My Life Uploaded

by Rae Earl

  I know where that photo is going to end up, too.

  Erin has double missiles now. “The Fall” and what she would term “The Dweeb Save.” She certainly doesn’t approve of someone like Bradley. He’s got the following, but he hasn’t got any cool in her opinion.

  I brush myself off and slink into a chair as fast as I can. Things get back to normal in the cafeteria quite quickly, but in my head there’s a big, really bad music festival of Erin and people’s mouths yelling and laughing and staring and pointing and noise and …

  Breathe. I just have to take deep breaths and BREATHE.

  “Mills, are you all right now?”

  Lauren knows that the answer to this question is no, but she isn’t sure what to do about it. Her asking “Are you all right?” is kind of her way of saying “Please be okay” and “I don’t know what to do to make you feel better.”

  I tell her I’m fine, but my heart is racing and I feel dizzy and sick and like I might explode. Of course I’m not fine. What just happened is embarrassing in a terminal way.

  When he’s actually around, my dad still talks about things that happened to people at school, and he’s ancient. He can’t remember his credit card PIN, but he can tell you about the time Nicholas Clarkson’s swimming trunks floated to the top of the swimming pool before Nicholas Clarkson did. He was called “Nudey Nick” for SEVEN years after that. My dad still calls him it. To my dad, he’ll always be “NUDEY NICK, NUDEY NICK, YOUR BARE BOTTOM MAKES US SICK.” They even made up a song for him.

  Now I’ll be Mills … MILLS THE SPILLS. It even rhymes! “Mills the Spills, Mills the Spills, with her dropped-chip-lunch coolness, she kills.” I will be called this forever. Even when I am forty-three and living in—

  Breathe, Millie. Breathe. That’s what I have to say to myself.

  It’s at times like this that my mum rushes into my head and says, “Millie, you’re fine. You’re okay. You’re okay.” It’s like she’s chanting it. She’s done it in real life, and she does it in my brain when I need her to.

  Eventually, I sense the feeling come back to my face a bit. My second lunch has gone very cold, and I just push it away. I feel bad rejecting Bradley’s chips, but I’ve lost my appetite completely. My mouth isn’t working, but my eyes are. Erin has squeezed next to Danny, and they are giggling. I know what will happen now.…

  #EnjoyYourTrip

  Later on, as we’re walking home from school, Lauren checks her phone.

  “You’re on Mr. Style Shame, Mills. But that was pretty inevitable, really. Anyone in the cafeteria could have sent him that photo. And it’s not got THAT many likes.”

  I don’t really know how I feel about this. “Check Erin’s account, Loz.”

  “Millie! She’s got over nine thousand followers now. And there are loads of photos of her and Danny. They do look really good together.”

  This feels a bit much. I death-stare Lauren. “I know. I’ve seen them.”

  “Oh! She’s also posted a photo of all your spilled chips and the smashed plate! But the caption is actually really nice. Look! Why would she do that?”

  I read what Erin has written.

  Don’t you just love that feeling you get when you see two people who are just meant to be together? Today at school a girl fell over and dropped her lunch tray, and a lovely boy helped her up #ChipRomance #GeekLove I heart seeing people who might not be lucky enough to have loads of friends being kind to other people who really do need #Help #Heartwarming

  “You see,” Lauren says. “That’s actually really lovely.”

  Lauren has completely missed the evil point. “So it’s kind to say someone really needs help and is less fortunate than you?”

  “I’ve heard you say things sort of like that,” Lauren snaps back.

  And Lauren has, but this is different. Erin is a genius of horrible. She can make it sound nice, but I know this is just a really clever way to have a dig at me. I know I’m right because underneath people have commented with a whole load of crying-with-laughter emojis and TRAGIC!s. But there’s no way to respond—if I have a go at her, it’s ME who looks like a cow.

  Lauren can see that I’m flat, but she’s acting all hard and odd. “Why don’t you vlog about how falling over isn’t the worst thing in the world, even though, at the moment, it feels like that. You do need to get over yourself a bit, Mills. It really could have been worse.”

  Lauren has completely failed to grasp that I am having a total life disaster. All I can think of and all I can hear is the amount of people who are either laughing at me or feeling sorry for me all over the world.

  “Bye, Millie. Hope you feel better.”

