My Life Gone Viral Page 7

Though this is a bit of a rant, Danny HAS said things like that, but NO WAY can I tell Bradley that. First, it feels disloyal, and second, I think Bradley might be—

  Hang on.

  “What’s a speed governor, Bradley?”

  Bradley looks at me like I’m insane.

  “It governs the speed of the elevator. The clue’s in the name, Millie.”

  I realize I look a bit spoon, so I change the subject.

  “Danny hasn’t said anything like that. Not really. He just prefers sports.”

  Bradley makes a face of disgust. “Odd thing, sports. Being out of breath. Broken bones. Spending your entire life on a racetrack or a field for the first twenty years on this earth just to win a medal. Then what? Nothing. You have to retire at thirty and watch other people become better at what you love. Sports are total madness, Millie. I’d ban them.”

  There’s not a lot I can say to this. Bradley seems to get very angry about lots of things. Perhaps it’s hormonal. Perhaps boys have a time of the month. I try to offer a positive thought.

  “Carb-loading is good!”

  Bradley looks at me down his glasses. “You can do that and lose the running about. Perfection.”

  Then, and don’t ask me why, my mind decides to take the brain bus to a really weird stop.

  “I’ve asked Erin to do my makeup.”

  Bradley tenses up for a moment, then relaxes his shoulders and almost shrugs.

  “Great idea!” he says. “She helped me with my new, slightly improved look.” Bradley almost swaggers. He knows he looks good. It’s annoying. I change the subject back to me.

  “The thing is, my agent suggested it, and I can see what she means, but I don’t want to be all about how I look, Bradley. The whole glamorous, flouncy girl thing isn’t really me. What if I lose a lot of followers?!”

  Bradley does his intense thing. “You’ve got to do what you like, Millie. Erin helped me, but she didn’t try to take over. I think she’s learned her lesson. She’s been horrible in the past, and she’s hurt my feelings, but other people have done that, too. I’ve forgiven them and moved on, so why not her?”

  I know Bradley means me, but it’s different. I didn’t go out to hurt him. Erin was just plain evil to everyone. The whole school agrees. If there were a vote about it, there’d be a record turnout and everyone would be voting YES to still leave Erin WELL alone. And I know when Lauren finds out that I’ve asked Erin to do my makeup, she’ll be FURIOUS.

  I can’t say any of this, so I just say to Bradley, “Thank you.”

  As Bradley leaves, he turns around and winks at me. My stomach flips a bit. Pancake feelings. Actually, more pancakes being carried by butterflies riding on bikes on a really bumpy road. This isn’t good. I should have wink resistance. Eye movements should not make me remotely wobbly. I am Millie Porter. I am as tough as a very tough thing that’s had, of late, a very tough time.

  I bury my emotions by demolishing an apple I find in the bottom of my bag. I can’t remember putting it in there. Probably Dave rolled it in there. She’s always putting stuff in …

  I stop eating the apple. Having a cat that helps you with your lunch isn’t always pleasant. Dave kills cockroaches with those paws.

  #Bears

  When Dave wants feeding, she either attacks you or does this weird thing where she sits about half an inch from your face and stares at you. In the back of my head, all during the morning, Erin is doing both of these things in my head. Since the chat with Bradley I can’t get her out of my mind.

  She’s still there when I sit down to eat lunch. Lauren joins me. She’s still full-moon crazy—even for her. I try to take my mind off my … mind by chatting about just about anything else. You can tell how desperate I am to do this as I decide to talk about classes.

  “Have you done your history homework?” I ask Lauren. We had to imagine being a resistance fighter in a war. I spent ages on mine.

  Lauren proudly pulls her work out of the bag. “I have done it!” she declares. “And I’ve done it with a twist!”

  Lauren’s twists on anything can be either total genius or madness. There is no in-between.

  “The twist, Millie, is I am a resistance fighter, BUT I’m not actually human. I’m a bear.”

  Even for Lauren this is bizarre.

  Lauren can see I’m completely confused and explains.

  “Millie! A bear fought in World War Two in the Polish army. It’s a true fact. Google it!”

