I find Annabelle and show her my Typo things.
‘Wow, these neon gel pens are funky,’ she says.
‘Yeah, some of them even glow in the dark,’ I say.
‘So, do you work for Typo now or something?’ Annabelle says.
I lean back and bellow with laughter. ‘I wish. Mum says they might give us more things to post.’
‘But only if you like them, right?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ I roll the pencils under my palm.
Bryan walks over to our table. ‘Can I borrow one of your pens?’
I turn around and spot Bryan’s pencil case, which is a giant plushy burger. ‘You don’t have any pens in that gigantic thingy?’
‘I just keep my empty burger wrappers in there. I collect them as my proof-of-eating certificates,’ Bryan says. ‘Besides, I just want to try one of your pens and be a part of the future.’ Bryan picks up a blue pen with flashing lights. ‘Please?’
I smile. ‘Sure, go for it.’
‘I keep asking burger places to sponsor me but they always knock me back,’ Bryan says. ‘They think I’m just a hungry, bratty kid.’
‘They’re not wrong,’ I add. ‘About the hungry part, I mean.’
‘When I get a million followers, then they’ll take me seriously,’ Bryan says. ‘I’ll just be happy if I get more followers than Hassan’s Hypergamer page.’
He walks away, mesmerised by the flashing lights.
‘I couldn’t have a pen like that, I’d be too distracted,’ Annabelle says.
‘Bryan’s too busy distracting himself,’ I say. ‘He worries too much about what Hassan and his mates are doing.’
I tell Annabelle about what Emily said to me. ‘If being a sellout means I get fancy, free things then who cares.’
‘Every girl wants to be Insta-famous like you,’ Annabelle says. She opens up her pencil case and there’s a sticky note on the inside cover.
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Oh, it’s one of my parents’ little messages.’ She shows me the star-shaped note. Keep on shining like the star you are. Love Dad. ‘Cheesy, huh?’
‘Yeah, but so sweet.’ I sigh. ‘You’re so lucky to have a dad … who writes you messages.’
Annabelle gives me a quick hug.
I look around the room for a portal to get out of this awkward situation. I find myself staring at the calendar instead. ‘Oh, don’t forget to save the date for the first Saturday of August …’
‘Already done,’ Annabelle says, clapping her hands. ‘I’d never forget my bestie’s birthday. It’s in my top five dates to remember.’
I lean back in my seat, relieved that she jumped over that dad topic hurdle. ‘Where am I on the list?’
‘You’re sandwiched between Christmas and my birthday,’ Annabelle says.
‘That’s a nice place to be,’ I say. ‘My party wouldn’t be the same without you, you’ve been coming since Year Three.’
Annabelle’s as essential to me as cake, and just as sweet too. I blame her parents. Their Instagram is filled with sugary quotes. And I love how the Murphy family just own their cheesiness. No wonder Annabelle’s so happy all the time. She feels complete to me. She has her mum and dad.
It turns out the Typo stuff was only the beginning. Over the next few weeks, we get a package outside our door every other day. I get more pens and textas from other brands, plus books, baking equipment and new food products. Mum posts it all on Instagram. We get more followers. We get more likes. Life is back to normal for Team Vee.
It’s another Faturday and Mum’s promised to make some gooey choc-beetroot brownies. You can hardly taste the beetroot. I think all vegetables should be hidden inside cakes. But first Mum is being a potato couch – yes, I know it’s coach potato, but it’s something I said when I was six and Mum never corrected me back then, so it’s become a thing.
Mum’s in her grey PJs, looking like a giant moth. She’s glued to both her mobile and tablet, doing some research on Instagram. I call it stalking but, whatever, Mum wants to keep up with the competition.
‘This Bottle Cap Joe guy gets my goat,’ she says. ‘All he does is post pics of bottle caps and he’s raking in over 100,000 likes in each pic.’
I shrug. That’s the magic of Instagram. Anyone can be a star. Literally anyone or anything. There’s a teddy bear named Kuddly who has close to a million followers.
‘Look at ChopChopMum’s latest post,’ she says. ‘Her kids are only riding scooters in New York’s Central Park. They’re doing nothing special. Boom! Over 250,000 likes.’ Mum rests her phone on her tummy. ‘It’s all about the location. I could be in my PJs in front of the Taj Mahal and get a ton of likes.’
‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s start travelling.’ I leap off the couch and spread out my arms.
Seriously, forget New York, I’d settle for Chipping Norton Lakes down the road. Some fresh air would do wonders for Mum’s brain. I’m surprised she hasn’t got permanently square eyes. I know her new job gets her out of the house more, but it’s not enough.
‘We can’t compete with Insta-travellers,’ Mum says. ‘Besides, I’m a homey kinda person.’
And just to prove it, she grabs the remote and scrolls through the movies on our set-top box. ‘Do you want to binge watch something?’
My eyes already feel so full from playing a few rounds of Splatoon on my Nintendo Switch, but I go along with it. ‘How about a Zombieathon?’
Mum sticks her arms out and does her best zombie impression. ‘Ugh, no. I don’t want any nightmares. How about a Disneyathon?’
‘That’s going to give me nightmares,’ I say. ‘Besides, I’ve seen Aladdin and The Lion King so many times now, I can act them out.’
‘Ooh, now that’s an idea,’ Mum says. ‘Maybe I could film you doing that?’
‘And it would go straight to the vault,’ I say. ‘But maybe I should film you doing all the singing, Mum. You know the words to every Disney song ever composed.’
Mum loves Disney movies and basically anything with catchy songs. She can sing her way through hundreds of movies.
‘Ah, now that would have to go straight to the vault too,’ Mum says.
‘You could sing in the car on the way to work,’ I say. ‘I know it’s been done, but you could add your own spin to it.’
‘I do love karaoke.’
‘Karaoke is something that bad singers do,’ I say. ‘You can actually sing, Mum.’
‘When I was younger, I went to karaoke every weekend.’
‘You should go again,’ I say. ‘Call up your friends and sing your heart out.’
‘Nah, my friends are not into karaoke anymore.’
‘Well, maybe go to the movies with them,’ I say.
‘They’re not movie types either.’
I frown. ‘How about dinner, do your friends eat and drink or are they robots?’
That’s the thing with Insta-mums, they think followers are substitutes for real friends.
Mum puts the remote down. ‘I prefer spending time with you.’
I lean on her shoulder and she chooses some sci-fi comedy to watch. I guess Mum and I have a lot in common. We both don’t have a lot of friends. Is that what’s stopping her from posting things about herself online?
I help Mum make the choc-beet brownies in the afternoon. The best Instagram posts are the ones you can eat. Mum goes all multi-tasking chef on me, squeezing in time to cook a delicious roast chicken for dinner as well.
I carve a piece of chicken leg from the roast. ‘Wow, Mum, this chicken is tongue-sizzlingly good.’
‘Thanks to this new tray,’ Mum says. ‘It really helps the chicken soak in all the flavours.’
‘Are there hidden cameras somewhere?’ I ask. ‘You sound like an ad.’
Mum laughs. ‘Imagine doing this full-time.’
‘It’s never too late to be a chef.’ I load up another scoop of vegetables onto my plate. ‘You could take some cooking classes after work.
’
‘Still trying to get me out of the house?’ Mum says.
‘I’m serious, Mum, you’re such a great cook.’
‘What I meant was, imagine doing The Chronicles of Vee full-time, like some of those other Insta-mums.’
‘I thought you liked being a tax consultant.’
Mum waves her fork in the air. ‘Nobody has ever uttered those words in the whole history of everything.’
I bite into the crunchy broccoli, chewing on my thoughts. Has this been Mum’s plan all along? I’ve read some of her stuff back when she used to keep a blog, she’s pretty funny, even if it was about baby Vee. But I don’t want her to see me as work.
After dinner, Mum brings out a package. ‘I’ve been saving this for the weekend.’
It’s got pink polka dots all over it. ‘This might be an apron for you, Mum,’ I say.
I open the box and pull out a pink skirt and tight-fitting purple top. I check the label. ‘Stella? Never heard of them.’
I hold up the top, with its frills on the shoulder, and then pull out a pair of black wrap-around pants. They look like something Emily would wear. That makes it an Insta-no for me. I put the clothes aside. ‘Sorry, Mum, it’s not my style.’
