He’s not the first person who’s asked me to help them get famous. Won’t be the last. I’m used to it now and most people get the hint after I reject them a few times. I can’t figure out if Hassan is thickheaded or just annoying. Maybe both.
‘Yuk, I would rather watch calligraphy videos,’ I say.
‘Pfft, you can’t get mega-rich off that,’ Hassan says.
I put my novel down. ‘What makes you any different than the other million gaming YouTubers out there?’
Hassan laughs. ‘I’m actually a decent player. Probably better than Matty over there.’
‘I don’t play shooters,’ Matty says. ‘I’d rather spend my screen dollars watching anime.’
‘Screen dollars?’ I say.
‘Yep, one screen dollar is ten minutes of screen time,’ Matty says. ‘That’s how I get paid for doing chores.’
Mum’s never had to restrict my screen use. If anyone needs restrictions, it’s her.
‘I don’t hear silent reading,’ Miss Lam says.
‘That makes no sense,’ Hassan snaps.
‘That sounds like you want another detention.’
Hassan grumbles and we get back into our books.
The rest of the day drags on until we’re let loose after school. I go hang out with Annabelle at her house. We only live ten minutes away, so her place feels like home. I’m sure it’s the same with Annabelle. Mum keeps packets of choc-chip cookies in our cupboard, just for her.
We drop off our bags at the door and Annabelle leads me to the kitchen.
‘Time to hit the slime lab,’ she says, giving me an apron. I’m her lab assistant.
Annabelle ducks into the bathroom and grabs some shaving cream and body lotion. ‘I got this recipe from SlimeQueen98’s YouTube channel.’
‘Cool, what are we making?’
‘Fluffy slime.’ Annabelle shakes up the can of shaving cream. ‘I dare you to eat this.’
‘Maybe if you served it with strawberries,’ I say with a laugh. ‘You could swap your dad’s shaving cream with whipped cream.’
Annabelle cracks up. ‘Yeah, he’d be licking his beard all day.’
I grab a clear bowl and we begin making our slime. We’ve been doing it since we were in Year Four, but Annabelle’s the expert. We start by squeezing one large bottle of clear craft glue and shaving cream into the bowl.
‘Can you mix it for me?’ Annabelle passes me the mixing spoon. ‘Which colour should we use?’
I whip up the glue and cream until it turns into a fluffy cloud. ‘Anything but purple.’
‘Yellow it is.’ Annabelle puts a few drops of food colouring into the bowl.
I keep mixing until it looks like buttered popcorn. ‘What are you calling this batch?’
‘It’s popcornic!’ Annabelle sniffs it, as if she can smell the cinema. Then she throws some bright coloured craft gems into the slime. ‘And these are the M&Ms.’
I laugh. ‘You put M&Ms in your popcorn?’
‘Oh yeah, it’s buttery heaven when the popcorn’s hot and the chocolate melts in,’ Annabelle says. She squishes the slime. ‘I wanted to put my personal mark on it.’
‘You could do this on YouTube too, you know,’ I say.
Annabelle scrunches up her nose. ‘I’m not good enough to do that. I mean, Brenda in our class is on YouTube doing gymnastics, and Bryan’s a champion at eating burgers, but …’
I pat her back. ‘Eating is not a skill, especially for Bryan who has a big mouth,’ I say. ‘You’re much more creative with your slime.’
She gazes into the bowl and shakes her head. ‘Nah, there’s like a billion videos on slime now.’
Sometimes I forget how shy Annabelle can be. When we first hung out, she barely said a word. She doesn’t like to stand out, even though she’s one of the tallest girls in Year Seven and Eight – or maybe it’s because of that.
‘But you’ll be the first Annabelle Murphy, Slime Queen of Merryford!’ I say. ‘You can inspire so many others out there.’
‘But I don’t know how to talk.’
‘You’re doing a super job with me so far,’ I say.
Annabelle’s face brightens up. ‘Would you join me on the video?’
I place both hands in the bowl, wishing I could dive in and swim away. I’ve avoided being with anyone online. Bryan used to constantly bug me about it but he’s stopped asking.
