#Help

by Rae Earl

  Mum shakes her head and leaves. She shouts, “I’m going to unload the car.” I hear her muttering as she trips over something on the stairs. That would never happen at her house.

  I should be using this time to go and help her, but I’m not. I’m going to keep my stupid hat on and edit and upload my new vlog. I think the bit with the cucumber was actually quite good. Family can wait a bit. It’s vlog o’clock.

  #GIRLPOWER

  Now I have to admit by the time Mum has carried all my stuff up to my room, I’m feeling a bit cross. I’ve only been here for one night and Mum is already checking up on me.

  I bet I know why she’s here. Mum reckoned I’d be ready to come home after one night. I used to hate sleepovers when I was little. So Mum thought I’d get panicky almost immediately and go back to hers before she knew it. Her plan has failed! I am stronger than she thinks!

  I can tell that she is worried though. She keeps walking around my new room picking things up and putting them down again, as she opens and closes her mouth without a word. She looks like a music video on mute.

  She tries to be nice. “Millie. If you are going to live here, you are going to have to make some little changes. They are ones that you deserve! The front door needs a proper lock. You need somewhere to hang your clothes. And a desk for homework. And someone needs to remove THAT garden gnome that’s doing you know what from the porch.”

  I know which one she means but I say, “I’ve not noticed it. What I have noticed is how I can walk round this house without being attacked by a mop!”

  “Well,” Mum continues, “that’s partly why I’m here. After you left last night, I had a chat with Gary. He has agreed to get McWhir— the robot vacuum cleaner out ONLY every other day. So I want you to know that HE is prepared to meet you halfway on the issue that maybe, perhaps, he is over-cleaning.”

  “I’m not meeting anyone halfway!” I shout. Mum has ALWAYS told me that a strong woman doesn’t give in. She fights for more. So I say, “Mum. I would like to see a complete cess–cess—”

  Mum interrupts me and helps me with the word cessation.

  “Yes,” I continue in frankly a very-professional-almost-bossing-the-entire-situation way. “A complete cessation of the robot-hoover issue.”

  Mum looks sadly at me. “Well, Millie. That’s not going to happen. Nor should it. Gary is trying. I’m trying. So should you. That’s what ADULTS do.”

  The old Millie would have just shut up and done as she was told. But this is not old Millie. This is NEW Millie. Independent Millie. RESURGENT Millie (I stole that from a film). RESURGENT MILLIE AHOY! And THIS Millie can fight back.

  “Well, MUM. I AM in a house full of adults and THEY actually act like grown-ups rather than super controlling crazed people!”

  At that moment, we both hear Dad shout from the kitchen, “Teresa! We cannot start using paper plates just because you don’t want to spoil your Halloween nails by doing the washing-up. I don’t care how long it took to do the Vampire bat. Anyway, it’s SEPTEMBER! It’s TOO EARLY. Even for YOU!”

  Mum only has to look at me and say, “You’ll always have a room at my house, Millie. Come home.”

  And then she flounces out in a dazzle of Lycra. My mum rocks gym kit. She rocks everything.

  She is totally magnificent and everything I would like to be. I can’t tell her that though. I’m too upset.

  Downstairs, things have escalated. Teresa is claiming you can scrub the bath by just having a bath when you are already clean and “rolling about a bit”.

  Wherever I live, cleaning causes problems.

  I put some TV on and doze. It’s all been a bit much. Too much emotional stuff sends me sleepy. Especially if I’m wearing a duvet.

  When I wake up, I check my phone and squeal loud enough to make a dog deaf.

  #FAVOURITE

  My cat vlog has already had over a thousand views, which must be because it has been liked by the DAILY DANESH and he has COMMENTED!

  Great cat. Chilled. Funny. Purrfect Pet, YEAAHHHH. All the thumbs.

  The Daily Danesh is one of the BEST vloggers around. The boy who lives with his gran and created the game of Fridge-Freezer Jenga (he made a 151 cm tower of fishfingers and potato wedges!). He’s a LEGEND and he HAS SEEN ME. He must like the fact that my female cat is called Dave.