‘But that’s going to be your outfit for next week’s mufti day.’
‘Never. Not for a million likes,’ I say.
‘Vee!’ Mum’s tone is so sharp that it pierces my ears. ‘I promised them that you’d wear it to school.’
‘Well, you’ll have to unpromise. You know me, Mum. I’m a shirt and jeans girl. I wear shirts with funny cats playing piano.’
‘Maybe it’s time to try something new,’ Mum says.
‘Mufti day doesn’t fall on a Friday Tryday.’ I stand up. ‘Sorry, Mum, wearing my own clothes to high school already makes me feel nervous, but this would make it so much worse.’
Mum goes in for a triple begging pose, down on one knee, with puppy eyes and hands cupped together. ‘Do it for me, pleeeaase?’
I feel my chest tighten up. ‘We can send back the stuff that we don’t like, right? Isn’t that how it works?’
‘We’re so close to reaching 140,000 followers,’ Mum says, wringing her hands. ‘I want to crack 150,000 by your 13th birthday in August.’
I hold up the pink skirt, trying to picture me in it.
‘I don’t know, Mum. I thought I was supposed to be myself.’
‘You still can be, Vee,’ Mum says. ‘Just in shiny new clothes. Think of all the fashion bloggers we can bring in. Don’t you understand?’
I thought I did. Whatever happened to just doing stuff and not caring what other people thought?
‘Okay, just this once. But next time, can you find a clothing brand that does funny shirts like Tee-riffic?’
Mum strokes my hair. ‘We’ll see.’
I hate being treated like a life-size doll. We were supposed to be a team. But it looks like Mum has the final word now.
Chapter
Six
Mufti days are supposed to be my comfy days at school, but not today. I put on the Stella top and skirt, and grab my favourite worn sneakers.
Mum shrieks. ‘They don’t match your new clothes.’
‘Seriously?’ I say. ‘Did they send us some new shoes too?’
Mum shakes her head and fetches my black dress shoes. ‘Wear these instead.’
Great. Now it feels like I’m going to a wedding. I grab my schoolbag and skip over to Annabelle’s house. I don’t know why I’m skipping, but these clothes are already making me do weird things.
They’re also making Annabelle act weird too. I’ve never seen Annabelle this shocked before. And that includes the time we accidently trapped a cockroach in one of her slime jars.
‘You look like you’re in Year Nine.’
I look down at my black shoes. ‘Mmmm, but these aren’t high heels.’
‘I mean you look cool!’
‘Thanks.’ I skip beside her. ‘I like your clothes too.’
Annabelle blushes, even though she always wears the same plain clothes. There’s never a logo or any words on her shirts. She could stand against a wall and blend in. I call it her superpower and it’s making me feel even more worried about my outfit.
We get to school and Larry greets us at the gates. ‘Wow, you look like a movie star,’ he says. I don’t think he’s saying it as a joke this time.
Heading into school, it’s like stepping into a shopping centre, with everyone wearing their designer clothes. Mufti day was a big deal back in primary school, but it’s a full-on fashion parade here.
The breeze whips around my bare legs and it makes me shiver. I miss my comfy jeans so much. Everybody is staring at me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but this is different.
I walk past Bryan and his jaw drops like he’s ready to bite into an invisible monster burger, one with five patties. ‘Whoa, Vee.’
I feel my cheeks become light bulbs, glowing brightly. Please don’t tell me he’s going to say I look cool too. ‘Whoa, what?’
‘You look so … different,’ he mumbles.
Half of me is relieved. The other half is ticked off for some reason. But both halves agree on one thing. Today cannot get anymore embarrassing.
‘Hi, Vee.’ Mum suddenly appears waving her phone in the air. ‘I need to take a photo of you.’
Okay, I’ve just hit a new PB of embarrassment. Thanks, Mum. I mean, it’s bad enough when she used to come to Merryford Primary with my forgotten lunch and then take a photo of it for Instagram. But this is high school where most of the kids tower over her. Nobody realises who she is at first, but word spreads like a bushfire and suddenly, there’s an Insta-crowd.
