by Lele Pons
“So . . . bripsters are kind of just bros who picked up a few lifestyle tricks based on wanting to hook up with more girls?”
“Maybe. It’s hard to pinpoint the evolution of the bripster.”
“Indeed. He is an elusive creature.” Darcy puts on a phony professorial voice. “Anthropologists don’t have a strong understanding of him yet. All we know is that he is unpleasant.”
“It sounds fine to me. You like sports but you’re creative too, so what?”
“Ugh, no. Alexei, don’t you get anything? A bripster is not CREATIVE, he just picks up little qualities here and there designed to trick girls into thinking he’s creative so that they’re more likely to sleep with him. He owns props. Everything he does is intentional and—you know what, never mind. Be a bripster, see if I care.”
“Okay, Lele, let’s calm down.”
“What the!? I swear to God I’m gonna—” I sit up to throw a swing at Alexei but Darcy holds me back. My poor little friends, they’re going to need a straitjacket and some horse tranquilizers if they want to restrain me.
28
When Everyone’s Out Partying Except You and Your Friends
(4,200,250 Followers)
As I just outlined in the previous chapter, I would be lying if I said my life was always fun. I would even be lying if I said my life was fun half of the time. However, this reality is unacceptable when you’re a social media star—actually, it’s unacceptable no matter who you are. No matter who you are, your social media followers expect you to be having fun ALL THE TIME. ESPECIALLY when you’re a high school girl.
“I can’t believe it’s already Friday,” Darcy says. She’s flipping through a magazine on my bed while I examine my pores in the mirror up close. “Should we go do something fun? Are there any parties?”
“Ugh, Darcy, I can’t even. I mean, we could . . . maybe we even should, but it seems like so much effort. How do people do it? After a week of school I just wanna eat cookie dough and watch VH1.”
“Fine by me. Oh, look!” She has her phone out now, scrolling through Instagram. “Yvette and the Sausages are out at Lure.” We started calling Yvette’s crew the Sausages based on the way they squeeze into skintight dresses, and Lure is a nightclub in downtown Miami where high schoolers go to pretend they’re much older than they actually are.
“What?! Why didn’t they invite us?!” I’m so annoyed I almost choke on my cookie dough.
“Probably because we don’t have fake IDs.”
“Ugh. I could have a fake ID if I wanted. That’s not fair, I wanna go to Lure! Man, Darcy, I can’t catch a break.”
“Oh, who cares, we’re having a fun night in.”
“No, we’re having a fun night out.”
“We are?”
“Well, people will THINK we are.” I have an evil glint in my eye, I can feel it. Glinting.
“What the hell are you talking about, Lele?”
“You’ll see. Just trust me.”
It’s time for Operation InstaParty.
• • •
Here are all the tools you need to make it look like you’re out having fun when really you’re just home doing basically nothing:
One large black sheet
You’ll use this to hang up as a backdrop for your photos for the illusion that you’re in a dark nightclub, maybe even one of those extra-hip bars with the photo booths that are half ironic but half not.
One selfie stick
You’ll use this to make it look like you’ve asked strangers to take photos of you.
Martini glasses
You’ll pose with these to make it look like you’ve ordered fancy drinks. Really, you can use any type of cup depending on what sort of outing you want to make it look like you’ve been to (e.g., red plastic cups if it’s a college party), just as long as you don’t use the Little Mermaid sippy cup you have from when you were a kid that you still drink out of sometimes when you REALLY need cheering up.
Hot outfits
If you want people to think you’re out being fabulous, you gotta dress the part.
It takes us twenty minutes to hang up the black sheet because the pushpins keep falling out and Darcy doesn’t have great balance, but we finally get it in position and are ready to go. The rest of the shoot is fast and easy—it only takes us ten minutes to shoot an experience that would take hours of our time if we were to go out and actually do it. Our time-saving skills are impressive, in my humble opinion. We wear matching white turtleneck halter tops and colorful skirts from American Apparel, then drink a number of different juices out of a number of different glasses while we pose for the selfie stick. The result is about thirty-five pictures of us having the most adorable and classy kind of fun. Then, we put on “Get Low” by Lil Jon and film some selfie-stick dancing to send out on Snapchat. When you’re a sixteen-year-old girl, if it happened on Instagram but not Snapchat, then it didn’t happen.
InstaParty accomplished!!
• • •
“Seemed like you had fun on Friday,” Yvette remarks in the locker room on Monday. I detect a sort of sly snarky sarcasm in her voice. A hint of jealousy, perhaps?
“Oh yeah, it was a lot of fun.”
“What club were you at?”
“Just a new club.” I shrug. “Downtown.”
“Awesome, what’s it called?”
“Umm . . .” I look around, trying to be discreet. My eyes land on a padlock on a locker behind Yvette. “Kwikset,” I say. Dammit.
“Kwikset? That’s the name of a club?”
“Mm-hm,” I say, hoping she doesn’t Google it.
“Weird, I haven’t heard of it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s really new.”
“Right. Whatever you say. Hope your time at Kwikset was awesome.”
“It was dope, thanks. How was Lure?” I ask, but she’s already walking away.