  Lauren can see I’m still wearing my WHAT THE HELL face. This is a serious subject.

  “It’s simple,” Lauren says. “I’ve done the whole resistance thing from the perspective of an animal. Basically, I hate the enemy, I’ve got huge paws, and I can still smell a picnic from miles away.”

  This makes me laugh, but I immediately feel guilty.

  “I don’t think you should make a joke out of a major global conflict, Lauren.”

  Now it’s Lauren’s turn to look confused.

  “I’m not! I’m SERIOUS,” she shouts. “I’m just trying to do something a bit different. The teacher is going to see the same essay about thirty times. I just want people to know that animals fight in things that humans create, too! Think of War Horse—this could actually become a classic!”

  I very much doubt this, but I don’t tell her that. I just say, “I think the picnic thing sounds a bit … funny.”

  “You’ve got to be authentic to bears,” Lauren snaps. I decide to leave it there because when she’s in a mood like this, you cannot convince her.

  “Tell you what,” she whispers, “Dave would be a terrible animal soldier. You couldn’t tell her what to do. She’d just walk off. That reminds me—have you checked the vlog reaction yet?”

  No, I haven’t. I used to check it immediately. Sometimes I still do. Other times I squirrel myself away from it. It’s a mental mood thing. I usually like to do it when I’m on my own and I can just take everything in. Especially when it’s about something like my dad leaving. It’s too emotional to have a real live audience.

  My dad is leaving. I’m getting my head around it—but in real life, not vlog life. I need more time.

  What with Bradley, Erin, and Lauren’s rebel bear I’d completely forgotten all about it.

  My phone vibrates. It’s a message from Erin. It’s a photo of someone who looks totally incredible but it also looks like they are wearing no makeup at all. It’s fantastic. A work of art.

  With it Erin has written:

  The look I did for my cousin, I’d use with you. Natural. Know you don’t like fake. E x

  I exhale very hard.

  “Who was that?” Lauren asks. She’s suspicious. We know each other so well that she can read my breathing sounds. She can tell that I’ve just received something that’s left me in a bit of a mess.

  “Oh, no one,” I say. “Seriously, I’m just … just … just looking at comments.”

  Lauren peers at me through a crumpled-up face. “Millie, when you do a stutter thing I know you are lying.”

  I can’t tell Lauren that I’m speaking to Erin. Erin made Lauren a global laughingstock after she couldn’t walk in high heels. Me speaking to Erin is like the Polish Army bear defecting to the enemy for a nice piece of cake.

  “No, Lauren, honestly,” I say quickly, “my brain is just buffering all the messages I’ve got.”

  Lauren picks up her tray. “You know, I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”

  “I know, Lauren, and I love you for it! Seriously, there’s nothing wrong!”

  Lauren disappears to the bathroom, leaving me to wonder if I’m the worst person on earth. Is it terrible to go behind Lauren’s back? She’ll find out. OR would I be terrible for not giving Erin a second chance? Bradley is right—we DO all vlog in our heads naturally.

  Bradley is also right about something else. Erin knows what she is doing, and the sooner I get her on board the better.

  I message her back.

  Talent! Shall we
try to do something together?

  I’m just picking up my lunchbox when my phone goes off again.

  It’s Erin. She messages back immediately.

  Love to! What time would work?

  I look around the cafeteria. It’s like she’s spying on me. I decide to reply later. I need a delay to give me a bit of text power.

  I think I’ve agreed to Erin coming around my house. Erin!

  Not so long ago, it would have been preferable to let Lauren’s rebel bear in the house.

  #Drama

  When I get home, Mum is doing angry ironing. She’s attacking a shirt with steam on level-three heat. This is never a good sign. Dave is nowhere to be seen. She would have seen Mum doing this and gone straight behind the couch. It’s Dave’s panic room.

  When Mum sees me, though, she stops everything, rushes over, and hugs me. She won’t let me go.

  “Oh, Millie! I’m so sorry about your dad. I saw your vlog. I screamed at him on the phone. He didn’t tell me! I mean, I’m not saying he shouldn’t have told you first, but he should have told me, too! Total strangers saw before me! It had thousands of views before I went near it! In fact, why didn’t you tell me last night?! This is typical of him. He’s got a heart of gold, but he’s totally useless. BUT you can go and see him! WE can! Me and you. Just me and you.”

