Subscribing to the Enemy: An Enemies to Lovers YA Sweet Romance

by Jen Brady

  Subscribing to the Enemy

  A March Sisters Sweet Romance

  Jen Brady

  © Text Copyright 2020 Jen Brady

  Published by Perch Lake Cabin Press LLC

  First Perch Lake Cabin Press edition 2020

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission. For information, contact perchlakecabinpress@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Based on Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, public domain since 1924.

  Cover created by Sweet Heart Books.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  1

  JOANNA

  CHRISTMAS BREAK WOULDN’T be Christmas break without my youngest sister being a pain in the butt.

  I held the clapperboard in front of the camera and tried as hard as I could to keep my temper in check. The last thing I needed was for Mya to throw one of her fits and quit with one scene left to shoot. That’s exactly the selfish sort of thing Princess Mya would do, and I needed this scene. My chance to attend film school in New York depended on it.

  So I ground my teeth together, plastered on a fake smile, and said through clenched teeth, “The Witch’s Curse, scene twenty-seven, take nine.” I snapped the clapperboard way harder than I needed to, but the motion helped expel some of my frustrated energy.

  I must not have done a great job hiding my irritation because Ted snickered from behind the camera, then straightened to hold it steady. His dark eyes gleamed, and I could tell a smart-aleck remark was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew as well as I did that we had to handle Mya with care.

  It was, literally, a twelve-second scene. All Mya had to do was say, “Roderigo, save me,” and pass out as the witch’s spell took hold. So far, she’d performed it:

  Like someone out of a melodrama tied to a train track by a mustache-twirling villain.

  Like a Southern belle, even though she hadn’t played this part with a Southern accent in any other scene.

  Twirling around and around pre-faint like the prima ballerina in the Sleeping Beauty ballet my mom dragged us to last year.

  Clutching her chest like she was having a heart attack rather than succumbing to an evil spell.

  Various combined versions of the above.

  She just had to deliver the line and then slump to the ground. Maybe add an extra touch like rolling her eyes to the back of her head as she fell if she was feeling ambitious. That was all. It’s not like I’d asked her to deliver an Oscar-winning performance. It was a three-word line and a basic faint.

  We’d been trying to get a usable take for over an hour.

  I should have known better than to let my film school fate rest on the acting skills of my spoiled little sister. Since she’s the youngest of the four of us, she’s been pampered and doted on her entire life. Nothing Princess Mya does is ever wrong, according to my parents and our other two sisters, so she doesn’t know how to take criticism when she stinks at something . . . like acting.

  I would have played the key role of the fair Lady Zara myself and nailed the scene in one take—two tops—except taking on the part would have involved:

  Being pretty enough to be believable as the romantic interest in a medieval fantasy.

  Giving up the way-more-fun bit parts like Angry Soldier and Townsperson Two.

  Kissing Ted, who was playing Roderigo. (Ew. He’s like my brother.)

  Unfortunately, this meant I was stuck with Mya and her sub-par acting abilities and dealing with her diva attitude. I swear, there was no way I was as moody as Mya two years ago when I was a freshman in high school. Then again, I’m sure she’ll still be a moody diva when she’s a junior like Ted and me.

  I held my breath as she started the scene over for the ninth time.

  “Roderigo,” Mya said in the breathy damsel-in-distress voice she’d chosen for this take. “Roderigo, save me.”

  It was the least obnoxious way she’d said the line all day. Please, please, please, let this be the take. We had a lot to get done still, and I was ready to move on to something less likely to make me tear my hair out or throw something across the room.

  She fluttered her eyes as she started to slide off the chair. It was perfect. Finally.

  I pumped my fist in victory. I could actually win this movie competition, which would make film school a real possibility instead of an unaffordable dream.

  Then my sister popped her eyes open wider than an anime character’s while writhing and shuddering right before she hit the floor.

  I threw my hands up. “Cut!”

  Mya sat up and glared at me. “What was wrong that time?”

  “What wasn’t wrong? You looked like a dying Chihuahua!”

  Ted let out a snicker that quickly turned into an all-out fit of laughter as he lowered the camera. Mya transferred her glare from me to him.

  “What?” he protested, totally backing me up, like the perfect best friend he is. “You did.”

  I was about two seconds away from snatching my favorite pillow off the couch and chucking it at her. “You don’t need to flop around like you’re having some sort of a grand mal seizure. Just faint like a normal person.”

  Mya stood up, brushed her lacy purple Lady Zara dress off, and tossed her long, blond curls over her shoulder. “For your information, I don’t think my character would faint in such a boring way.”

  “Well, I wrote your character, and I’m positive she would,” I insisted. “So do it again, right this time.”

  “Fine, but it’ll be the most boring faint in the history of cinnamontronic faints.” She pursed her lips, wrinkled her nose, and gave me the stink eye to show just what she thought of my directing as she took her place, once again, on the stool in front of the castle wall backdrop in a huff.

