by Rae Earl
At this point Dave, world-record speed-eater of processed fish, comes back. She doesn’t look very impressed. She probably feels with a tin she is slumming it, but she jumps onto my lap and starts purring. I can tell she blatantly wants more food, but I pretend she loves me. Cat owners have to do this a lot.
As Dave has just proved, if you love someone set them free, and they will come back to you.
Dave runs off again. Probably when she realized she’s very unlikely to get more food. I look at the camera, semi-exasperated.
Eventually she’ll come back. You just have to trust it. Anyway, that’s me today. Feeling a bit sad and unhappy. Leave your comments below, and if you are going through something that’s similar, big love to you. It’s hard, isn’t it?
At this point Dave flies across the screen. There is no reason for this except to demonstrate that she can still climb up a curtain and rappel down venetian blinds after a big meal.
I upload the video and then hit the sack. Dave snuggles next to me. She has the worst breath in the history of the world—worse than a vlogger who’s just on her way to meet her agent for the first time. Mum and Gary have now stopped trying to be quiet and are having a loud chat about something. I think about everything I’ve done recently—good and bad. No, it can’t be anything to do with me. I’ve obeyed all the crumb rules and I’ve brushed Dave regularly. I was always carefree with biscuits till Gary arrived. Eating a cookie near him is a military operation. Engage plate, position mouth so nothing spills from the scene of the biscuit, eat, and, finally, observe your surrounding area for any debris that has occurred from you causing structural damage to the biscuit.
Mum and Gary’s “discussion” teeters on the brink of a MASSIVE row, but Mum brings it back to a stern, hushed whisper again. I strain to hear what it’s all about, but McWhirter starts doing his cleaning thing and I can’t hear a word of what is being said downstairs.
As soon as Dave hears the robot vacuum, she jumps off me for a ride. She uses my arm as a vault and decides to use her claws for extra stability as she leaps. This makes me yelp loudly. Very loudly. I can tell it’s loud, as Mum clearly hears it over everything and the next thing I know she is in my bedroom checking that I am “not dying.”
She is angry.
“Millie! Please do not make that noise again. I’ve got enough going on without you overreacting to a slight scratch!”
I defend myself. “It isn’t a slight scratch!”
Mum shouts, “Go to sleep! I don’t want to hear anything else from you for the rest of the day. Night, I mean. Whatever—just please stay quiet. Now, hello! I mean—good night!”
And with that, Mum disappears out the door. I have no chance to tell her that Dad is leaving, that I’m upset, that the whole world is shifting on its axis again AND NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE (I know they do, really) but COME ON, EVERYONE!
Why is it when you want your parents to be around they aren’t, and when you don’t want them in your face they are?
#Frenemies
When I wake up the next morning, I’m blind. This is because Dave is lying over my eyes. She’s overexhausted after doing stunts on McWhirter and has decided she likes to be a living eye mask—the unhelpful, nonbeauty kind. The house feels odd. Mum and Neat Freak Gary are creatures of routine, but that’s all gone out the window today. For a start, showers don’t last for the right amount of time. Most of my morning routine has to be based around Gary’s twenty-two-minute cleansing ritual. This morning, that doesn’t seem to happen. I can tell by the lack of washing-up that breakfast hasn’t been eaten by anyone, and that includes Dave. No one has given her food. She is very angry and gnaws at my ankles. I’m nearly late for school because of all this. Other people are my natural alarm clock.
I’m also late because Lydia Portancia has already sent me something about the vlog.
Millie!
Fantastic response! Emotional subject matter beautifully picked and elaborated on by you! Vulnerability means viral! You know how to get people going! And Dave’s incredible as ever! I wonder though if you’ve ever considered upping your production value? A little makeup? Nothing that isn’t “you,” of course, but something that just enhances your intrinsic brand values and your lovely face. Have a think and get back to me by the end of the day.
KV!
