Definitely Daphne

by Tami Charles

  Me: Just uploaded my first vlog. It’s public, so hurry up and watch. Eeep!

  I wait a few minutes, hoping that she’s up reading and will text me back. But she doesn’t.

  UGH!

  11

  Busted!

  When I wake up the next morning, there are parts of me hurting that I never even knew could hurt. Really, my toenails? Getting dressed is a slow and painful process. Even chewing my breakfast hurts.

  Dad screams, “You’re going to be late, Annabelle! And I have a train to catch. Let’s go!”

  I shuffle to grab my school things, and then we zoom out the door and hit the road.

  I get to homeroom with just a minute to spare.

  “Why are you walking like that?” Rachael asks.

  “Oh, no reason.” But on the inside I’m saying, “BECAUSE SPORTS DAY NEARLY KILLED ME!”

  We’re not allowed to have cell phones in class, but today I break the rules because Mae still hasn’t texted me back and I’m dying to know what she thinks of my vlog.

  Third period, I have computer class. The class size is pretty large, and when the teacher isn’t looking, I check my phone.

  Mae: So sorry for the late reply. Nasty cold. Fever all night. But I just watched your video, and HOLY MOLY 46 views? I thought you were keeping it private?

  I feel like screaming through the phone: HELLO! I left it public for you, but you took too long and now how many people have seen it????

  Forty-six views? Every organ in my digestive system seems to squeeze into one giant mass.

  Mrs. Gironda starts her lesson on Microsoft Excel, which is a joke because I already know it. Comes with the territory when your dad is a tech genius.

  I don’t have time to listen to this. I need to log into my YouTube account ASAP and change the privacy setting. We’re not allowed to go on YouTube or any social media during class, so I have to do it from my phone… which I’m not supposed to have. I click on the link, go to my channel, and see that I no longer have 46 views. I have 98!!!!! And there are comments:

  CousinHilary1996: This is hilarious!

  ItsACaliThing: Omg I hate sports too!

  BossGirl13: When will you post your next vlog?

  I need a towel to wipe the sweat off my hands… and EVERY SINGLE PART OF ME!

  How could this happen? I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel right now. Upset? Proud?

  I smell Mrs. Gironda before she even speaks. Mentholated cough drops with a dash of vanilla-scented perfume.

  “Annabelle Louis? Please tell me you’re not playing on your phone in class.”

  BUSTED!

  “I’m sorry. I was just putting it away.”

  “Rules are rules, young lady. Hand it over.”

  The whole class is staring at me now. John shakes his head as if to say, “Just give in.”

  I hand my phone to Mrs. Gironda.

  “You can have it back at the end of the day.”

  I decide that I will just go to my locker to grab my MacBook during lunch. Then I can make my account private.

  The bell rings, and I hurry to my locker. That’s when I realize I LEFT MY MACBOOK AT HOME! And I can’t even log into my account on someone else’s phone because I don’t remember the password. Because it’s saved on my phone! And my laptop!

  It’s official. MY LIFE IS RUINED!

  After I eat my lunch, Navdeep, Clairna, John, and I go outside for some fresh air. Navdeep pulls out his phone and starts taking Snapchat pictures.

  Clairna’s phone beeps with a notification. She checks it and starts giggling.

  “What’s so funny?” John asks.

  “YouTube always sends alerts of new videos that they recommend for me. I’ve never heard of this channel, but check it out.”

  I’m standing next to John when she hands him the phone.

  And drumroll, please…

  I see myself pop up on the screen, and I ALMOST DIE!

  “Isn’t that funny?” John asks, cracking up. He doesn’t even flinch when he sees my face and then Daphne’s.

  In fact, none of them do. They don’t recognize that it’s me… At. All. The disguises and the accent worked. But still, my insides flip-flop around and I feel my face get hot. I have to hurry up and get my phone back before this goes any further.

