by Jen Brady
Joanna’s door closed. I stood there, barely registering how wet my hair and face were getting, staring at the once-again closed front door, fully aware that everything I wanted was behind it.
Who was I kidding? He’d either won her over or he would eventually.
I walked up the sidewalk, but I now had a different mission. She didn’t need me jumping in and messing things up again. If she and Laurence had patched things up, there was no way she’d be interested in a second chance with me. I was the jerk who had jumped to conclusions and slammed the door in her face when she’d needed me most, the guy who hated on her brilliant channel.
This trip up her sidewalk was no longer an attempt at reconciling—grand gesture, humble apology, or otherwise. I was now a delivery boy. And in true delivery fashion, I was going to leave what was hers on her doorstep and walk away.
It was time to move on.
I set the plaque down with one final regret—I’d really wanted to see what that baby looked like. I could tell from my one-corner peek that it was dark wood surrounding a silver metallic rectangle with black writing on it. An image of some sort was etched underneath the words, but I hadn’t been able to make it out.
Maybe they’d show it in a video or maybe Vance would. I’d have to check both channels out at some point, even though it would involve putting myself through the agony of seeing her happy without me. I was a glutton for punishment, I guess.
I hurried back to my car before I could do something stupid like ring the doorbell and sing one of the flash mob apology songs I’d considered.
33
JOANNA
IT ENDED UP AWKWARD and forced and horrible but way better than any of the videos I’d done with Mya in the past six weeks. Our original idea had been to sit in camping chairs in my yard and yell the weirdest compliments we could think of at people who walked by. We’d come up with a list of possible comments like, “Hey, cool! Your dog’s collar matches your purse!” or “Your shoelaces are on point!”
On an ordinary, unseasonably warm and sunny mid-March day, the concept would have come off brilliantly, but, of course, it couldn’t have been an unseasonably warm and sunny mid-March day like it had for the past three days. It had to start sprinkling and then pour cats and dogs.
I didn’t have a backup plan, and everything Ted and Mya suggested seemed exhausting, so when Bethany brought up doing a reaction video, I was all for it.
Before everything had gone haywire in January, Bethany had been compiling what she called Creepy Cartoon Clips. This included:
Dialogue taken out of context
Insane bad guys laughing
Claymation characters with disturbing faces
Jarring facial expressions or body movements
Stories that were definitely not for kids
All-around creepy concepts
All Ted and I had to do was watch the compilation while filming ourselves and react naturally (and hopefully in entertaining, LOL-worthy ways) to the clips, pausing to make comments about the extra weird ones or for a laughing fit. It would be better than reacting to one of our own videos, which was sure to bring back painful memories of how amazing our now-strained friendship once was. Plus, filming would take half an hour tops and require minimal editing, and nothing about it relied on the weather.
It actually turned out to be the perfect way to ease back into filming together. Some of the clips were absolute gold as far as provoking reactions went, and we were sure our viewers would laugh a lot when they watched it. Maybe that would help get our views up a bit. It was going to be a long climb to even get back to where we’d been before everything imploded, but we had to figure it out.
Ted had cooled off over the last month and a half, and I’d been working on not holding a grudge, so we made it through the filming without fighting or making digs at each other.
He actually surprised me by turning to the camera immediately after our intro and saying, “Before we get into the video, I owe you guys, and especially Joanna, a huge apology for my livestream. No matter what, she’ll always be my favorite person in the world, so I’m asking you guys to please stop posting negative things to and about her. None of this was her fault. If you want to be mad at someone, it should be me.”
I appreciated the gesture, and it gave me hope that someday things could go back to the way they used to be. I wasn’t fully ready to jump back into life as JoJo+Teddy, though, not after Ted’s tantrum had cost me both our friendship and Rick, so when Mya called, “Come back for dinner!” after him as he left, I yanked her away from the door and slammed it, hoping he hadn’t heard.
“Mya!”
“What?” She put on her innocent face complete with the big, doe eyes. She couldn’t be that stupid, so she was no doubt feigning ignorance. “He hasn’t been over in forever.”
“That should have been Joanna’s call,” Bethany said gently.
Mya put her hands on her hips. “Why? He’s our friend, too, not just Joanna’s.”
I opened my mouth to tell her exactly how low on Ted’s friendship meter she ranked, but the warning look in Bethany’s eyes stopped me. Arguing with Mya was always a futile endeavor. It would be more productive to get this video uploaded.
“I’m going to make a thumbnail and edit this,” I announced. “Please don’t disturb me for the next hour or so.”
I scooped up my laptop and headed for the stairs.
“Joanna . . . .”
I turned at the bottom of the stairs. Mya took a small, hesitant step toward me. She had her hands clasped in front of her and twisted them together.
“What?” I pressed. I didn’t have time to indulge another one of her bad ideas for the channel.
“I really did think you had a backup in the Cloud. I thought I was just messing up what you did that day, not the whole thing.”