LP x
This e-mail makes me feel sick, so I put it in the part of my trained brain that’s called “Try to forget about it and panic later.” I rush into school. Lauren runs up to me. “Meltdown to the last vlog, Mills!”
“Meltdown” is Lauren’s way of saying that things have gone really well.
“I haven’t had time to look,” I tell her. “Dave was trying to kill me!”
Lauren’s eyes go really wide. “Mills, SERIOUSLY vlog about that! Pets that try to kill!”
Lauren can sometimes take things a bit literally.
“Not really, Lauren,” I reassure her. “I’m just joking!”
Lauren can’t let go of the idea now, though. “People do love murder stuff, though! They love, like, a gruesome twist on things. I watched this thing once where a woman poisoned her husband slowly over months with weed killer. A bit at a time. It was famous. Now, the manufacturers have to put something in it to make you vomit so no one can be poisoned by weed killer again! You could do a podcast serial. ‘My Cat Is a Killer.’ She puts poison on her paws and then shoves them in your face.”
Even for Lauren, this is a bit odd. Everyone is acting strange today. Perhaps there is a full moon. I try to get her back on planet Earth.
“Do you ever get that feeling…”
Lauren interrupts me. “Your dad! Millie, I’m so sorry about your dad going. Sorry, I just got a bit preoccupied with Frenemy Psycho Cats.”
Lauren puts her arm around me. I let her, but when people are sweet to me after something bad has happened, THAT’S when I really want to cry. I don’t, though. Crying at school is still a no-no.
“Thanks, Loz. It’s not just that, though. The whole house was weird this morning. I don’t think Mum knows yet either. Perhaps she does, but I’m sure she would have mentioned it. It just felt a bit bizarre.”
“In what way?” Lauren asks.
“I don’t know. It just seemed like something big was happening.” I sigh. “It’s probably nothing. You know what my head is like. It can make something out of nothing. It can turn a tiny event into something that is actually not happening at all.”
Honestly, I think vlogging may have made this trait worse.
Lauren nods. “Yes, you can turn a perfectly brilliant cat into a potential death trap.”
This makes me laugh. “But there was something weird going on. I haven’t made that bit up.”
Lauren looks sad. “I totally believe you but, to be honest, Mills, my house has always felt like that. Psychologists call it my norm. I’ve seen it on TV. Chaos is my standard.”
I try to cheer her up.
“But it’s better these days, isn’t it?”
Lauren sighs. “Yeah, now that my parents have admitted that they will never be getting back together and actually they can’t stand each other, things have certainly improved.”
This is one of those things that is simultaneously happy and terrible and a relief all in one. I don’t really know what to say, so I give Lauren a huge hug. Lauren knows I’m stuck and says, “Anyway, we need to hurry up or we’re going to be late for class!”
I tell her I just need to fix myself up and go to the bathroom. Yes, feeding the animal you are responsible for is important, but so is brushing your hair.
Once I’m in the bathroom, I look in the mirror. I have dark circles under my eyes and a large cat injury on my arm. I do not look my best, but I’ll do. I say this to myself as it’s important for your mouth to give your brain reassurance: “Millie. You will do!”
Just as I’m making this declaration, I notice that someone is smiling in the mirror behind me.
It’s Erin. Former enemy, now �
��
Now, I don’t know what she is, and I can’t get a thought out of my head. Lydia Portancia’s e-mail pops up from the “panic later” part of my head. What Erin could be hits me straight in the sensible part of my brain. Or the ambitious, focused, completely-intent-on-success part of my brain. I can’t decide what it is and if it’s good. Also, I don’t have time to decide.
#Bathroom Negotiations
Erin corners me by the sinks. These days, it’s not really cornering. It’s more a cuddly surrounding.
I feel embarrassed. I don’t like people catching me doing my personal pep talks. They are for my ears and eyes only.
“Millie, your latest vlog was so raw and incredible.”
Erin is in full compliment mode. It’s very hard to trust this. I fact, I still do not trust this.
“Was it?” I say. “Thank you!”