But Annabelle is different. She’s my bestie.
‘Mum wouldn’t let me, she’s pretty strict about that kind of thing,’ I say. ‘It’s one of her golden rules.’
‘Oh.’ Annabelle’s shoulders sag. ‘Okay, Vee.’
I didn’t mean to lie to her. But she wouldn’t understand. ‘You don’t need me anyway.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ Annabelle takes out a container and pours the slime into it. It doesn’t look so fluffy anymore, it’s clumpy like stale popcorn between the seats at the cinema.
I watch her packing away her things. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Nah, I’m okay.’
I check my watch. ‘I gotta go.’
‘Sure, see you tomorrow,’ Annabelle mumbles.
I walk back home feeling like a sour plum for knocking her back. But Annabelle’s supposed to be a Veexpert so she should be able to work it out by herself. When she comes to my birthday parties, Mum always takes a photo of just me with the cake for Instagram. No friend has ever appeared on The Chronicles of Vee, and Annabelle’s never let that worry her before.
I can’t shake away her gloomy vibes, it’s like I’m smuggling rain clouds under my jumper. I hope we can still make slime together. I hope we’ll still be friends tomorrow. Come on, Vee, pull yourself together. Annabelle’s your bestie.
At home I keep my mind busy with some calligraphy. It’s something that came out of Trysday Fridays, where Mum springs something new on me to try. I’ve taken a few lessons in ballet and karate, though it turned out I wasn’t made for either, so I had to give up my dreams of being the world’s first ninja ballerina. I tried juggling, solving Rubik’s cubes, and then juggling Rubik’s cubes.
But one Friday when Mum presented me with a calligraphy kit, it was love at first write. I started doing fancy headings in my workbooks and for projects. And now my calligraphy is always great for a quick idea when we’re stumped for posts, like writing out words that describe how I feel with sparkly gel pens. I call them my fairy godmother pens because, like in Cinderella, they can dress up any word nicely.
Mum comes in from work at six. She just started a new tax consultant job, driving around the city to see her clients, helping them solve their tax problems. Mum loves it because she’s been dying to work with people face to face, and she can start at whatever time she likes.
She knocks on my door. ‘What are you working on, darling?’
I show her my calligraphy. It’s a cherry red swirly font that says ‘Popcornic!’ I’m hoping that this will cut through Annabelle’s gloomy clouds like sunshine.
‘Mum, why choose purple in today’s post?’ I say. ‘I would have picked red or green. Which leads me to the million dollar question, why would I have a meltdown over a pencil?’
Mum winces. ‘Someone made a comment and I had to come up with a reason.’
‘But it wasn’t true.’ I toss my pen at the wall. ‘It’s not me.’
‘I’m sorry, Vee.’ Mum sits down on my bed. ‘I thought maybe a little drama might help.’
‘You don’t need to add anything,’ I say. ‘I mean, that’s why people follow you, Mum, you’re an everyday, ordinary mum.’
‘Ordinary …’ Mum clutches a pillow and rests her chin on it. Now she’s a sour plum. Today’s my lucky day for letting people down.
‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say.
‘But what if I run out of things to post about?’
I spin around in my chair to face her. ‘We are Team Vee. We’ll give each other some Insta-piraton.’
Mum squeezes my shoulders. ‘Thanks, my sug
ar plum.’
She gets up to leave and I keep spinning in my chair. Mum’s been acting so weirdly since we went over 100,000 followers. It’s like we have to take this whole thing seriously now. But what if we really do run out of things to post? Would Mum stop being an Insta-mum? The thought sneaks into my head and curls up inside my brain.
It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Chapter
Four
The week zooms by without any more drama, real or made-up. Annabelle and I are still besties (phew), and she’s acting like I never rejected her invitation to join her to film a YouTube video. I think the popcornic calligraphy piece I made for her helped too. She’s good at sweeping things under the rug, though sometimes I wonder if that rug is getting as lumpy as rocky road chocolate.
I’m too scared now to ask if she’ll go on YouTube on her own. I was only protecting her. If I joined her, Emily and her gang would be sure to post all kinds of nasty comments and Annabelle would cop it.