  It seems Dave not being a viral sensation is actually quite funny. I can see in other places that the vlog’s been shared by loads of people at school … including Danny Trudeau.

  I think he’s just trying to sort of be “in” with everyone.

  You can stop thinking that. No. He does not fancy me. He doesn’t even know me! This is real life, not Disney. Boys like him don’t fall into big hug time with girls like me. You know what I mean.

  I take a screengrab and change my bio to Favourited by the Daily Danesh as this is huge and just what I needed after my mum made me feel like I was about seven years old.

  I run downstairs to tell everyone. Teresa and Dad are having a foot fight. So I tell Grandad instead. He’s not very impressed. In fact, he’s rude.

  “So someone you have never met before and have absolutely no idea what is REALLY like decides that you have said something a bit good and pressed some sort of thumb symbol thing and that’s a cause for celebration?!”

  I leap in the air, clap and shout, “YES!”

  “I know you’re a clever girl, Millie,” Grandad mumbles, “but I’m not going to get excited every time something tiny like that happens. You’ll get a big head and there’s nothing worse than that. Especially in a woman.”

  I don’t really want to do that “old people don’t get it” thing but OLD PEOPLE REALLY DON’T GET IT, do they? Plus, perhaps if Grandad had given more praise to his children, they wouldn’t currently be practising WWF wrestling on the front-room carpet – they’re in their thirties!

  Also, “Especially in a woman?!” I decide to make it my responsibility while I’m here to drag Grandad into this century with some epic feminism.

  Slightly deflated, I go back upstairs to the room that is not really my room. I realize that I didn’t even say goodbye to my actual best friend due to my family’s non-stop drama. I message her.

  Sorry for earlier Loz. Will think about vlogs that aren’t about Mrs Mad Cat! See you tomoz. BTW Daily Danesh liked it!

  I don’t want to show off, but I am chuffed and minted and all the joys.

  Lauren replies almost immediately with 200 emojis and:

  Class Mills. C-L-A-S-S!

  It’s an OK response but, between you and me, I’m a bit disappointed. This is my best friend and the Daily Danesh is big, so I reply:

  Are you OK?

  If I’m being really honest with you, that really means, “That was a bit of a rubbish message. Why? Are you OK?”

  My phone pings, like, IMMEDIATELY.

  No. They are yelling again. It’s horrible.

  INSTANT GUILT. Why am I getting excited about a like when Lauren basically lives in the equivalent of one of those really horrible places you see on television where there’s constant war?

  I message back.

  Stay out of it. Do what I do when it gets too much. Put your headphones on, do some colouring and remember, I think you ARE THE BEST.

  Lauren sends back loads of hearts. Send the love. Feel the love. It’s what you have to do, isn’t it? That is just properly sensible.

  Can I tell you what I’ve noticed? That not many adults are feeling the love. Lauren’s parents argue pretty much 24/7 about everything. During the summer holidays, while me and Lauren watched Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, her mum and dad had a row about everything from Lauren’s swimming lessons (she didn’t want to go) to Lauren’s gerbil (was it dead or just really tired?) that lasted the ENTIRE film. When a boy wizard can save the entire world in the same time that you have screamed about a dead mouse thing, you should probably realize you have problems.

  My problem is that I can’t stop checking the views on m
y vlog. Maybe now Danny has seen me online, I can actually say hi to him in real life at school tomorrow?

  Or maybe I’ll just stay quiet and safe and UNDER THE RADAR in real life.

  #PARENTPLAN

  When I see Lauren at school the next day before registration, she looks tired. “They shouted till about 2 a.m.,” she moans. She pulls the books out of her locker in the corridor like she hates everything. “Millie. It was pretty horrible. It was slightly funny though when I heard my dad say, ‘The way you arrange the spice rack is madness!’ It’s very difficult dealing with people who get really angry about coriander and ground nutmeg.”

  Lauren smiles but looks like she’s about to sob too. It’s times like this when your best friend needs a lift, so I change the subject.

  “What about the next vlog?” I’m talking very quietly because I don’t want anyone else to know just yet. “How about a How NOT To Be a Parent vlog? You and me have got lots of personal experience we could share.”