29
How to Get a Boy’s Attention / That Friend Who Always Cheats
(4,318,722 Followers)
Alexei invites me over after school on Tuesday. At first I want to say no for the sake of playing hard to get, but then I say yes for the sake of not wanting to seem like I’m playing hard to get. As it turns out, he didn’t just invite me over, but he also invited a bunch of guys from school. At first I was disappointed that he didn’t want to spend time alone with me, but then I was excited when I realized he thinks I’m cool enough to hang out around his friends. Then I was disappointed again when I realized that all they wanted to do was play video games, which, in case I haven’t made clear, I think are total and complete bullshit. Can you believe that a bunch of high school boys would rather play video games than hang out with a real-life girl? A blond girl with big boobs? A blond girl with big boobs who is also an emerging internet celebrity? I know, it’s sad, but it’s true.
“You guys wanna play ‘never have I ever’?” I ask.
“Isn’t that kind of for middle schoolers?” says Jake.
“Um . . .” I say, “isn’t Mario Kart kind of for elementary schoolers?”
“NO!” they all shout in unison. Jesus.
“Mario Kart is an awesome game that will be awesome for the rest of time,” Alexei says, brow furrowed, thumbs flailing. Nothing kills a crush like seeing a guy gripping a video game controller, in my humble opinion.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “I think I’ll go swimming then. Oh no, I didn’t bring my bathing suit! I guess I’ll have to go in naked . . .” Nothing. No response. The guys stare into the screen with more tenacity and robotic lust than ever before. “Are you guys kidding me? Okay, this is ridiculous, I’m putting an end to this RIGHT NOW.” I walk up to the TV and pull the plug.
“Noooo! Lele!!!!” You’d think I just murdered their mothers.
“Oh my God, you did NOT just do that. Now all our scores will be erased!” This comes from Brian, some random sophomore who is 99 percent bro and 1 percent hipster.
“Yes, I did just do that, Brian. I am a girl, and I am
here to hang out with you. And no, I do not like video games. And yes, I am a little bit needy. So this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to get our asses up off the couch and do something that is fun for all of us, okay?”
As it turns out, these boys respond surprisingly well to a dominant woman.
“Yeah, no problem.” Alexei hurries to get the words out. “What do you want to do?”
“Literally anything other than video games.”
“Cool,” says Brian. “How about basketball?”
“Yeah!” Jake and Alexei high-five each other.
Ugh, why did I have to say “anything other than video games”? I forget how narrow-minded boys can be. Note to self: when dealing with boys, be specific.
Well, fine, I’ll play basketball, but I’m not going to play by the rules. Why? Because I’m a renegade, I’m a rebel . . . and also I don’t know the rules.
I’m on a team with Alexei against Brian and Jake, and I would hate to lose and for Alexei to think we lost because I’m a girl, so I decide to do whatever I have to do to win. I clutch the ball tight against my chest whenever anyone gets too close and I’m not afraid to ram a shoulder bone into the opponent when I have to. When Jake or Brian try to call me out on it I just play innocent and make my eyes extra doe-like. Who, me? I’m just a girl, I don’t know what I’m doing. At one point I’m about to do a layover (or is it a layup? Or a layout? Yikes.), but I could use some extra height, so I jump up onto a lawn chair and SWISH! Victory.
“Lele, you can’t do that,” Brian protests.
“Aw, come on, guys, don’t be sore losers. I’m sorry I’m just really talented at basketball.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Jake says, but he’s laughing and giving Alexei a smile that says, “Hey, she’s great, you should put a ring on it.” I don’t know why this fantasy involves me being objectified so majorly by Alexei’s friend, but hey, that’s for my therapist to figure out.
(No, I’m not in therapy, but the way things are going I’m sure I’ll be on that couch in no time.)
30
Frenemies / That One Person You’re Friends with Only at School
(4,850,544 Followers)
Guys aren’t the most fun to hang out with, but at least you always know where you stand with them. With girls like Yvette, you never know. First she hated me, then she love, love, loved me, and now she oscillates daily between affectionate and coolly distant, as if she’s vaguely suspicious of me. I constantly feel as though I’m under her microscope, and it is exhausting.
“I literally have no idea if that girl likes me; it’s like she has split personalities,” I say to Darcy at lunch. We’ve decided to take a day off from Yvette and the Sausages to regain our energy and get back in touch with our truest selves. We’re sitting on a grassy hill behind the English building and Darcy is braiding my hair.
“I think she likes you. She admires you, I can tell.”
“Then how come she gets so . . . bitter out of nowhere? And she never invites us to cool places, even after I went out of my way to include her at the Steve Tao show!”
“Lele, is it really not obvious? Do I really have to explain it to you?” Darcy rolls her eyes.
“Um, yes. I’m not very bright, Darcy, you know that.” I like saying this every now and then, because I actually am very bright and everyone knows it, so it doesn’t come off as self-deprecating and annoying. It also doesn’t come off as bragging, because technically I’m putting myself down, but since everyone knows I am an undeniably smart girl, saying I’m not draws attention to the fact that I am—it actually is bragging. It’s a very sneaky way to brag and I’m proud of myself for inventing it. Oh wait, someone already did. #HumbleBrag. Sigh.