Emily constantly brags in her posts about all her fabulous friends, or her new clothes, or winning races, but I would never lower myself to post what I think about that. Emily’s a long-distance runner who always came first in our primary school cross-country races – and always let us all know about it. Maybe in high school, the race will actually be across the country and she’ll end up on the other side of Australia. Anyway, I’ve learnt the trick of ignoring her, but Annabelle might still get hurt.
Mum lets me sleep in on Saturday mornings. Well, she doesn’t barge in and put a camera phone in my face. I stretch out, letting my legs dangle over the edge of my bed. I check my phone, which has a screen bigger than my palm.
There are some cool things about having an Insta-mum. You’re allowed to have the latest phone. Well, almost. Mum hands down her old phones to me, which are really not that old anyway because she upgrades to the latest every six months. She says it’s all about the camera.
And being an only child with a single mum, I also get away with a lot of stuff. Once, when I was much younger, I wore the same sunflower dress for a whole month. Another time, I went through a phase where I only ate red things, like raspberries, red M&Ms and tomato sauce, and only off a red plate. Mum found it tricky but she managed to flex her creative muscles and made some delicious red meals. She posted it all and got a ton of likes.
Mum just needs to relax more, and not stress too much about posting things. They’ll happen naturally.
I get up and take out Annabelle’s butter popcorn slime from my vault. Okay, so my vault is just a wooden box next to my desk, but Mum made me a solemn promise that I could choose things that would stay offline, away from The Chronicles of Vee. Things that were just for us and nobody else. There are some of my favourite calligraphy pieces in there – and some of my first embarrassing attempts. Some top secret poems and short stories.
Plus there’s Annabelle. I don’t want Mum posting anything about my friends. Not that I have many real-life ones anyway.
When I close up the vault and head out of my room for breakfast, my nostrils are overwhelmed by the scent of banana and marshmallow pancakes. Everything should smell like pancakes.
Faturdays is another reason I love weekends. It’s another Mum invention, where she posts all kinds of fatty foods. It always racks up heaps of likes. I rush to the kitchen and sit at the bench.
‘Have you brushed your teeth?’ Mum says.
‘Awww, come on, I don’t want to be eating minty pancakes,’ I say. ‘Annabelle gets to brush her teeth after breakfast.’
‘While you were asleep, your mouth has been on a journey around the world,’ Mum says. ‘It’s had kebabs in Turkey, pho noodle soup in Vietnam …’
I groan and head to the bathroom. I don’t need another lecture from Mum, especially one that shows off her cuisine and geography skills. I come back and flash my teeth, eager to earn my breakfast pass.
‘You haven’t made these in yonks,’ I say, licking my lips.
‘Eight months to be exact,’ Mum says. ‘This time I’m going to post a photo of them, but I need a little twist. Any ideas?’
I shrug. ‘Dunno … toothpaste?’
‘Ah, you cheeky plum. Mmmm, how about some plums?’
‘Or plum jelly,’ I say. ‘I can’t remember the last time we had jelly for breakfast.’
‘That would have been for your sixth birthday,’ Mum says after a quick search of the Chronicles, then she lays some pancakes on my plate. ‘I used to call you jelly belly.’
‘Wow, Mum, they really are the chronicles of my life.’ I look through the cupboards for some honey. ‘If I ever have amnesia, you can just reboot me back through Instagram.’ I take out some jelly beans. ‘How about these?’
‘Why not? It is Faturday, after all.’
Mum places the jelly beans on top of the pancakes. She’s a pro when it comes to plating things, thanks to MasterChef. If there was ever a plating comp, she would be a world champion.
Mum gets her phone. ‘I want to take a shot of your first bite.’
‘Hope it tastes good,’ I say, my fork ready to attack. ‘Um, not to say that it won’t, but what if …?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Mum says. ‘Go for it, Vee.’
I dig into the pancakes and Mum takes a few shots of every bite. By the time I’ve finished, she’s chosen her favourite picture.
‘Is that good enough to post?’ she asks.
‘Oh yeah, that is worth at least five thousand likes,’ I say. ‘Maybe more.’
