She sounds hurt, too.

  “Why did you come around when we were both out? Come on, Millie! I know you. I know it wouldn’t have been for something stupid, but … have things got so bad that you can’t see me? What did you want to hide from me?”

  What do I say? It was for something Mum would never understand and she wouldn’t even want to try to understand. She’d be furious if I told her about the vlog.

  I say, “Oh, I’d just forgotten my … onesie. It’s really cold here, Mum. They don’t really—”

  “I know!” Mum interrupts. “You can come home, you know. Your dad’s a good man, but he lives in a way that’s very different from what you’re used to. You make good choices, Millie. And choices are what LIFE is all about. You need to make thoughtful and considered ch—”

  Mum is disturbed midsentence by the sound of a mad car honking. We rush to the front door, and pulling into the drive is a very battered and old ice-cream truck. Teresa leans her head out of the driver’s window and starts shouting, “I am Mrs. Whippy! Hear me ROAR.

  “It’s the greatest idea ever!” she yells. “I just need to get the fridges fixed, the motor tweaked a bit, and the thing that plays the tune installed, but I don’t really need that—I can just shout ‘ICE CREAM!’ out the window. I mean, at the moment, it can only go about five miles per hour, but you don’t need to go that fast when you’re an ice-cream truck anyway, do you? I’m sure people won’t mind waiting behind me. Everyone loves ice cream. Also, it’s the greatest way ever to meet guys!”

  At this point, Teresa finally spots my mum and Gary. “Oh, hello! How are you? Fancy sponsoring me? Seriously, this is a cast-iron b
usiness opportunity. This is a family business that can be passed down through generations!”

  Mum doesn’t reply to Teresa. She just looks at me and says sternly, “Choices. Decisions, Millie.”

  Mum can always find things to prove her point. They land in her lap. Even bad old ice-cream vans.

  “Anyway,” Mum continues. “Look. You’re welcome at the house anytime, and, Millie—you can tell me anything. You know that. That’s how we work, you and me. Honesty. You normally make the right decisions. Please try to keep on doing that.”

  Gary starts violently sneezing and says, “Can we go? This place is terrible for my allergies. And yes, Rachel, I’ve had a squirt of my nasal spray, but even that can’t perform miracles.”

  Mum gives Teresa a hug and says, “When you get it going properly, give me a call.” Mum knows Teresa never will, but Mum isn’t nasty. She’s ace. Really annoyingly ace and sensible—just living with a man who knows I was cruel to his hoover. He will never forgive me and will probably report me to the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Vacuum Cleaners.

  Mum then gives me one of those hugs that I never want to end. But it does end, and she goes back to my house. Her house. Gary’s house. Probably just McWhirter’s house. It doesn’t matter. It makes me feel like I want to put a duvet over my head and eat biscuits.

  I leave Teresa and Dad downstairs to plan their gourmet ice-cream van business and lie on my bed. Erin now has over five hundred likes for her photo. It is perfect. Danny is perfect. The comments say stuff like:

  Gorgeous!

  Your attitude is so inspiring ☺

  A true #Feminist #Warrior

  I mean, WHAT?! These people don’t really know Erin. They see her photos and think she is beautiful inside and out, but she’s …

  The fact is, I am jealous. And actually, there is a lot to learn from Erin. She takes what she does online really seriously. She plans it and filters it and takes every photo a hundred times and writes things that people love. Things that she KNOWS people will love. I can’t do that because I haven’t got her arch-nemesis-brain of evil genius, but I can take what I need to do seriously.

  That’s what I need to do.

  I message Lauren.

  Lauren. When we do this vlog, we are doing it RIGHT.

  She messages me back with:

  Learn from Bradley, Mills. He’s a genius with it all.

  She is right. The Emperor of Escalators is the key to my success.

  #Butterflies

  Saturday morning comes around and I’m feeling really nervous. The weird thing is, it’s like a date sort of nervous. When I went out with Dylan Anthony, I used to feel like this. I was worried about kissing wrong and garlic breath. But none of that matters with Bradley. He’s a sweet guy, but I don’t like him like him. And as for Danny? No chance. I need to tell my head that.…

  Dear Brain,

  Just because there is now no chance of you going out with Danny, it does not mean that there will be tongues with Bradley Sanderson. It’s just going to be escalators and vlogging advice. Get over yourself. He’s got a girlfriend. Stop getting in a tizz. Stop creating a spiral of total doom and—

  “Where are you going, and why are you talking to yourself?” Granddad stops me by the front door. His fingernails are full of mud.

  “I’m meeting my new friend Bradley.” I tell him the truth. I don’t want to, though, as I know where it will lead.

  “Oh!” Granddad is teasing me now. He winks and does a tiny jump. Actually, it’s more of a raise of his heels. That’s all he can manage. “A young man? Is this your boyfriend?”

  Why do girls always have to go through this with family members whenever they mention a male?

  “He’s JUST a friend!”

  “Of course he is!” Granddad does his annoying wry smile.

  “You realize you can actually be friends with a boy, Granddad? Just friends. You don’t have to marry them. You can just meet them and chat!”

  Granddad harrumphs. The problem is, I do sound a bit lame. A boy is teaching me how to do stuff. I’m not particularly happy about this, and I’m certainly not letting Granddad know that. He still believes that men are the best natural teachers. He tells his own doctor what is wrong with him before she can explain. And he calls her “nurse,” even though she is a doctor.