“Yeah,” Erin continues, “I just love how you manage to make the really emotional stuff funny, you know, with Dave? It’s a really tough thing to carry off, but you totally seem to manage it.”
“Thanks!” I say. Again. I’m still not good at the whole praise thing. It makes me feel prickly. Especially with Erin. She used to be the queen of the backhanded compliment. What she gave with one hand, she took away with the other, and then poured a bucket of ice water over your head. Not actually, but on Instagram. That’s who she was.
Who she is now is someone who could help me do what Lydia wants. I KNOW THAT SOUNDS TERRIBLE, but it’s TRUE.
“Erin. I had an e-mail this morning from my agent and she thinks I could do with looking more professional to up my brand values. And I wondered if, perhaps…”
I can’t believe I’m saying this.
“… you’d like to help me do my makeup for my vlog?”
Erin basically leaps in the air and nearly slips on a paper towel. Even when she has an accident, she still looks glam.
“Millie, seriously, I’d LOVE to. I think I could just make your vlog feel a touch more polished. You’re professional already. Just more together as a product. Nothing too heavy. I do understand light and flattering angles and filters. NOT that you need them. I think you’d get even more subscribers. Truly I do.”
Erin is very convincing and seems really sincere. I try to be honest.
“What’s worrying me is I’m not a makeup vlog. I don’t think all that contouring stuff is really me. I’m about the real stuff, not … fake stuff.”
I can’t believe I’m talking to Erin like this. She used to be terrifying. Now she’s just another girl in a bathroom trying to have a conversation over the sound of a hand dryer.
Erin tries to comfort me. “I can still make you look like you! Just a better you.”
A horrible thought goes through my head. What if Erin makes me look incredibly terrible? The sort of terrible that I won’t notice but when other people see me I will look like a clown. Not even a happy clown. A terrifying, living-in-the-drain sort of evil clown.
No. That’s Old Erin. This is New Erin. Wise and improved and—no, I still don’t trust her.
“I really appreciate this, Erin. I’ll e-mail my agent and get back to you.”
I’ll e-mail my agent and get back to you? Who do I think I am?! A Kardashian?!
Erin stares hard at me. “Sure!” she says breezily. “You know where to find me. I’m around.”
Erin glides out and I type a quick reply to Lydia. I can’t wait till the end of the day. My agent feels like a huge thundercloud following me constantly overhead.
Hello Lydia,
I think I’ve found someone that can help me with looking more pro.
Thanks
Erin x
I fire it off, feel good about how I’m handling everything, and then realize I haven’t even signed the e-mail with my own name.
I have never been so grateful to go to chemistry class in my entire life. Hurrah for atoms and molecules, they have got me out of being a total spoon and they get me in to seeing Danny.
#BradleyBreak
Danny is not in class today. I message him to ask him where he is, but get no response. To be honest, I’m a bit hurt. I thought after seeing my vlog he would immediately want to speak to me. He’s either seen my vlog and can’t cope with me being emotional (this is my anxiety talking, I don’t actually think this is the case for one minute), OR he is too busy with his big family meeting to have looked at what is going on with me. Perhaps his grandma has decided she wants to scale Mount Everest or something and they are trying to talk her out of it. I don’t think they should. As far as I’m concerned, old women can do what they like. They come from a time when women had fewer opportunities! If they want to travel and probably injure themselves rappelling in the snow I think they should be allowed to!
Allowed to? I check myself. They don’t need permission either! Just do it, old ladies. We are with you!
Sometimes I vlog in my head. That was a great example of it. It’s good practice and it stops me from being a pathetic girlfriend.
At break time, I spend my time in the quiet corners of school. It saves me from live human vlog reaction. Lots of people want to make appointments to meet Dave. Sometimes it feels like too much. Kayla Beacham, who has her own gluten-free snack business and should be on The Apprentice, is already talking to me about “merch opportunities” like #LoveDave environmentally friendly bags. Etsy isn’t the answer to everything. There are already Dave pages on Pinterest, too.