  You’d think your BFF would be able to make you feel better. But Lauren just slinks off into the sunlight.

  When I get back to Granddad’s, I slam my bag on the sofa and sort of collapse like a massive splat of pasta sauce that’s jumped off Teresa’s plate. She’s the world’s messiest eater.

  UNBELIEVABLY, Dad is home AND he actually notices that I am down. “What’s up, Lady Mills?”

  He says it like he thinks it’s something minor. He’s missed out on loads. There’s no point telling him about what Erin has done. He won’t get it and will just say something sweet but useless. So I tell him that I fell over in the cafeteria and my chips went everywhere.

  Dad doesn’t laugh or say I’m being stupid. He just says, “You must have felt very embarrassed by that.”

  Which I did and I do, but, in a way, I want him to say, “Don’t be silly, Millie! It’s just a fall,” or “Pick yourself up and get on with it!” like Mum would. But Dad is not Mum. He is sweet in a different way. In an understanding way. I can’t believe I do not want understanding. What is happening to me?!

  But now that I’ve got Dad, I might as well talk to him.

  “It’s just that I remember you telling me about Nicholas Clarkson, Dad, and the time he lost his trunks—and that was twenty years ago. Even I can sing the song about him—”

  Dad interrupts me. “Yes, I did tease him, Millie. But do you know what Nicholas Clarkson is doing now? He develops apps and software, drives a Porsche, and goes to Barbados twice a year. I think he’s got over the fact that he was naked in a swimming pool decades ago. He probably swims naked out of choice in his own private swimming pool now. No one is laughing at him. He’s laughing at us. Life is a marathon, Mills—not a sprint. And in the marathon, he’s at the finish line getting his medal and bar of chocolate, and I’m at mile two with a stitch in my side. I’m racing around trying to make money. I’m missing out on you growing up, even though you’re here. I’m making a mess of it all, Millie.…”

  Dad looks gutted. The thing is, he is sort of right; he still lives with his dad and sister and I haven’t seen him for quite a long time. But then I remember what Granddad told me: Dad’s funny and kind. He’s sweet to me. He still gets on with Mum.

  “You’re not making a mess of things. I think you’re brilliant,” I say, and I give him a hug.

  Dad has brought out my sensible, problem-sorter side again. I feel better.

  “Oh, ignore your old dad. You make things very excellent being here, and I’m very proud of you. You won’t end up like me. You, Millie, have BRAINS. Your dad’s handsome looks”—and he winks—“but your mother’s brain. If I were you, I would just forget about tripping. It’s a momentary lapse in a life that is otherwise fairly glorious, wouldn’t you say?”

  Dad pats me on the back and says, “Right, lady. What would you like for tea? Chips? CHIPS! CHIPS! Let’s have chips, Millie. Let’s reestablish chips as lovely things in your mind. LET US REHABILITATE THE MIGHTY CHIP-O AND REMIND YOU THAT FRIED FOOD IS YOUR FRIEND!”

  Dad shouting brings Granddad in. “What on earth is going on?” he grumbles. “Why are we shouting about chips? Is that what it’s come to? Excitement about potatoes?”

  Dad laughs and starts dancing around Granddad. “Yes! Yes! It has. Chips! Chips! FRIED BROWN CRISPY LOVELY CHIIIIIPSSSSSS!”


  “Daft fool!” Granddad eventually says. This makes both Dad and me giggle a lot.

  I feel better and brave again.

  “Can I borrow your shed, Granddad?”

  “Well, I was going to escape from this house of nutters to do some potting, but go on then. I can’t be saved from them, but perhaps you can.”

  Dad’s chat has left me feeling a bit better. Why do these little things matter? They shouldn’t. It’s like everything gets completely blown out of proportion. And I want to tell everyone that they shouldn’t and that you can lose your pants and still end up having amazing foreign holidays. I won’t say that, but I will tell people that TINY MISTAKES JUST DON’T MATTER. And Erin and her brilliant frayed-in-just-the-right-places jeans and her totally amazing way of being horrible while pretending to be nice can just go and CRASH in an I’ve-lost-my-Wi-Fi-and-nothing-is-downloading way.

  I don’t want her to actually crash.