  To be honest, I’m very surprised at this reaction. My mum and my dad have always gotten along, but I didn’t think she missed him or wanted to be with him in any way. She seems more upset than me.

  I finally get out of her bear hug (ever since Lauren went on about the bear I’m thinking of them ALL the time) and it’s then I realize that her eyes are all red and puffy.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine in no time!”

  When Mum does this rubbish rhyme, it means she is not fine at all.

  My mum doesn’t like being not all right. She is old school. She likes to keep all the feelings under the carpet. Because of this, she makes me go upstairs to change out of my school uniform. It gives her some breathing space. I get straight into my pajamas. It’s the only way to be after school. I lie on my bed and make myself look at the comments on my vlog.

  There are lots and loads of new subscribers, which gives me a bit of head-spin, a rush of pride, and desire to vomit all at once.

  I look at the most liked.

  Honest and Dave is everything.

  (Yes, and yes she is. I don’t tell her that but she is incredible.)

  Sorry about your dad. My dad did this, too. We don’t know where he is. Happened 4 years ago.

  (That’s awful. Luckily, my dad keeps in touch and he does send cards.)

  Make sure you keep in touch. Sometimes going abroad means disappearing forever.

  (It won’t.)

  U R lucky 2 have a dad in the first place. Count your blessing.

  (I think that should be plural, but never mind—and yes, I know I am.)

  Typical drama queen. Making something out of nothing to get hits.

  (This is horrible, but is it also a bit true? I knew a ton of people wouldn’t “get” it.)

  Is Dave drugged?

  (WHAT?! OF COURSE NOT! DAVE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE. I WOULD NEVER HURT HER.)

  Another subscriber replies.

  How can you drug a cat?

  (THANK YOU! Of course, you can’t. Unless you are a twisted evil vet and I am not!)

  I say this out loud but I don’t comment. I’m not commenting on anything. It’s the safest way.

  I read on. Two people are having a full-on argument underneath my vlog.

  Of course you can drug cats! Animals should not be made to perform. This is no better than the thousands of dolphins that are in captivity that are made to jump through hoops to get a fish treat. It’s disgusting.

  This makes me furious. I go downstairs. Mum is always the person to talk to in situations like this. She’s got a level head and she—

  Mum is now attacking a pair of pants. It smells like something is burning. I don’t think she should iron nylon slacks on a maximum setting. I think they are melting.

  I look at her face and decide I am not going to mention this right now. In fact, changing the subject seems like a very good idea.

  “Mum, have you ever heard of an animal being drugged so they can do stunts and tricks?”

  Mum answers like she is in a dream.

  “I think they used to do it in films. You’d need a lot of tranquilizers for an elephant, though. People can be cruel when you don’t do what they want you to do.”

  I go to reassure her. Don’t worry, Mum, I’m not going to ever do anything like that to Dave. I mean, she can’t even handle catnip.

  Suddenly Mum bursts into tears.

  This is weird as it’s not just a few tears, it’s full-on sobbing. For a minute I just stand there with my mouth wide open. Mum folds into a heap in the big chair. Dave appears from behind the sofa and starts licking Mum’s tears off her face. Please note—my cat is better in an emergency than me.

  Eventually my shock wears off and I manage to give Mum a huge hug.

  Mum manages to talk through her tears.

  “Millie. Gary and I have split up. He’s left.”

  This is strange. Not so long ago I would have wanted Gary to go. It would have been my absolute dream. He is so difficult to live with. He is super strict, uber-grumpy, and he could sense a speck of dust from four miles away. Now that he’s left, I’m honestly sad. This feeling is mainly for Mum, though.

  Suddenly, I have a terrible thought.

  “Oh no. Was it me coming back to live here?”

  My mouth says this thought. It does that sometimes.

  Mum reassures me so fast it’s scary.