  Lauren does a little jump in the air. She brightens up pretty much immediately. “I LOVE IT, MILLS! The point is it’s a global, universal issue. Like gaming. And make-up. All the big vlogs are about the stuff that is worldwide and really matters. Like cats and really amazing cakes.”

  I decide to just come out with it. “We could talk about your parents!”

  Now I know this is touchy, so I quickly say, “But we could disguise ourselves.”

  Lauren stares at me intensely. “We could totally wear huge wigs.”

  “Hm. Maybe not.” I don’t tell her that’s possibly the worst idea in the world. I just gently say, “But I think if we start off by talking about it from our own—”

  Lauren interrupts, “Like if I talk about the argument last night. I mean loads of parents probably argue about swimming, gerbils and the precise placement of herbs in the spice rack.”

  I can sense she is being sarcastic.

  “Actually, they probably do, Lauren. I bet that argument has happened the world over. I bet that if we did a vlog about that, we’d—”

  Suddenly, the atmosphere around us goes icy cold. A shadow appears. We’ve been spotted. Hunted. Cornered.

  “Well, well, well! Look who it is! Millie Porter! We ARE causing a bit of a stir, aren’t we?”

  Abandon the plans. Put all defences up. Erin Breeler is coming this way.

  #COPYCAT

  Erin Breeler is not what you need first thing on a Monday morning. She is officially the worst start to the week since I had tonsillitis at Christmas.

  She glides up to both of us like she is on demon fairy wheels. Miranda, her fluffy best friend, is by her side. Erin towers over us and we press our backs against our lockers. She is tanned and made up brilliantly. Her lashes flutter like a flock of butterflies. Do butterflies come in flocks? They do on Erin’s eyes. Seriously, if I didn’t hate her so much, I’d be completely impressed. I try and keep calm but inside, I feel the fear. My palms are sweating and leaving big print marks on my Maths book.

  She purrs at us. And it’s not a Dave-style purr. “All praise the Wardrobe Queen!” she laughs. “What a clever use of a piece of exercise equipment. I’m impressed, Millie. Really.”

  “Er … yeah,” I say. This is RUBBISH. Why can’t I think of something better? It’s like that time Dad wrapped Aunty Teresa’s head in Sellotape. She couldn’t say or do a thing. JUST LIKE ME NOW.

  “I really did think it was good,” Erin continues. “An unexpectedly funny, smart post.”

  I’ve still got mental tape all around my brain and body so I just say, “Thank you.”

  “It was so good,” Erin carries on, “I thought it could do with a little bit of … improvement.”

  Suddenly, something in my head springs back into action.

  “And what form would that ‘improvement’ take, Erin?” I sound a bit tough but not too ridiculous.

  “It’s no big deal, Millie. It’s just about knowing what you’re doing on Instagram. I mean, what you did was great, but you can’t hope for too big a reach without … upping your game.”

  Now my tummy isn’t fully of Erin’s butterflies. It’s full of buffaloes – galloping through fields, trampling everything in their path. My stomach is just a mass of HOOVES.

  “And how would I do that?” I just about manage to get that out despite the total body stampede.

  Erin smirks her perfect smirk. She pulls out her phone, tosses it slightly in the air and catches it perfectly. It’s Cirque du Soleil with the latest Samsung. “Using good filters. Posting at the right time. Decent hashtags. The right audience for the content. That sort of thing. But it’s OK, Millie, because I like to help if I can.”

  Feeling ever so slightly like I’m going to throw up, I ask her what she’s done.

  “Oh, don’t let me tell you, Millie. Have a look. Look and … LEARN. Oh, and Lauren, I thought those heels were fab. It’s just a shame how some people can’t cope with real fashion but I’m sure you’ll get there eventually!” Then she flounces off down the corridor with Miranda, who just smirks and nods like a smirky, noddy thing.

  I grab hold of my phone and go straight to Erin’s account. When I see what she’s done, I want to go off like Gary when he’s spotted pink mould in the shower.