  #KeepingItReal

  I position the camera. I’m ready to share. I don’t even message Lauren. She obviously doesn’t care that much. I just do it.

  “Hello. Millie Porter—back sooner than I thought. Thanks for all your comments. Well—thanks for the nice ones. The other ones—whatever.

  “Today: ‘Hashtag Help Me Cope With Social Death’—those times when something horrible happens in front of everyone. Let me tell you what happened today. If you go to my school, you know already.

  “Basically, I’d just collected my lunch from Mary the cafeteria lady, and she has amazing dreads. Anyway, I was looking at her purple tips and pink roots and talking to my BFF Lauren and then I fell over my own feet and made a chip carpet. Which was embarrassing beyond belief. Can I just officially thank Lauren and the totally cool Gracie, who picked me up and didn’t just stand there and stare or laugh or clap or whatever. Gracie—you have the best eye makeup ever and you are also actually a lovely person. Thank you. Also Bradley—thanks for the replacement food.

  “Anyway. The aftermath of my fall is being shared around, and that’s pretty terrible. And you know what? I’m gutted, but …

  “No. I’m gutted.

  “And I was going to hide away from it. But then I thought, ‘All I have done is drop some chips. SO WHAT?! WHO CARES?!’”

  I start to get mad here.

  “IT WAS SOME CHIPS ON A FLOOR. If a seagull had been in the school cafeteria, he would have been epically happy. I am SICK of feeling like my every move is being watched by people who cannot wait for me to go wrong. So this is ME, Millie, saying NOW—THESE PEOPLE, LIKE MR. STYLE SHAME, WHO CALL PEOPLE OUT ON INSTAGRAM should be IGNORED. Stop giving them attention. Falls are not that big a deal. NOR ARE LIFE FAILS. Really. And to prove that, I am going to fall over again.”

  (And I do. Badly. Spoon. But it makes my point.)

  “No, there were no chips with that one, but you get it.

  “But I just want to say to you: If that happens to you, you don’t need to hide away. You don’t need to feel embarrassed or ashamed. You fell over. You dropped some chips. You did WHATEVER. You did not in any way hurt anyone. If you get caught doing something that makes you feel stupid, SO WHAT?! DROPPING YOUR LUNCH IS NORMAL. And you shouldn’t have to feel bad about it.

  “And another thing—photos of people eating. No one looks glamorous when they are eating. I have here a sandwich made by my aunty Teresa. It has cheese, and I am going to eat it.

  “Do what you like. Do NOT BE SHAMED. This is Millie. Hashtag Help me to help you. Thank you. Good night—and don’t feel bad about yourself!”

  (And I take a massive bite of this sandwich and stop filming.)

  Honestly, I don’t feel very comfortable with how I look on-screen, either. Even though I am real on my vlog, I’m not totally real. You can’t share ALL of you. Like Granddad says, there’d be nothing left.

  If I’m honest, it’s not the same without Lauren. It’s not as much fun, and without her, it’s not as good. She’s like my cheerleader.

  I message her, telling her I’ve uploaded a new one. I can see that she’s read it, but I get nothing back. What is wrong with her?! She sits on her phone. It’s never out of her hand. It’s—

  MUM.

  Oh, CHUFFING CHUFF.

  She’s shouting my name from outside. Why is she here? I must be in trouble again. There’s no way she’d be around here at this time if I’m not.

  #AngryMum

  Dad is hiding. He’s stopped singing about chips because he can still read Mum’s moods very well and she’s not in a good one. He peeks out from behind the door in the hallway and pretends to cut his neck with his hand. This is our code for She is ready to kill someone.

  Aunty Teresa has decided the ice-cream van needs urgent maintenance (to be fair, it does and always will). Even Granddad has run to the shed. And he used to be a Royal Marine who lived on insect omelets in the jungle and did twenty-mile runs with fourteen bricks in his rucksack. Or something.

  Mum is terrifying. Magnificent but terrifying. Which is great when you’re seven and your teacher makes you a tree in the Christmas play rather than a shepherd because he thinks “that’s a job for boys.” It’s great when your mum storms up to the school to complain and, the next thing you know, you’re carrying a shepherd hook and Kyle Turner is being your sheep. That was fantastic, but it’s not so good now.