I still kind of wanted to punch her in the nose. But she was my sister—my clueless little sister—and my heart had lost the edge to its anger over the past weeks. Mom was right; holding onto past wrongs hurt too much, especially when you had to see the person who had wronged you every day of your life.
“I know. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay, not really, but Mya would never fully understand why, and I was tired of being angry with everyone in my life.
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
She let out a happy shriek and threw her arms around me. I patted her back as she squeezed me. She pulled away all smiles.
“I’m so relieved!” she exclaimed. “We can be sisters again!”
Her reaction was ridiculous and a bit much, but Mya was a bit much, so it fit.
“Hey.” While I was on a roll, I might as well offer the ultimate olive branch. “Do you want to help me pick out a thumbnail for the video?”
Mya wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Editing is boring. Why would I want to sit there and watch you do that?”
And here two months ago she was mouth-breathing over my shoulder every chance she got. The attic had been pretty quiet lately. Apparently, it had lost its appeal to her when Ted stopped being a permanent fixture.
Sappy sisterly bonding with Mya was over for the day.
I settled in on my favorite end of the couch with my laptop and flipped through the footage, scouting out good expressions that would make for an enticing thumbnail.
The first ping broke my concentration for a second. That little “ding” used to be my favorite sound because it meant engagement on a video, but lately most of the comments had been hard to take, so I didn’t jump to check it. I’d do a quick scroll through tonight, but if I read any negative comments now, it might kill my motivation to get the reaction video edited and uploaded.
I kept working, but soon a second and third ping joined the first, which turned into a cacophony of dinging coming from both my phone and laptop. What in the world was going on?
Panic surged through me. Had Ted done something stupid like go live again?
I m
inimized my editing program and went straight to my YouTube dashboard. I clicked on the first notification, which brought me to the last video I’d posted—the Mya mystery blender one from last week.
Congratulations!!! That is so awesome!!!
Congratulations for what? Having a sister who wasn’t nearly as good at the guess-the-ingredients blender challenge as Ted was? The next comment was just as confusing:
I can’t believe you won! I’m going to watch it right now!
Yeah, I’d won the challenge. Mya hadn’t understood the concept. Why would that surprise someone? And how had they known I’d won if they were just going to watch it now?
My phone kept pinging, and I refreshed the page. Now Twitter was pinging, and so were Instagram and Facebook. I opened Twitter first to a long list of congratulatory messages.
@JoJo+TeddyBFF Congrats on fourth place! But you guys are so awesome I can’t believe you didn’t get first! #JoJo+Teddy #favoriteYouTubers #theywon #VanceSanders
The Vance Sanders hashtag caught my eye, and I realized what must have happened. Rick’s entry had placed in the competition, and he’d given me credit after all, despite hating me.
I checked my stats and saw that we had twenty-one new subscribers. Butterflies wiggled in both my stomach and my chest. I’d been trying to invent a reason to text Rick for weeks now. He’d seemed so angry with me the last time we saw each other, so disgusted by my “click-bait” that I hadn’t thought he’d want to hear from me. It had been a complete 180 from where I thought our relationship had been heading.
I thought he understood about the channel. If anybody would get sacrificing art and producing to market in order to afford film school, it would be Rick. And for a while it seemed like he had. But that day, he’d been back to hating on my videos and on me as if we hadn’t shared all those flirty, sweet moments. It was like we’d gone back to the mall the day I’d ruined his shot.
So even though I had the urge to text him every day, I’d refrained. Now, I finally had an excuse. I could thank him for including me as a contributor and congratulate him on placing. He couldn’t object to that sort of message, even if it came from a sellout like me. It was just plain polite.
It was annoying that I couldn’t turn a switch and stop caring what he thought. He was just a YouTube snob and I had a million followers . . . at least I had before Ted went and screwed things up.
Honestly, I did know exactly why I still cared what he thought; I was completely and stupidly head over heels in love with him.
I now watched every video he posted, melting at his dimpled smiles and comparing how he looked all cleaned up to the scruffy Rick of my memories, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him with a freshly-shaven face.
I picked up my phone and tapped out and erased four messages before I decided on one:
Just heard you got 4th. Congrats and thanks for the credit. Much appreciated!
It was simple, to-the-point, and kind of boring, but my other attempts had come out desperate and mushy.
Before hitting send, I went to the Lights, Camera, Vance! channel. Rick had worked so hard on his documentary. I wanted to see the announcement. Maybe Vance said something I could quote to make my text less boring.
A livestream was still going. The screen was split between Vance Sanders sitting at his desk with a bunch of streamers and balloons in the background and text about the third-place winner. I would have to wait until he ended it and then play it back for the initial announcement, which had obviously already happened.
“And that is it for Mayhem in Manhattan, the third-place winner,” Vance said. “On to fourth place.”
The Mayhem in Manhattan info disappeared. For a second, a blank white background appeared next to Vance.
Then my name appeared.
Actually, several names and words appeared, but my name was what jumped out at me first. I focused outward to take in the entire listing as Vance started speaking.