  Later on, when the dismissal bell rings, I zip to Mrs. Gironda’s room. The door is locked, and there’s a sign on it:

  SICK—WENT HOME EARLY!

  This has to be a cruel joke. Kids are walking down the hall. I see them on their phones, hear my British accent coming from their speakers.

  “This Daphne chick needs to make another video.” A kid passes by and looks at me as he says this.

  Instinctively, both of my hands rise to cover my face. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? Five billion videos on YouTube and they find mine?

  I process that for a second. If they knew it was me, Annabelle Louis, in the video, would they still feel the same way about me? Would that make things better? I don’t have time to figure any of that out because it’s getting late, and I know Mom is waiting for me outside.

  When I get home, I race down to the basement, swing open the door to my girl cave, and open my MacBook. Right away, I get a FaceTime from Mae.

  “Oh my goodness, go to your channel right now.” Her voice is all business.

  When I get to YouTube, I can’t believe my eyes.

  “Annabelle?” Mae asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you dying?”

  That’s when I let out the loudest “yes” ever. I’m screaming, then Mae starts screaming, then Mom is flying down the stairs to ask what’s wrong with me. When she sees me and Mae looking happy, she starts screaming too.

  “What are we screaming about?” Mom starts laughing.

  I show her my video, which she still hasn’t seen.

  The guys from DudePerfect shared my video with the comment, “THIS IS PERFECT!”

  And now it has gone from 98 views to 453 views in not even a couple of hours! It’s been shared 17 times, and I have 28 subscribers. As in actual people who want to see more of my videos.

  “Hi, Mrs. Louis.” Mae waves from the computer. “Do you see our popular girl, Daphne?”

  “Mae, I love it!” Mom says. “And the comments are great. I’m going to call Dr. Varma right now and share the good news.”

  Mom calls her on speakerphone. “Dr. Varma,” she says when the doctor picks up. “Annabelle, Mae, and me here. Have you heard the news?”

  “Yes, I see Annabelle’s video is doing very well!” Dr. Varma says. “Annabelle, I thought you were going to keep it private?”

  Mae chimes in, “I say you keep this going. A share from DudePerfect is, well, perfect. Just look at the views now!”

  Not even five minutes have gone by, and I’m up to 506 views, 21 shares, and 30 subscribers.

  And there’s a new comment: “Are there more videos on this channel?”

  I’m nervous but excited. Does that make sense?

  Dr. Varma says, “Why don’t you think on it a bit if you want to close public access? It’s better if this decision is all your own.”

  I tell everyone I have to sleep on all of this. My fingers itch to do what I do best — make myself invisible and click private. But something inside me says, “Keep going.”

  12

  Daphne On the Rise

  1,203 views. 43 shares. 52 subscribers. This. Is. WILD! And what’s even crazier are the comments:

  SportBarbie: DudePerfect sent me here. This is HILARIOUS!

  Sebas125: The only sport I like is sleeping.

  DynoMight: I need more videos. We hate the same stuff.

  ThunderDownUnder1: Do another video and
make it about school lunch!

  MaeFromTheUK: That’s my girl, “Daphne!”

  These people actually want to see more of ME? I mean Daphne! I think that “private” button might have to wait. Eeep!

  13

  Breaking the Rules

  “I see you took matters in your own hands and didn’t name the vlog Daphne Does It All. You’re a take-charge kind of girl,” Dr. Varma says.

  “Thank you… I think?”

  “And you have yet to make it private?” she asks.

  “I’m up to 1,203 views, and that’s just for the sports video. I posted a quick school lunch video right before I came here, and it’s already gotten 736 views. Every time I tell myself to click private, something stops me.”

  “And tell me, is anything different at school? Is it still this awful place that you want to drop out of?”

  “Well, not exactly. I met a few people. Like Rachael. She’s really popular, but she barely knows I exist. And then there’s John — he’s funny. And Clairna and Navdeep are pretty cool too. I eat lunch with them.”

  “It sounds like you’re finding your way at McManus.”

