My Life Gone Viral

by Rae Earl

  Danny stretches his arms around me. He smells like a mixture of laundry powder and mints. It doesn’t sound that nice, but if it were an aftershave they would call it L’Eau de Beautiful Homme.

  I’m trying to be a bit less of a gushy girlfriend and a bit more of a feminist powerhouse, so I don’t give him a full squeeze, just a casual back-tightening.

  “Hello, Lady Millie,” he purrs.

  “Hello, you,” I say breezily. Mum says to treat ALL men like you’d treat the mailman—friendly but with a distance.

  I tackle him directly. “You didn’t text me!”

  Danny looks down, shuffles his feet from side to side, and then kicks some imaginary dirt. It must be imaginary. We are standing on concrete and we have the bossiest, cleanest school custodian in the history of mankind.

  “Yeah, I’m just trying to be more … in the moment,” Danny says. “When we weren’t doing spa stuff I was watching lots of programs about the ocean. We all need to use less plastic, you know, Millie. The sea is this amazing place. There’s a lake at the bottom of the ocean. A saltwater lake! Also, and I don’t know how to break this to you, some sea turtles breathe through their butts.”

  This makes me really smile. In fact, I really want to guffaw like a maniac, but I don’t want to be a tedious “giggle at everything boys say” sort of girl, so I just think of something terrible. That’s a top tip of mine. If you need to stop laughing at something (this is particularly handy in school), think of your cat running away or breaking your nose in a freak lamppost accident.

  Danny smiles. “This is serious, Millie! We must protect the endangered rears of marine animals!” But he laughs, too. “Anyway, Mills. Better go to class. See you later!”

  He pecks me on the cheek and runs off. I stand there thinking why on earth don’t I just TELL HIM HOW MUCH I MISS HIM when he’s not around?! Why don’t I tell him I want to see him more and I want him to just message me even if it’s once a day. I don’t want to be pathetic, but I want to be in a relationship that feels a bit more … real.

  At that moment my phone beeps. It’s Lauren.

  Where R U? U R not sick R U? PLEASE DON’T BE! I can’t face history without you. PS HAVE U SEEN YOU KNOW WHO?!

  Lauren has this sixth sense that only best friends have. I’m feeling uncomfortable, and magically she texts. I’m feeling sad, and she messages me a cat video. I’m feeling worried and—

  Oh no.

  Erin Breeler is standing straight in front of me.

  #BrandNewErin

  Erin Breeler used to be the social media QUEEN. At school we lived and died by her every post. As soon as you got the notification of ANYTHING she did—you looked. It was like the law.

  Erin used to make my life a living hell.

  Things have changed. Not so long ago, Erin standing in front of me would have been the worst start to a school week since I was eight and accidentally spent an entire Monday with a huge cornflake in my hair. No one needs cereal dandruff. That was bad, but I would have preferred that to Old Erin. Old Erin was MEAN.

  New Erin is different. New Erin is still gorgeous as ever, but she’s actually managed to turn into a human with feelings that you can relate to. Also, she seems a bit … lonely. In fact, she’s kind of sad. Ever since she was outed as Mr. Style Shame, her world has changed a lot. Mr. Style Shame was the Instagram account that humiliated everyone within a 100-mile radius of the school. It caught you at your very worst moment and posted it for entertainment (including poor Lauren’s high-heel disaster). Erin was behind it, and once we all found out, she deleted it. All of Erin’s social media accounts have lost loads of followers, and because of that, shops and designers don’t send her anything. She’s not an influencer anymore. She’s just one of us now, completely harmless. The Goddess is gone.

  I feel bad for her. I know I probably shouldn’t because she made my life a living misery, but lately she’s seemed so defeated.

  None of this explains why I am feeling sick and why my heart is pounding out of my chest. Mum would call this “muscle memory.” Your body reacts to a previous threat whether you want it to or not, EVEN when that threat has disappeared. Erin is the tarantula who bit me, but who has now lost her fangs of doom. I’m still terrified of her, though.

  Erin with eight perfectly tanned, toned legs—that’s a terrible thought.