Bryan steps forward and goes to shake Mum’s hand. ‘Hello, Vee’s Mum,’ he says.
‘Hi, Burger Bryan,’ Mum says. ‘Keep up the great work with your burgergrams.’
‘Thanks, I’m also a huge fan of your daughter.’
Mum shoots him a glare. ‘What?’
‘Um, I mean, I like Vee,’ Bryan squeaks. ‘Um, The Chronicles of Vee.’
I wish I had a burger right now to stuff into Bryan’s mouth. I drag Mum away from him.
‘You could have messaged me. Annabelle could have taken the photo.’
‘It’s no hassle, I’m starting work a little later today. I’ll just take a photo and go.’
Maybe she could take me away with her. My stomach feels like an out-of-control blender.
Mum shields her eyes. ‘It’s too bright here. Can we move somewhere else?’
‘Like another school?’ I say. ‘Come on, Mum, this isn’t a modelling shoot.’
‘Hi, Annabelle,’ Mum says. ‘Could you hold Vee’s bag for her?’
Annabelle grabs my bag and I quickly walk beside Mum. Every second she’s here feels like an hour. Mum finally stops. ‘Okay, stand over there. I want the playground behind you.’
‘You’ll have half of Year Seven here if you don’t hurry up.’
I turn around and see that it’s too late. A few boys, led by Hassan, are having a contest to see who can do the lamest dance in the background.
‘Yo, I’m going to be a part of The Chronicles of Vee,’ Hassan hollers.
Emily’s keeping her distance, but I can feel her gaze on me like a laser beam straight to the forehead.
I take a deep breath and try to block everyone out, smiling at mum’s phone. Everything I’m wearing is fake, from my skirt to my smile.
Mum takes a few shots and gives me the thumbs up. I rush to get my bag from Annabelle.
‘I’m sorry you had to hold it.’
‘Happy to help,’ Annabelle quips.
‘Hey, what about a photo with the two of you?’ Mum says.
‘Why not?’ I hook Annabelle with my arm. We try to outdo each other’s grins in front of Mum.
‘Thanks, Vee. I’ll see you later,’ Mum says, heading towards the school gate.
‘Mum, don’t forget to put that in the …’
>
Hassan leaps out in front of me. ‘So did I make it in your shot? Don’t forget to tag me: Hypergamer.’
I slap him on the back. ‘Consider yourself tagged.’
Annabelle touches my elbow. ‘Um, can your mum send me the photo of us?’
‘For sure, I’ll get it from her tonight.’
I catch one last glimpse of Mum. I didn’t get a chance to remind her about the vault. Mum may have been acting weirdly but surely she’ll remember the golden rule that matters the most to me.
We head to morning assembly in the hall. Our principal Mrs Ahmed is up on stage. I try my best to listen to her but it’s hard because Emily is giggling about something or someone. It’s probably me. It’s so cold sitting on the floor in a skirt. Thankfully, the assembly is short and soon we’re walking to English. Everyone is getting a good look at each other’s clothes. Random people are coming up to me, saying that they like what I’m wearing. I nod or give them half a smile, like it’s no big deal. If only they knew that I’m a mess inside.
Emily is standing by the door, giving her sweet and sour reviews as the kids step into the classroom – one of the annoying things she used to do for mufti days last year and it seems she’s determined to keep it going.
‘Sour … sour … sweet …’
Matty strolls by in his school uniform. Emily rolls her eyes. ‘Some things never change, uniform boy. Is it true you wear your uniform on the weekends?’
Matty shoos her away and sits next to Bryan.
I try to hide behind Annabelle but Emily stands in front of me. ‘And then we have Vee.’
I lower my eyes. ‘Go on, call me sour and get it over with.’
‘You’re sweet for once,’ Emily says.
I have to look back at her twice, to make sure those words aren’t coming out of her smirk. But she’s for real. ‘Um, thanks.’
‘Is that Stella you’re wearing?’
I nod. ‘Are they a good brand?’
Emily fires her eyeballs at me like twin cannons. ‘Only every famous female superstar on the planet wears them.’ Emily has one hand on her hip. ‘Seriously, Vee, I would kill for your life right now. You have so much going on and you pretend not to care.’
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