  I guess I am. It’s only been two weeks. I’ve made three friends. Got in trouble once. But Mrs. Gironda got over it and gave my phone back.

  “I was thinking about something. The videos are great, but I’m not convinced you fully accomplished the goal,” Dr. Varma says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your videos are becoming a hit,” Dr. Varma says. “But I was thinking that we should find something you do like to do. Any ideas on what the next topic could be?”

  I’m clueless, but it doesn’t matter because Dr. Varma is already pulling up the McManus webpage on her tablet.

  I can already tell where this is going.

  “I think I found the perfect activity for you, Annabelle!”

  Note to self: must find a way to hack McManus’s website and prevent doctor access.

  Dr. Varma moves to my couch so we can see it together.

  And there it is:

  Audition for the Drama Department’s Fall Play:

  Little Shop of Horrors!

  Monday, October 1 at 3:30 p.m.

  No need to have anything prepared. Come as you are!

  Dr. Varma flips one arm to her side and does spirit fingers. “Didn’t you say this was your favorite movie? Oh this will be perfect! I can see it now: ‘Daphne Does Drama.’”

  How about… Daphne definitely does NOT?

  14

  Same Nightmare

  Being famous isn’t easy. I ride up to the entrance of McManus Middle School in my limo. Beyoncé’s “Run the World (Girls)” is blasting through the speakers. Crowds are gathered around my limo, cameras out, ready to take selfies with me — star of the newest hit YouTube vlog, Daphne Doesn’t. I apply an extra coat of Bubble Gum Smash lip gloss and run a brush through my long, straight hair. My chauffeur, also known as Dad, gets out of the driver’s seat, comes around, and opens my door. And the fans go WILD! Lights are flashing. Kids are shouting:

  “Can I have your autograph, Daphne?”

  “You’re so cool!”

  “Sit at my table at lunch, please?”

  “But of course!” I say in my best British accent. The girls are crying. The boys are drooling. And I am loving every. Single. Second.

  Clouds begin to move in, blocking the sun. A loud crack echoes across the sky. The rain comes down in sheets. My perfectly straight hair gets drenched, my trendy, straight-off-the-runway outfit morphs into my typical: shabby chic. Everyone is laughing, snorting, pointing — you know how this goes. Next comes the evil witch laughter sound effect, followed by a piercing scream.

  AHHHHH!

  My alarm goes off. Dream over. Back to being Annabelle Louis, the Air Force brat from Germany. I jolt upright, see myself in my dresser mirror, and yep, it’s still me. Same hair. Same clothes. Same living nightmare.

  15

  Hot Stuff

  Welcome to the never-ending comedy-horror movie that is my life.

  Here I am dragging myself to tryouts after school for Little Shop of Horrors. The title is fitting — middle school really is a place of horror.

  When I get to the auditorium, the drama director, Mr. Davis, is passing out scripts. I take one and go wayyyy in the back of the auditorium to sit — the very last row. In theory, this all sounds easy. Read a few lines. Do a couple of simple dances. Sing a tune.

  John finds me in the back of the auditorium and rushes my way. Sometimes I wonder if he has sniff detectors the way he always seems to find me. “What happened to the cow who auditioned for the play?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “He got mooed off stage.” John laughs, and I can’t help but do the same.

  Mr. Davis rings a bell to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, please take a seat in the first couple of rows. We are about to get started with our auditions!”

  I let out a sigh and trail behind John to the front. And by trail, I mean shoulders caved, feet slow-dragging against the floor, praying no one is looking at me. Meanwhile John is skipping and snapping down the aisle, to which Mr. Davis cheerfully says, “That’s the spirit!”

  He calls the boys up to the stage first. He reviews some “simple” dance moves. Four grapevines, four turn-claps, and for the finishing touch, a fist-pump leap toward the sky. Easy enough, I think. Then he reviews a short verse of “Suddenly Seymour” and has all the boys sing along. Next, he calls up the girls to do the same.