  “No! NO!” she cries. “I’ll be really straight with you, Millie. Gary wanted to have a baby and I didn’t. It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to do the whole diaper and horrific toddler thing again. I feel way too old. I understand that he does, though, and that’s why…”

  Mum breaks down again, Dave puts her paw on Mum’s arm, and I try to say something supportive.

  “I’m sorry, Mum. I know you were totally loved up and that he made you happy.”

  Mum looks at me. “It’s not just that, Millie. He’s taken the robot vacuum cleaner! It did most of the cleaning! What now? I can’t go back to life without it!”

  This makes me laugh, but Mum is dead serious.

  “It’s all the other stuff Gary did, too,” Mum says. “Now I’ll need a stepladder again to mend the shower light and the bathroom is half tiled. Who’s going to do that?!”

  This makes me annoyed. I reassure her.

  “We can do the tiling! We are feminists!”

  Mum sighs. “It’s nothing to do with gender equality, Millie. I haven’t got the time or the energy to do things like that! I haven’t got the money, either. I just want to come home to a clean house, a cooked meal, a decent box set, and someone to share it with. It’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  “Don’t worry!” I say. “There’s other people we know who can help. Lauren’s dad can do little jobs. His own house is a total disgrace, but he can do DIY. And we can totally get you on Tinder. We’ll find you a guy who’s good around the house and has a wide range of robot cleaning products. It’ll be FINE, Mum.”

  To be honest, Lauren’s dad is a bit of a nightmare. He puts Lauren through a lot, what with arguing with her mum since she was born. Lauren used to dread going home. But my mum needs some help around the house, and he can do it.

  With this, Mum gives me a huge hug and says she wants five minutes on her own just to get herself together. She disappears upstairs, probably to keep on crying on her own for a time.

  Wow. This is a huge shock. I hate seeing Mum like this. And I understand where she’s coming from. I probably could have dealt with having a little sister. It’s Mum’s choice, though, and honestly, if she’d given birth to a boy I would have moved not just back to Grandd
ad’s house but probably to the moon.

  The mad, ambitious, maniac part of my brain thinks it might have been great drama for my vlog. “Hashtag Help! My six-month-old brother is the devil,” but no, not worth it even for that.

  Also, Gary did do some amazing things—Mum is right. McWhirter did most of the dusting without any of us trying and Gary did a lot of great cooking. Him leaving does mean a lot more of Mum’s meals. That is not a good thought—appalling leftover pie with lots of fridge debris and her legendary “nachos,” aka chips with sour cream, a whole avocado (no attempt at guacamole!), and beans.

  I realize I’m being selfish. We’ll manage. We did before. When it was just Mum and me it was wonderful. Her heart is broken and I’ve got to help her. I’ll start by making a fuss over her and organizing a good night.

  I would normally do a vlog, but when Mum comes back downstairs I suggest the things you absolutely need when a relationship breaks down. Ice cream and a movie.

  Mum is quite clear. “Millie. Nothing romantic and nothing about love or teenagers dying in a forest because of an ancient curse they find in a tree or something.”

  I suggest Wonder Woman. She survives. Men die. In fact, men die for her.

  Mum winks at me and says, “That sounds like just what I need.”

  At this point, my phone goes off. It’s a message from Danny.

  Hi M. Got a virus or something. Temperature 101 degrees. Mum making me eat soup. Won’t be at school for a few days. No voice so can’t talk. Just saw your vlog though. Baby, I’m sorry but know you are strong and you look and sound great. Dave also incredible. Try a bit of Zan. D xx

  “Try a bit of Zan.” I wish I could explain to Danny and lots of other people that it isn’t that easy.

  Also, I know not being able to speak is a very good excuse for not calling, but I still feel a bit …

  No, I’m being terrible. He’s just ill. Tonight is ALL about my mum and making her feel better. That’s what good daughters and good women do—support each other even when they are feeling bleurgh.

  #BearFail

  The next day at school, there’s still no Danny, and Lauren is furious. She storms up to me at break. I have this terrible feeling that she’s found out about me and Erin. Rumors can flash around school very fast. But it’s not that. The teacher gave her a fail for her essay featuring the bear. He said it was a “trite way to deal with a serious subject.”