Mum frowns. ‘Anything below ten thousand likes is below average.’ She sighs. ‘Let me choose another one …’
I touch her hand. ‘Seriously, Mum, it’ll be fine. Those pancakes were tongue-tickling good. I wish I could go back in time and eat them again.’
‘Thanks, Vee.’ Mum uploads the post and I go to wash up.
I remember when Mum used to jump up and down when a post would get a thousand likes. She just has to trust herself. It’s something she used to do.
We go out shopping for groceries and when we come back, there’s a package on our doorstep.
‘Oh great, it’s here,’ Mum says.
I bring in the box. ‘What is it?’
Mum dumps the shopping bags on the bench. ‘Go on, have a look.’
She takes her phone and starts filming me. I tear off the tape and open the box. There are packets of coloured textas, pens and pencils. It’s like my birthday and Christmas have come early. I feel my hands trembling as I pick up a gold shimmering pencil case.
‘Wow, this is all from Typo,’ I say. ‘Half the kids in my class have things from there.’
Mum smiles. ‘It’s from the latest range,’ she says. ‘It won’t be in stores for another month.’
I let out a little squeal. ‘How did you get this stuff?’
‘I reached out to Typo for a box of goodies,’ Mum says. ‘We’re being sponsored by them.’
‘Huh?’ I drop the pencil case back in the box. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We just have to do a few posts with their things,’ Mum says casually, sniffing one of the scented markers. ‘The big Instagram stars get samples to try out all the time – things like handbags, jewellery, video games …’
‘Yeah, I know, but … we’re just small French fries.’
‘And pretty soon, we’ll be fat juicy chips!’ Mum says.
I laugh. ‘I don’t think that works but let’s go with it.’
Mum lassos me in for a hug. ‘All I’m saying is that we need to make the most of these opportunities.’
It’s true. Emily would go nuts for something like this. It will almost be worth the sponsorship just to see Emily’s face when I show off my pencil case makeover, not that I’d try to compete with the brag queen.
I stack up the markers and pencils and take them to my room. I can’t wait to take these babies for a test draw. Maybe I can use them to create the invites to my Vee.I.P birthday party (Vee’s Incredible Party, that is). There’s
nothing flashy about it, I only invite a few friends over to my house and it gives Mum a chance to cook and bake. It’s a win–win.
I lay all my new markers and pencils on my bed. My fingers are tingling with excitement. Mum’s right, there’s nothing wrong with Team Vee getting a little free stuff. Especially something as cool as this.
Chapter
Five
At school on Monday morning, I step into my English class, with my Typo goodies waiting to jump out of my bag.
Emily walks past me. ‘So, did you bring your gold pencil case?’
‘What?’ I place my bag on the hook. ‘How did you …’
‘Your Insta, duh!’
I totally forgot about Mum’s post yesterday. She was totally spot-on about sponsors giving us a boost. She tagged Typo’s Instagram account and we got a thousand new followers within an hour.
Emily picks at her fingernails. ‘So the mighty Vee has finally sold out.’
‘I’m not selling anything.’ Besides, who would buy half-used stationery, since I spent half the weekend using it all on some calligraphy.
‘Don’t try to deny it, you’re a walking billboard.’
‘So what? Did I steal your dream?’ I look her up and down. ‘I bet you want free stuff to show off on your Instagram too.’
Emily nods. ‘You got me. But at least I’m not some stubborn, off-the-grid hermit who doesn’t want to be online herself.’
‘How can I be? My whole life is already up there –’
Emily holds up her palm to stop me and stalks off to join her friends.
I walk slowly back to my table. What planet is Emily living on? I’m not one of those old-fashioned kids who avoid screens. I have a mobile. I watch YouTube. I play games on my Nintendo Switch. Mum shares The Chronicles of Vee’s account with me, so I use it to check out other people’s Instagrams like Brenda and Burger Bryan. I just never like or comment on anything. I’d rather do it face to face. I just tell Bryan that his burgers are disgusting. Or I let Hassan know that he’s too obsessed about games. Emily might be a Chronicles follower, but she really doesn’t know anything about me.
Don't Follow Vee Page 2