  But he’s letting me live in his house and use his shed, so I just smile and leave. This is not fighting for equality, but it is sensible.

  That word again. Sorry. I can’t help it.

  ARGH! Why am I so nervous?

  #LoveLifts

  When I eventually find Bradley Sanderson in the shopping mall, he is standing inside a lift with his phone pointed at the control panel. It’s lunchtime on a Saturday. The place is busy. A mum is trying to wheel her stroller in, but Bradley doesn’t notice her. It’s like he’s totally in a world of his own.

  He eventually sees me waiting outside the lift and says, “The first thing you need for successful vlogging, Millie, is focus. Focus. Ignore everyone else around you. They are irrelevant to your key mission.”

  “That’s all very well,” says the lady with the stroller, “but Oliver and I need to get to the florist’s on the first floor.”

  Bradley scowls at her, presses a button, and whips out through the doors just before they close.

  “People who use these lifts don’t understand the beauty of them—the thought that has gone into all the engineering. They just use them to go up or down. It makes me cross. Anyway, YOU. I’ve been thinking about your vlog. Shall we go and have a coffee?”

  This is really sweet. Bradley has been thinking about me and actually wants to talk to me properly. I get the feeling that he doesn’t think about people in general very much. I feel a bit … honored.

  “Planning, Millie Porter!” Bradley continues once we’ve got a chai latte (me) and a green tea (Bradley). I insist on paying. It’s the twenty-first century, and this is NOT a date. “You want to bring something to your audience that they need to hear or haven’t heard before. Something different. Don’t assume that you are the only one that feels something. I used to be embarrassed about liking lifts, but then I found out that all over the world there were lift lovers like me. And if it’s not hurting anyone, then it’s FINE. What advice exactly do YOU want to give?”

  “I want to help people. I want to put this boring brain of mine to good use for a change but not be boring with it. But. Yeah. I do. I want to help people who feel … BAD. I’ve been finding it a bit hard with my mum’s new boyfriend and my best friend is having all sorts of trouble with her parents.”

  I feel stupid saying all this, especially to a nerdy boy in ninth grade, but it’s true.

  Bradley seems to speak more softly. It’s like he’s starting to care … a bit.

  “Well, you need to THINK about what you are going to say, then. You have to find a way to be different. To stand out.”

  “What about how it looks?” I ask.

  Bradley stares at me through his glasses. “Shock! Horror!” he says. “That doesn’t matter as much as what you say.”

  “It does to girls.” I feel dreadful saying this, but I have a terrible feeling that it might be true.

  “I don’t know about girls. Not many women are into lifts.”

  “Don’t be sexist, Bradley.” I snap at him a bit.

  “It’s not sexist, Millie. It’s actual fact. And anyway, you just said girls are basically only interested in how things look! That’s definitely sexist.”

  There’s a bit of a pause. I fiddle with my sugar wrapper.

  Then Bradley rather casually says, “I actually think Hashtag Help is an okay idea. I’m not too keen on the name. It’s a bit … try-hard cute. I don’t do cute. But I reckon you could find an audience if you keep it down-to-earth. To be honest, there are times when I would watch a vlog like that.”

  I’m surprised Bradley is admitting this. “I didn’t ever think you would need something like that.” Th
is is rather a massive lie. Sometimes massive lies are good.

  Bradley knows I’m just being nice. “It’s not easy being me. I might have thousands of subscribers and my own channel, but it can’t have escaped your notice, Millie, that I don’t really fit in at school.”

  I don’t know what to say here. It’s very true, and I can’t pretend it’s not.

  An “Um. Well…” is all I can manage.

  “It’s like my vlogs: I edit out all the people calling me ‘weirdo’ and ‘geek’ and ‘lift lover’ and the bits when I get pushed out of the way.”

  Bradley looks really sad at this point. I start to feel a bit bad for the number of times Lauren and I have laughed at him.

  I don’t really know what to say, but Bradley saves me by talking about my vlog again.

  “Your vlog could be useful. It would be good to be able to ask someone who is a real person AND who is the same age and not get a massive lecture about what I should and shouldn’t do. Anonymously, naturally. I don’t want to be talked about. Or talked about in the bad way.” He’s smiling at me as he says this.

  The bad way, of course, is people saying you aren’t a hottie or that you’re weird or a freak. If I’m going to be honest, I doubt anyone talks much about Bradley at all, and if they do, I doubt it’s in a good way. Which is bad really, because when you spend time with him, you realize he’s actually … sort of … kind, I suppose. I’m dreading asking the next question, but I know I have to.

  “Did you see the cat vlog Lauren and I did?”

  “Yeah.” Bradley scrunches his face up.

  “Thoughts?”

  “It was fun,” Bradley says. His face is still scrunched up.

  “And…?” I ask.

  “Okay, Millie. I’m going to be straight with you.” He unscrunches his face a tiny bit. “It was fun … and that’s it. It was a laugh. But everybody is sort of over that, Millie. Cats were big about three years ago. And anyway, that kind of content isn’t real life. It’s like a perfect edited piece of it. Cats are just dull most of the time, but if you believed what you saw online, you would think everyone had a perfect, ugly, trampolining pet. Did you know some really popular vloggers and Instagrammers are quitting because it’s got too fake? You can start living your life to fit the vlog. Everything becomes about online. And really good life and lifts can pass you by. I ignored a paternoster once because I didn’t think people on the vlog would be interested. I regret it now.”