“She’s jealous. You’re getting a lot of attention and she’s not. She doesn’t invite you places outside of school because whenever you’re around you get the attention, which means she gets less. When it’s just her and the crew, she’s the star, and that’s how she likes it.”
“Interesting. But she always wants to talk to me at school. Most days she treats me like I’m her best friend. But I don’t think she’s texted me even once to hang out.”
“At school she’s still the star. People here know her and remember when she was the queen bee. Outside of school literally no one knows her. But you, you’re a real star!”
“I’m just an internet personality, I don’t know if that really qualifies me as a star.”
“Um, hello, you have almost five million followers. You have a legit following. That’s a lot of fans, girl.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I smile, feeling lucky to have what I have.
“Don’t give it much thought. You’re school friends, nothing wrong with that.”
“Is that like a thing?” I ask. School friends? What even is that?
“Duh. It’s when you hang out at school but then don’t really know each other after sixth period.”
“That’s severe!”
“Yeah, well, life is severe,” Darcy laments with a heavy sigh.
“Whoa, way to make it dark, bb.”
“You’re welcome.”
Hmm, is Darcy going through something right now? It’s always a shock to remember you’re not the center of the universe: other people have problems too.
• • •
The next day I decide to test out Darcy’s theory. When I see Yvette at the front gate I run up to her and cover her eyes with my hands.
“Guess whoooo?” I say.
“Oh my God, you crazy bitch!” she squeals gleefully, turning around to laugh with me.
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
“Missed you, where were you last night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Maddie had some people over, I thought you’d be there.”
“No one told me about it!” I do a cute fake-angry routine that is actually real anger covered up masterfully.
“I just assumed you knew about it. You’re so in the know. I mean, you’re so in the loop that the loop literally forms around you.”
“Is that what you think?” We’re walking up the main building steps and I’m overcome by a sudden desire to be honest. “It couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’m actually still a loner outsider slash outcast slash loser. Having Vine followers hasn’t changed any of that.”
“Really? Wow, I never would have known. Sorry, bb, next time something’s going on I’ll make sure to let you know.” She puts a hand on my arm, genuinely apologetic. I feel like a puppy that has rolled over to get its belly scratched. The main goal is for Yvette to not see me as a threat. Hey, that rhymes. Anyway, apparently she didn’t mean for us to be school-only friends, glad I handled that before it got out of hand. Man, the world keeps throwing me curve balls and I keep knocking them out of the park.
• • •
In fourth-period gym Coach Washington tells us we’re entering the tennis quarter.
“Find a partner, make sure it’s someone you can tolerate, as you will be playing tennis with her for six weeks. If you can’t find a partner I will find one for you, and once I’ve picked a partner for you, there’s no arguing with me, so I suggest you figure it out on your own.”
Good God, what is it with this lady? She’s so disgruntled and resentful—what did we ever do to her? Yvette jumps to be my partner and we choose the court farthest from the gym, pressing up against the senior parking lot. In other words, we’re far enough from Coach Washington that we can goof around and gossip, making up our own rules as we go along, only falling in line when she comes over to check on us. We clumsily whack the ball back and forth for a bit, then get right up against the net so Yvette can tell me about how Becca is probably moving to Spain to be with a guy she met there last summer.
“WHAT?!”
“Shh, Washington will come over! Be cool.”
“Be cool?! After you just told me that one of our friends is leaving the country for some random guy? She�
��s only sixteen; it’s nuts.”
“It’s not as crazy as all that. She comes from a pretty international family. Her parents are originally from London.”
“London? I’m pretty sure that doesn’t affect the insanity of the situation. They’re just going to let her go?”
“They’re not in love with the idea.”
“Do they know the guy or something? Is this even legal? A sixteen-year-old needs to be living with a guardian, right?”
“Eh”—Yvette shrugs—“I dunno. I think it’s all very romantic.”
“I guess . . . but . . . how does she know he’s not some psycho? They spent a summer together and she thinks she knows everything about this weirdo?”
“Lele, you are so adorable. You genuinely care about the people in your life and their well-being. But look, Gavin is not a psycho, I’ve looked through his Instagram.”
“First of all, of course his name is Gavin, it sounds like he was born to be a European womanizer.”
“LOL, Lele, why are you assuming he’s a womanizer?”
“He sounds like one!”
“Well, I’m going to go visit if she does decide to move. I’ve always wanted to see Spain, you should come too.”
“How old is this guy even?”
“I dunno, does it matter?”
“Um, yeah, what if he’s like seventy?”
“Wow, Lele.” She jokingly smirks. “Didn’t realize you were so closed-minded.” She throws a tennis ball at my head. I catch it.
“I didn’t realize you were such a pervert!” I throw it back.
“It takes one to know one!”
“Ohhhhh man, now you’re asking for it.” I hop the net and attempt to tackle her to the ground. Coach Washington starts blowing her whistle at us, running over with arms flapping, and we almost die of laughter.
• • •
When sixth period ends I find Yvette by the lockers and we walk together to the front gate.