  Ted raised an eyebrow and mouthed, “Cinnamontronic?” as Mya straightened her costume and fluffed her hair. I shrugged and shook my head. Mya often makes up big words to sound more mature. I was pretty sure she meant “cinematic.” But if you correct her, she gets her nose out of joint, so I usually ignore her made-up words.

  I held the clapperboard out and purposely avoided eye contact with Ted. If I looked at him again, we’d both bust up laughing about “cinnamontronic,” and then Mya would pitch a fit and refuse to finish her scene.

  “The Witch’s Curse, scene twenty-seven, take ten.”

  “Roderigo,” Mya said in a complete monotone, her face an emotionless mask. “Oh, save me, Roderigo.” She closed her eyes, slumped
sideways, and slithered to the floor.

  Ted moved the camera closer and hovered above her to capture a close-up of the fair Lady Zara post-faint. “And that’s a wrap!” he announced after letting the camera record a few extra heartbeats to make editing easier.

  Mya’s eyes popped open and she jumped up from the floor, giving me a satisfied smirk.

  “She butchered the line,” I grumbled.

  Ted shrugged one shoulder. “We can splice the line from the dying Chihuahua take with the faint from the last take, and it’ll be fine.”

  “I guess,” I muttered.

  I care way more about clean takes than Ted does. It’s the most frequent disagreement we have while filming. His answer to any issue is to fix the scene in post-production, no matter how much extra time it takes. Given that the final version of this film was due exactly four weeks from yesterday, I’d rather get each scene all in the same take and have less to mess with in post.

  I was about to suggest an eleventh take, but one glance at Mya’s frosty expression told me we’d already pressed our luck as far as she’d let us today.

  I grabbed my laptop off the desk and headed for my usual editing spot, on one end of the ancient couch in our attic (AKA our makeshift movie studio). Over the years, Ted and I had converted the space by adding soundproofing, painting the walls as backdrops, and installing lighting equipment. We even had a huge armoire full of costumes in one corner, which Mya was now stuffing her Lady Zara dress into (because why take two seconds to be responsible and use a hanger when someone else will eventually do it for you?).

  I focused on my work so I wouldn’t blurt out some sassy remark about us not having a maid. I hadn’t ruled out needing Mya for voiceovers, so I had to stay on her good side for a little while longer unless I wanted to attempt impersonating her voice. I connected the camera to the laptop and started uploading our footage. Ted grabbed the backup USB drive from its spot safely tucked in the top desk drawer, crossed the room in three long strides, and flopped onto the couch next to me.

  “Let’s take a break,” he suggested as he handed me the backup drive.

  Ted always wants to take a break. He’s the definition of procrastination. I didn’t even bother to dignify his suggestion with an annoyed look, choosing to focus on logging into our online video editing account instead of trying to reform my best friend’s slacker ways. He was a lost cause.

  “We have way too much to get done,” I said.

  “No, we don’t. We’ve been filming all day. We have nine more days of break, and I haven’t done any Christmas shopping yet.”

  He had a point for once. I hadn’t started Christmas shopping yet, either (yes, I was aware tomorrow was Christmas Eve).

  I wanted to slack off for the evening, too. But could we afford to? Entries in the Lights, Camera, Vance! film contest were due in four weeks, and we were only done with half the edits. Due to my older sister Megan’s packed baby-sitting schedule, we hadn’t been able to film the majority of her scenes yet. And now I had to add Mya’s fainting scene to my list of required edits, thanks to her monotone voice and dying Chihuahua faint.

  I wavered for a second, and Ted pounced. “Let’s take the night off, go to the mall, and do that speed shopping thing you were talking about.”

  “Ooh, shopping!” Mya exclaimed, her big blue eyes lighting up like it was . . . well, Christmas.

  “You’re not coming,” I said. Might as well shut that thought down before she even voiced it. Ted and I both hate shopping of any kind (probably part of the reason we’d put it off until December 23rd), but Mya’s a shopaholic. She’d drag us into every store on all three levels of the mall if we let her go with us.

  Mya pouted, and Ted’s face softened. Guys always give in to her huge eyes and pretty pink lips mid-pout. If Ted let her come, I’d skip out on the mall trip and buy all my gifts at the drugstore down the street. I gave him a hard look that meant he’d better not even consider it.

  “You’d be bored anyway,” Ted said, flashing her his charming grin, and her pout disappeared. He manages her way better than I do. I’m not sure if that’s because he’s had to endure her for far fewer years than I have so she hasn’t reached her max annoyance level in his eyes or because she has a monster crush on him and he likes the attention too much to risk ticking her off. Maybe a little bit of both. “We have to shoot the Christmas video for the channel. Not much shopping will go on. Mostly filming.”