  You might think this part is easy because there’s a group of us, all braving the stage together. But did I mention how much I LOATHE doing anything in a group? This is starting to feel like Sports Day all over again!

  I tuck myself in the back line and move through the dance steps. My brain tells my feet and legs what to do, but it appears that all of my limbs are on strike today. The other students move together in sync. And there I am crashing into girls left and right.

  One of those girls happens to be Rachael, who’s in the row in front of me.

  The first time I bump into her, she doesn’t say anything. Just turns around and gives me a look mad enough to melt my face off. It’s the third kick in her ankles that sends hot fire spewing from her mouth: “I hope you don’t call this dancing! You need to get your whole life together, girl!”

  It feels like someone punches me in the gut. Hard. Somebody, anybody, get me out of here!

  The girls around us start laughing. I stop “dancing.” Clairna gives me a reassuring look. Finally, I catch up on the last three counts, in time to hit the last pose.

  Thankfully, Mr. Davis calls us all back to our seats. But then he announces he’ll be calling us up in twos to read lines from the script.

  First up is John, who’s paired with Rachael. The whole time they read their lines, my eyes are glued to John. He nails it. John is a living, breathing Seymour Krelborn! From the scruffy hair to the wire-framed glasses, right down to his penny loafers!

  The music begins. Rachael and John begin to sing and dance. Rachael’s dancing flawlessly. She doesn’t miss one step. John tries to keep up with her, always moving half a beat behind her, but for some strange reason, it works. And they sound great together, singing. Usually John doesn’t get much attention, but when their scene is over, everyone claps really loud.

  “John, your voice is as lovely as your trumpet playing!” Mr. Davis says.

  “I’m what they call a triple threat,” John responds, and takes a bow.

  Mr. Davis calls up the next group. After John and Rachael’s performance, I’m almost certain it’s time to leave. So while the kids on stage perform, I grab my knapsack and start tiptoeing toward the exit.

  But they finish quicker than expected. Everyone claps, and Mr. Davis says: “Next up, Annabelle Louis and Au
stin Coleman.”

  Busted. Again.

  Everyone turns to look at me. My shoulders slump into a pile of mush. I pull the folded script out of my pocket, place my knapsack on a chair, and make my way to the stage. I can feel the entire world staring at me.

  Austin is already standing on stage by the time my legs finally decide to get there. I should probably mention that Austin Coleman is music-video, basketball-dribbling cute.

  Mr. Davis starts the music. I take a deep breath and try my best to pretend I’m Daphne. Minus the cameras and the cool British accent. I can do this, I can do this, I tell myself.

  But four counts in, I’m already having a hard time keeping up with Austin — who, might I add, is now officially dance-star cute. He goes left, I go right. Not one move is coordinated, and I can’t find a way to control my spaghetti arms and legs, even though my mind is screaming at my body to do what Austin is doing. How can dancing be this hard?

  He sings the first line of “Suddenly Seymour,” and when I join him, in harmony, things start to seem better. No one is laughing, so that’s good. I’m coasting through the lower notes, voice smooth as a baby’s bottom. I start to really get into it too. Close my eyes. Picture myself singing in front of millions of screaming fans. Hello, Daphne, and goodbye, Annabelle! But then I go for the high note. It comes out in the key of squeal.

  And cue theme music to Jaws!

  My voice cracks, and somehow the note I was supposed to hit morphs into something like a call to the wild.

  Eyes open. Mouth drops. Soul is crushed. I could have done much better if I was alone in my girl cave, just me and my camera.

  Mr. Davis scrambles to cut off the music.

  “Let’s move on to the script,” he says nervously.

  John gives me a thumbs-up from the audience even though I know I just blew it.

  Austin and I start to read back and forth, this time no dancing and no singing. By the second line, I don’t even need the script anymore. I’ve seen this show so many times, I could probably recite the lines backward. Thirty more seconds of this horror show, and I’m done.