  Mum does her quiet psycho voice. She doesn’t lose her temper. She is reasonable. Apart from the time she threw a hand blender across the kitchen, she has always been a model of total control. Zero spoon and maximum excellence.

  She stares at me.

  “Millie, we need to talk. I’m worried that you are giving away too much about your life online. Why do you want to share it all with strangers? Why can’t you talk to me about all this? That’s what I’m here for!”

  “Mum!” I feel very like I know what I’m doing here. “I don’t want to fall out with you about it, but the whole point is that my vlog is about being honest. I wanted to do something different, and that means being REAL and—”

  “Can I stop you there?” she interrupts. “Have you considered, Millie, the implications of what you are doing? Millie, I know you are very emotionally intelligent FOR YOUR AGE and always have been. I’m not going to patronize you. And I’m proud of you for trying to help people. But I’m your mother, and it’s my job to keep you safe and well. I’ve read the comments people have left and they are horrible. Horrible. And when I think of my little girl having to read that from … well, I don’t know what those people are, but I don’t want you anywhere near them, Millie. And don’t tell me you’re not affected by it, because I know you are.”

  And I am affected. I really am. Who wouldn’t be? It’s awful.

  Mum looks like she’s about to sob massively. “You’re my little girl.”

  This is my chance to explain. “Mum. You told me I should never stop what I want to do because other people might laugh at me. You have always stuck up for me. That’s why I became a shepherd and not a tree. Now I can fight trolls!”

  “But you shouldn’t have to!” Mum REALLY YELLS. “I nearly joined YouTube myself. I was going to call myself ‘MilliesMum’ and have a go at all the tools that said nasty things to you. You’re very good, Millie. You present well, and you’re funny. And no, you don’t need makeup. You can use it if you want to, but you don’t need it. Come off YouTube, Millie. Please.”

  “I can handle it!” I yell.

  “Can you really, Millie?” Mum whispers.

  I look at Mum and start to cry. It just all hits me. The names. The “ugly” thing. The fountain of chips. Danny seeing me create a fountain of chips. Lauren being all cold and weird.

  “See!” Mum hugs me. “This wouldn’t have happened if you were still living with me.”

  “Oh, Mum!” That just makes me cross. “Nothing would have happened if I still lived with you because I had to do everything your way. It wasn’t all Gary and McWhirter’s fault. It’s you, too! Even though I never
did anything stupid, you always had to tell me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”

  This isn’t fair AT ALL, but I’m not feeling fair.

  Mum sighs. “Perhaps I was a bit tough on you, but I’m so proud of what I’ve created. It’s a tough world, Millie! VERY tough. Just give the vlogging a rest for a little while. That will be the sensible thing to do.”

  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree. “Okay, I’ll THINK about it.”

  Mum hugs me again and says, “Thank you.”

  She leaves, and Dad comes out of hiding.

  When I’m back in my bedroom, I’ve got a message from Danny.

  Sorry about the chips. The great news is, you fall over really well. Can’t wait to see how you tackle exploding food in your vlog ☺

  I don’t think Danny is being horrible! He’s trying to make me smile. Like REAL friends do.

  I message him.

  I’m giving up #Help

  He responds immediately.

  Why? Are you going to make a big announcement about it?

  The trolls and stuff … No. I haven’t decided what to do yet.

  Millie, don’t do this because of dumb comments. You do know you’re not ugly, don’t you? Red-lipped batfish—they are ugly. But not you.

  What’s a red-lipped batfish?

  I’m almost frightened to ask.

  It’s this fish that looks like it has put red lipstick on in the dark and has a lamp on its head. It could never do a vlog. I saw it on Animal Planet. Dad was building a naval destroyer and there was nothing else on.

  He sends me a photo of it.

  I act cool. I don’t know how to respond. So I don’t. Why is Danny telling me I am not ugly? This feels weird.

  My phone dings. Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, I have a notification. Erin Breeler’s new vlog has launched. Of course I have to see it.

  #Kittens

  Erin Breeler is wearing kitten ears. Even for a Monday, this is a new low.

  She looks phenomenal on camera. The bedroom behind her has been lit perfectly. Her duvet has this Moroccan pattern with a matching lamp. Her dressing table is covered in cards and photos. It’s all so professional and perfect. She tilts her head in the classic Erin way and starts speaking.