The quiet corners mean I bump into Bradley. He likes to get away from noise of any kind. He’s sitting on concrete steps doing some kind of really detailed drawing. I go up to him.
“Hello, Bradley. How’s…”
Bradley shoots his hand up in the air and wiggles it. This means “give me time.” I stand there and wait. He’s not being rude. He’s just being Bradley.
Eventually he stops. “Sorry,” he says quietly, “I was just doodling a lift mechanism to show my subscribers. It’s a revolutionary design. They think it can go sideways like a classic paternoster, but without the risk of death. Which is good, as in my experience, death does sort of curtail your ability to have fun. Anyway, how are you? I was sorry to hear about your dad going. That’s, er—well, that just sucks.”
Bradley sort of always says it like it is. It’s very sweet that he watches my vlog. It’s even sweeter that he tries to make me feel better.
He looks at me earnestly. “Has fame changed your life, Millie?”
Fame. I try not to think about it too much. “It’s not really fame, is it, though?” I sigh. “I’m not in a private jet with an entourage. I’m still me. I’m just me with people looking at my life and being interested in my life.”
Bradley laughs. “Yeah, I think you’ll find lots of people would define that as a celebrity!”
I can’t think about that too much. I need my Zen Loo. The tiled, pine-clean, disinfected place of calm and safety. I need to just breathe and rearrange the jumble in my head. I’ve got ways to cope and one of them is sometimes by blocking out actual reality in a tiny cubicle. A big part of me doesn’t feel like I deserve any of this.
I can tell Bradley anything. I trust him and, honestly, he still hasn’t got many close friends. He doesn’t really need them. He says he’d rather have a “few humans that mean something than lots of the same species who mean nothing at all.” That’s just the way he talks. This is someone with a hugely successful lift and escalator vlog. He knows what he is doing.
I sit down beside him. I can’t lie to him.
“If I’m being honest with you, Bradley, I mainly have increased anxiety levels. I find myself vlogging in my head sometimes.”
“Oh, I do that!” snaps Bradley. “I wouldn’t worry too much.”
“But is it healthy?” I ask.
Bradley stares off into the distance. He seems to think for a while. Bradley often takes a long time to answer questions. He thinks about them, then puts them in a specific compartment in his brain that asks questions about questions.
“I think people have always vlogged in their heads. In a way. They imagine talking to people who aren’t there. They imagine conversations they are going to have or conversations they don’t want to have. They daydream. Prehistoric man probably vlogged in a way in their own heads.”
I look at Bradley strangely. “What would they vlog about?”
Bradley grins from ear to ear. “Oh, you know, the everyday stuff!” (And Bradley puts on a caveman sort of voice.) “Have seen a mastodon. It big. Shall I try to fit it in sandwich?”
At this point Bradley collapses in fits of laughter at his own joke.
I try to get him back to the point.
“They didn’t have delis till the Iron Age, Bradley. Everyone knows that.”
Unfortunately, this makes Bradley crack up even more. I have to let him shake with the giggles until his sensible side kicks back in. Eventually, he comes around and sees that I’m still looking a bit tense.
“Sorry, Millie,” he says sheepishly. “I’d try to just … enjoy it more. I think you are coping with it fine. You’re still the same old Millie. Is Romeo able to handle it?”
By “Romeo” Bradley means Danny. I can tell Bradley still feels weird about him.
“Yes!” I snap a bit defensively. “He’s actually very supportive of everything I do!”
Bradley looks at me like he’s not convinced.
“I think you have to be a vlogger to truly get vlogging. You have to understand what it takes to connect with people. He doesn’t strike me as our type. He’ll say stuff like, ‘I prefer the real world,’ like what we do isn’t real and all fake. I can’t stand people like that. They think they are revolutionary. Same old thing—just trying to be cool by making out that they are different. They don’t know what it means to be actually different. I bet he’s never been called a nerd because he appreciates a good speed governor.”