“This one had me on the edge of my seat from the opening scene to the haunting lyrics playing over the end credits. Wow! You guys have got to check these filmmakers out because they are seriously talented. If they had thrown in a few special effects, they’d be right up there vying for the top spot.”
If I hadn’t already been sitting down, my knees would have given out. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing.
It was impossible.
But there it was, right in front of me:
Fourth Place
The Witch’s Curse
87 minutes
Genre: Fantasy
Screenplay by Joanna March
Directed by Joanna March
Edited by Joanna March & Rick Bhaer
Filmed by Joanna March, Bethany March, & Ted Laurence
Produced by Ted Laurence
Contributing Channels: JoJo+Teddy=BFF4EVAH; Bhaerly Believable
Before I could process everything, pounding on our door sounded.
Rick.
It had to be. He’d come to share the victory with me. My heart leaped into my throat. I had no idea what was going on, but he’d be able to explain—after I’d launched myself into his arms and thoroughly kissed him and we got back together, of course.
I ran downstairs, catching myself on the banister when I tripped on the rug, and vaulted myself to the door. I flung it open and threw my arms around . . .
Ted?
I pulled back as soon as it registered.
“What is going on?” He threw his arms out wide, seeming as baffled as I was. “Why didn’t you tell me you got the flash drive back? How did you find it? Where did you find it?” His eyes narrowed as he honed in on me. “And why didn’t you tell me? I don’t care what happened between us, you should have let me finish it with you.”
He wasn’t giving me an opening to explain, even though he kept firing questions at me, so in the middle of his assault, I yelled, “I didn’t do it!”
That stopped him, and he stared at me, his mouth hanging open. “Then how . . . ?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
I grabbed my keys out of the basket next to the door, brushed past him, and tripped over something sitting on my step. I picked it up. It was a heavy mystery covered in bubble wrap, but I didn’t have time to check it out. I shoved it into Ted’s arms and ran through the rain to my car.
I MADE IT TO RICK’S house in record time, thankfully not running into any police cars, because I was cruising along at ticket-worthy speeds.
When I rang his doorbell, a woman who must have been his mom answered and told me he wasn’t home.
“Do you know where he is?” I asked, hopefully. There was a possibility my picture had been plastered all over his house with notes to his parents not to let me in or give away his location.
“I’m honestly not sure. He said he had some errands to run. You could text him.”
I muttered a half-hearted thanks and ran back to my car, fishing in my hoodie pocket for my phone, but my hand grazed nothing but soft fabric. I’d left my phone on my desk in the attic with my half-written, unsent message to him.
I had no way of contacting him and no way of knowing what his errands were or where he’d go to run them.
I intended to head home for my phone, but somehow, I found myself entering the employee parking lot at Concord Crossings, where Rick parked most of the time. I got out of my car and ran for the doors, rain pelting my head. I pulled up my hood right before I made it under the overhang.
The place wasn’t packed like it had been on Christmas Eve eve, but it was still a Saturday afternoon, so it was pretty busy. The center of the mall was decorated for Easter with huge glittery eggs all around the fountain. The Christmas set was, obviously, gone, so they’d brought a bunch of seating back, and while several people sat on the various benches, I didn’t spot Rick anywhere.
I trudged to the bench—the one he’d been sitting on when I’d first seen him. It was empty, so I sat down.
; I shouldn’t have felt so disappointed. It’s not like he hung out on that bench all the time. It was silly of me to expect to find him there. But in a way, it was “our bench” so I guess I’d hoped for some crazy, movie-worthy, second-chance encounter here.
I sat there, staring at the fountain, fully taking in the concept of having placed in the Lights, Camera, Vance! contest, wondering how to fix Rick and me, and trying to figure out when he’d become more important to me than the contest.
“Finally. Someone I actually want to sit next to on this bench.”
I looked up, and my heart skipped a beat. A guy in ripped jeans and a faded flannel stood in front of me holding a plastic bag from the electronics store.
He was still scruffy, but he didn’t look the least bit angry as he took the spot next to me. He smiled at me, his dimple popping on his stubbly cheek. It took every last drop of restraint not to pounce on him, but there were more pressing things than kissing him, as well as the very real chance that he didn’t want my lips anywhere near his.
“What did you buy?” I asked, motioning to his bag.
He reached in and pulled out a GoPro box. “New camera. Our Christmas package from my grandparents and uncle finally arrived after a long visit stuck in customs. They sent me cold, hard cash. Well, checks, but still.”
“Nice.” I traced the lettering on the box with one finger. “That’s an awesome model.”
He put it back in the bag.
“So . . . my movie. I have no idea what happened with that.”
He turned sideways and scooted closer on the bench to me, his leg pressing against mine, which only ramped up my need for more contact.
“It just so happens,” he explained, “you’re a Premium Plus member of Wrap Up Pro, which includes a six-month archived backup.”
He didn’t say anything else as he let his words sink in. The fountain splashed in front of us, and normal mall sounds like kids yelling and couples talking surrounded us.
“It was just sitting there?”