  “Hello, Millie,” Erin says very softly. She doesn’t so much stand as float. She’s a wasp in a really nice coat. No, not a wasp—a bee. She probably could still sting, but she can be cute, too.

  “How are you?” I manage to get out. In my head she’s still loaded with potential danger.

  “Oh, you know,” she groans, “I’m just trying to be a better me.”

  If this were a daytime talk show, we’d all be clapping for her now. But it’s not. It’s my school.

  Erin keeps talking. “No one really talks to me these days. It’s just … I’m trying to be different. I know I did wrong. I’m trying to be a better me. Does that make sense?”

  It does. I totally get what she is saying. We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve all done wrong. Erin did REALLY bad stuff, but she knows about her fashion. She knows about style. She totally gets going viral and she understands the world I’m now in. Perhaps she could …

  A thought flashes through my head like a greyhound that’s seen a really big bone. I let it go, though, as it would cause trouble. BIG trouble.

  Instead, I try some comforting stuff. “You could always start again, you know. All your skills are getting wasted. Perhaps you could do something else online, but just something that isn’t … evil.”

  Erin gives me a hurt, hard stare.

  “I don’t mean evil!” I blurt. I think I save myself. “I mean, something positive that lifts people up! You can make people look incredible! Why not start again with something totally new?”

  Erin sighs. “Perhaps,” she murmurs. “Anyway, it’s going great for you. You’re doing so—”

  I interrupt her immediately. I can’t cope with sudden vocal compliment outbursts yet. “Yeah!” I say. “Not too bad. Anyway, we better get going. See you soon!”

  #MyMouth

  Lauren is looking at me like I’m completely insane. We are just waiting for class to begin.

  “Why did you say that to her?!”

  “I don’t know!” I snap. “I was trying to … I don’t even know what I was trying to do. I just felt sorry for her. She’s had a hard time!”

  “Completely of her own making!” Lauren shouts. “She wrecked lives! She posted photos of me that are still being shared everywhere. There’s a gang of ninth-grade boys who still call me Cinderella because I left my shoe behind! Now you’re encouraging her to start again! In what universe does she deserve a second chance?!”

  There’s a big pause.

  “Some burglars only get six months!” I say.

  I am running out of arguments.

  “Okay then, Lauren.” I’m getting angry now. “How long should we punish trolls for?”

  She thinks for about two seconds. “For an eternity,” she snaps. “Erin Breeler should not be part of our lives. She doesn’t deserve a second chance. Though”—Lauren softens a bit—“she is apparently responsible for something fairly incredible and amazing.…”

  #Brad

  “That,” Lauren proudly exclaims, “that is … what I was messaging you about! That is what everyone is talking about.”

  Bradley Sanderson, who previously was the greatest geek on the planet, has changed.

  Bradley’s hair has been restyled into something that makes him look like he’s from one of those old films you see on vintage stations when you’re flicking through the channels. A brooding hero. A star. Do I sound like a twonk? Yes. But I am also speaking the truth. He looks taller, and he’s walking differently with his head up and a semi-smile. His dorky glasses are the same, but they seem uber-cool dripping off his nose now. This is Bradley 2.0, and it is wonderful.

  It’s al
so confusing.

  Bradley and I are sort of unfinished business. He helped me a lot with #Help. He understands it because he runs a very successful vlog called The King of Elevation, which is entirely about elevators and escalators. Yes, I know that sounds very dull, but Bradley makes it interesting. Once you understand the workings of a Schindler 5500 and its optimum space configurability (ask Bradley what that means), you can look at going up and down in a whole new way.

  I had an odd, stirry tummy, and warm feelings for Bradley. Then we kissed, but we shouldn’t have. I liked Danny, Danny and me happened, I put Bradley in the friend zone, and Bradley got hurt. He asked me to give him space and he has used that space to make himself really hot.

  Boys are confusing.

  Lauren stares at me and purses her lips. “That, Millie, is a classic revenge makeover. You reject him. He, like an ignored rosebush in the garden, waters himself and blooms.”

  Lauren has gone full spoon. This makes me giggle.