  We’d teased a special Christmas post on our YouTube channel, so we had to follow through. Turning shopping into a YouTube challenge would at least make going to the mall bearable.

  Mya’s lip turned up in a grimace as soon as the word “video” left Ted’s lips. Of my three sisters, Mya had always shown the least interest in our YouTube channel. Megan, always the encouraging cheerleader, watched, liked, and commented on every video like clockwork, and Bethany was our main camerawoman whenever we both needed to be on-screen.

  Mya, on the other hand, has never gotten over the fact that when we started the channel back in junior high, most of our videos revolved around people’s reactions to pranks. And by “people” I mean my sisters and Ted’s grandpa. Even though our videos have improved a ton over the past five years, all the whoopie cushions, air horns, and precariously-placed buckets of ice water from those early videos must have traumatized Mya into indifference. She wasn’t even impressed last summer when we received our Gold Play Button for surpassing the one million-subscriber mark.

  “Next time we go to the mall, you can come,” Ted promised, which was brilliant, because he and I probably wouldn’t go to the mall again until next December 23rd.

  “Fine,” Mya grumbled. “I guess I can watch Netflix with Bethany.” She crossed her arms over her chest and gave me one last glare. “But I don’t know why you always have to be so bossy about everything. This is exactly why you never have a boyfriend.”

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend because dating in high school is a waste of time when there are so many more important things to focus on,” I shot back.

  “Sure,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That’s the reason.” Then she turned and bounced down the stairs.

  “If only my parents had stopped having kids after Bethany,” I said, when Mya was out of hearing distance. “They could have said, ‘Gee, three children ages three and under are plenty. Let’s not have a fourth.’”

  “I kind of like that they did,” Ted said. “How many guys can say they live next door to a family with a freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior girl?” He wrapped his arm around me, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Come on, JoJo, let’s get this shopping business over with.”

  2

  RICK

  PRO TIP: IF YOU’RE foolish enough to go shopping the night before Christmas Eve and are looking for a place to sit, I don’t recommend a bench in the middle of the mall.

  I’d been sitting on said bench for forty-two minutes, waiting for the clock hands to click from 5:59 to 6:00. So far, I’d shared the bench with a kid picking his boogers and eating them (hello, cold and flu season), an old couple who had to constantly shout to hear each other (hello, eardrum damage), and a shady dude with long, stringy hair and a ratty jacket who kept eyeing up my phone (hello, pickpocket alert).

  If it were any other day, there’s no way I’d join the masses of morons who shop so last minute. They baffle me—did Christmas sneak up on them? Did they not know what date it was being celebrated this year? Did the stores not put out the Christmas stuff early enough to remind them it was coming up?

  I don’t get people.

  My gifts had been purchased, wrapped, and hidden in the back of my closet since the first week of November. I might be a laid-back, right-brained artist most of the time, but I’m organized when it counts. And I admit, my early shopping was partly because my family had exchanged half of our gifts on St. Nicholas Day, December 6.

  But it was mostly because I’m not a lame procrastinator when it comes to Christm
as gifts.

  I wouldn’t be caught dead lounging on a mall bench smack dab in the center of all the action if I hadn’t needed a specific shot of the clock. It had to be today because it was the last day the actors playing Santa and Mrs. Claus would be there. They didn’t show up on Christmas Eve because the mall people didn’t want kids asking questions about why they were posing for pics instead of prepping the sleigh. I’d tried to get the shot last weekend so I could avoid the last-minute shopping madness tonight, but there were so many lines of parents and kids then that there was no way I could get a clean shot of just the jolly couple, the North Pole “house” set-up, and the clock in the background.

  My documentary was called Unsung Heroes of the Mall and featured three employees who played pivotal roles that don’t normally come to mind when you think about important contributions to the mall atmosphere: Mr. Barnes, head custodian; Mr. Matthews, groundskeeper; and Mrs. Paulson, who did the seasonal decorating. I’d featured the vital tasks these employees did across seasons, and since the head decorator was one of the three, I’d had the idea to transition to each season with a sweeping shot of the center of the mall, then zoom in on the huge clock above the fountain as it turned from 5:59 to 6:00. This Christmas scene was the last one I needed. I’d already captured the 4th of July and Halloween set-ups.

  I’d sat here since 5:09, enduring a . . . we’ll just say colorful . . . variety of seatmates, popping aspirin for the massive headache the lights and noise were bringing on, and trying to stay sane.

  I couldn’t even play Bejeweled while I waited because my phone was down to 17 percent battery life, and I couldn’t risk it running so low that the camera wouldn’t function. I had to use my phone because bringing my expensive video camera to the mall this time of year was a recipe for disaster. It was far too easy for a camera to get bumped, dropped, or stolen in the crowd.

  This was my one chance at the shot I’d been waiting for since coming up with the concept for my film back in July.