  Erin “TOTAL EVIL” Breeler has reposted my photo onto her account, given it a different, and, YES, much better filter and got hundreds of likes in under an hour. What is even worse, she has captioned it:

  Don’t fancy getting fit? Don’t worry, girls, here’s a great hack from @MilliePorter. If you’re not a #GymBunny, you can always use your kit as your wardrobe instead. Remember if you want to make high-street fashion last, take care of your clothes ;) #glow #Primarni #LifeHacks

  Erin looks back and sees that I have seen her evil. “It’s a great message, Millie,” she shouts. “I like helping people. You’re helping them too, Millie. We did it together. It’s like…” And she pauses and does that face of MAXIMUM MINX. “It’s like me and you, for that tiny minute, were a team.”

  Then she walks off. She’s a trap and I just stepped right in her.

  We can’t speak. We don’t say anything for about three hours. It might be less than that but it feels that long. Lauren just stares at me and finally says, “How does she manage to always be … right?”

  I sigh. “She’s clever. This is a whole new world of terrible, Lauren. Even when you do good stuff, she finds a way to make you feel terrible about it. Now all her followers will think I’m a complete spoon and troll me to death.”

  “What do you think we should do?” At times like this, Lauren assumes I have the answer, and usually I do. But not this time.

  “Well, there’s nothing that we can do – we’ve just got to take it and…”

  “And?” Lauren puts her arm round me.

  “I need to think,” I say.

  Actually, I need to think for a very long time.

  #ZENLOO

  At lunchtime, I find my quiet secret place. I need it sometimes. No. I can’t tell you. It’s secret.

  OK. Furthest cubicle to the right nearest the Science Block. Trust me, it’s Zen Central.

  Most people have no idea what power words have these days. Mum told me once that a group of girls used to stand at the end of her street and call her names. There were six of them. She told me that story like she was majorly traumatized. Six people in one street in one town. That’s IT! That’s all.

  How to explain to her that now there can be thousands and millions of people laughing at you within a minute of you doing something stupid. Or NOT even that stupid. The sort of people that follow Erin are going to be laughing at me, thinking I’m tragic.

  I take some deep breaths. Sometimes it’s best not to think about things too much.

  I don’t fire back and do something rash because that’s not my style. You’ve got to plan, and I’m a thinker.

  First, I’m going to think about my breathing. Normally, my lungs work just fine by themselves but now I start noti
cing that my chest is going up and down. My body seems to get smaller. It happens every time I’m really worried. And I can keep it together by just being on my own for a few minutes. Nipping off to the Zen loo is always a very good idea.

  I come out. Lauren has been waiting for me outside. She’s used to this. She doesn’t say anything but she knows.

  I’m calm.

  Or I am until I spot Danny Trudeau and his incredible vintage orange rucksack. They are heading my way like a sexy tangerine and my BFF is frantically digging me in the ribs. Happening now – panic.

  “Hi, Millie!” Danny bounds over to me like we are old friends. We aren’t. I wish we were. “I just want to say I absolutely loved your vlog with Dave the cat. Someone mentioned it in Art this morning and I was… It was FUNNY. I’m a cat freak though. I love them. I had to leave mine behind in Canada with my uncle. His name is Benny. I Skype him but cats aren’t great at the talking thing. A bit like the way Dave isn’t that great at attacking vegetables. Anyway, your vlog was … really good.”

  I don’t really know what to say. I’m not hugely good at the whole compliment thing. But I don’t want to be giggly and stupid near men, so I try and change the subject. I jog around my head trying to think of something funny and witty and magnificent to say. Something that will make this boy think I’m cool and smart and generally…

  “You’ve got a great-looking lunch there!”

  You’ve. Got. A. Great. Looking. Lunch. There.

  But no, my brain hasn’t stopped. It wants to say more.

  “Good container too. Sturdy!”

  Dear Sensible Millie’s Mind. Thanks for nothing. Goodbye.

  Danny Trudeau looks at me like I’ve said something really random. This is because I have said something really random. Eventually, he replies with “Yeah! Chinese mum. French dad. The world’s best food all in one box.”

  “A la noodles!” my head blurts out. If Danny thought I was funny before, my brain has convinced him that I am actually not.