  “Seriously, Millie.” Lauren is getting annoyed. “That’s what he’s done. And do you know who is apparently responsible for that? Erin.”

  You can say what you like about Erin (and we all have), but what she’s done to Bradley is incredible. It proves she’s changed, too. Erin was always horrible to Bradley. She didn’t like boys like him. He wasn’t in her “tribe.” But perhaps he is now. Bradley is lovely underneath it all. He would give anyone a second chance.

  “Erin has made him into an Adidas,” Lauren says proudly.

  “I think you mean Adonis, Loz,” I reply.

  “Whatever,” Lauren says. “The fact is, he’s red-hot geek hot.”

  We have to stop talking because for the first time in what seems a very long time, Bradley is looking at me. He smiles, waves, and gets up to talk to us.

  “Oh, HELLO,” Lauren whispers to me. “Looks like someone wants to be friends again.”

  #JustTheWayYouAre

  Bradley slumps beside us. His navy wool coat is far too big for him, but it looks really good. He smells a bit musty, but it’s a good musty. It’s the smell of old books and antiques that you shove in your wardrobe for years and turn out to be worth a fortune.

  “Hello, Bradley!” Lauren is loving this, I can tell. “This is a whole new look, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” he says really casually. “I just felt like shaking things up a bit, you know.”

  “And Erin helped you?” Lauren asks. I jab her with my elbow. She knows this is a naughty thing to say. Her eyes go wide and she wiggles her fingers.

  Bradley looks down and plays with his pockets. “Yeah. I felt a bit sorry for her. And she’s talented with looks stuff. That’s not my thing, but as I always say, get the experts involved. She knows jumpers and coats. I know machines.”

  “And have you helped her up any escalators recently, Bradley?” Lauren asks. She’s trying to act innocent but we all know what she means.

  I knock Lauren so hard that I think Bradley notices. He also knows EXACTLY what Lauren is implying.

  “No. It’s just professional. I’m single and happy,” Bradley announces proudly. “It is possible, Lauren, for males and females to just be colleagues.”

  Lauren looks at me with a bit of shame. I believe him. Bradley doesn’t lie. But the thought of Bradley spending even non-loved-up time with another woman makes me feel odd. It’s the same feeling I get when I see Danny chatting to another girl for too long. It feels like ants on bicycles are riding through your stomach—you’re very angry that they are using your tummy as a velodrome and you want to just push them all over and puncture their wheels.

  I think this feeling might be jealousy.

  At this moment, Lauren decides that she needs to go and talk to someone. She doesn’t say who. This leaves me and Bradley. Just sitting there. In silence.

  This is not good. Silence feels prickly. I get up to go to class and Bradley tugs gently at my bag.

  “Come on then, Millie Porter. Hashtag Help me. Tell me what’s been going on with you?”

  I sit back down.

  #StayYOU

  I don’t know how to handle this. I think this is probably Bradley’s way of saying, “Let’s be friends again,” but it feels really strange. I still feel bad about how I treated him. I decide to be factual again. It’s always a sound plan. Stick to the facts.

  “Good!”

  This is my completely useless Millie one-word answer.

  Bradley smiles at me. “I know it’s been going well for you. I’ve watched all your stuff. You’re great. You come across really well.”

  He knows I struggle with the whole confidence thing. This is a really sweet thing to say.

  “I don’t feel great at it, Bradley,” I confess. “I want this to work. I want it to be big. But to be honest, I’m finding it hard. I can’t quite believe what has happened. I keep expecting something to go horribly wrong and everyone is going to discover—”

  Bradley interrupts. “Stop thinking that way! You are rocking this. What you’ve got, Millie, is a classic case of impostor syndrome. It’s when you doubt yourself constantly. You need to stop it. You’re very good at what you do.”

  I look at him. He has pushed his glasses down so I can see into his eyes.

  “Thank you,” I manage to blurt. It’s good to have Bradley back in my life.

  Then I do something silly. For whatever reason, my jaw again detaches itself from my brain and decides to ask Bradley, “Are you single? Come on, you can tell me.”

  As the words fall out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.

  Bradley goes a bit frosty and mumbles, “No. I told you before. Even if I was, it is no one’s business. It’s certainly not your business.”

  This feels harsh. I think Bradley realizes he’s gone too far, because he changes the subject fast.

  “What’s next for you then, Millster?”

  I look through my bag and pretend to reorganize it. When my hands are doing something, I can say things I’m struggling with in a better way. Classic nervous fidgeting. I pull out my pencil case, some tea tree oil, and a squeaky mouse. A squeaky mouse?

  Dave!

  Dave has a habit of dumping things in my belongings. I should probably be grateful it’s not an actual dead mouse.

  “What’s next for me is I’ve got a meeting after school tomorrow with someone who manages vloggers. Lydia Portancia. She calls herself a ‘life content creator.’ She thinks she can help me take Hashtag Help to a new level. I want to grow what I’ve already got, but…”

  Suddenly, Bradley takes hold of my right hand. It’s the one with the toy mouse in it. It squeaks. This is funny, but Bradley is deadly serious.

  “Don’t lose yourself, Millie. You’re fine as you are. Don’t let anyone change your thing. Listen to what they have got to say, but you don’t have to follow their plans. You are fine as you are.” He squeaks the mouse again. “And Dave is fine, too. Give her a pet from me. See you around.”

  With that, Bradley gorgeously geeks away.

  “Don’t lose yourself, Millie.”

  “You are just fine.”

  This is very sensible advice.

  What is not sensible is standing on your own like a spoon holding your cat’s raggedy toy in the drizzly rain. It’s not a good look. I go to class and squeak Dave’s mouse all the way there.

  #Meeting

  I didn’t sleep last night. School’s over, but I feel like a total zombie. Getting up at 5:00 a.m. after falling asleep at 4:43 a.m. is NOT a good idea. Eight minutes’ sleep does not give you a clear head.

  Eight minutes’ sleep also means you can’t even do basic math.

  I got through the day, but I didn’t learn anything. Information sploshed off me and nothing soaked in. It felt like I was walking round with a mini tornado on my head that turned just in the middle of my eyes. It’s difficult to think about osmosis and the Civil War when there’s a major weather condition doing its thing on your face.

  Mum and I a
re in the car on the way to meet the agent and she keeps asking me if I’m okay. I tell her I am, but I am not. The truth is I’m very, very worried about meeting the agent. I can tell this for the following reasons:

  1.  In addition to the tornado, a hurricane, a cyclone, and a drought are now happening all over my forehead and chin. My cheeks are also on fire. Blotchy red is not a good look. The government has declared my face a disaster zone and the army is currently evacuating the area.

  2.  My body is in a knot. I had a necklace once that had a knot in it that was impossible to undo. I threw it out of my bedroom window in a temper. My body definitely feels like cheap jewelry you should defenestrate.

  3.  Defenestrate is the best word ever. Granddad threatens everyone with it. It means to throw something out of a window.

  4.  My granddad would never really defenestrate anyone, by the way. His hips and knees are too weak. He’d need the help of a winch.

  5.  I am worried about the earth leaving its orbit and heading nearer or farther away from the sun. Which would I choose? Boil or freeze to death? Probably freeze.

  6.  Forget freezing to death. No one looks good in a heavily quilted jacket.

  7.  I’ve eaten two bars of chocolate and a brie and red onion relish baguette. It’s pure stress hunger. I HATE red onion relish. Why do they always let brie suffer? Brie is the queen of cheese. She should be able to sit on her throne alone without stinky bits of root vegetables.

  It hits me.

  I’m just about to meet someone and have catastrophically bad onion breath. The sort of breath that stops traffic and the police are called and they put DO NOT CROSS tape across your face. Nice one, Millie. I check it with Mum. She grimaces, turns her head to the side, and gives me a squirt of breath freshener. I close my eyes and try to focus. A bit of mindfulness. Think about the nice things in life—music, coconut ice cream, the smile of a Danny, Dave when she spots a can of tuna and tries to open the can with her paws and then, when that fails, her tongue.