Don't Follow Vee Page 4

  ‘I don’t have to pretend,’ I say. ‘This isn’t me, Em.’

  ‘I get it, being normal is your gimmick,’ Emily says. ‘But you could take your Instagram to the next level.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You could really be a genuine Insta-star,’ Emily says.

  Next level. That’s a page out of Mum’s book. Miss Lam walks in behind me and Emily calls out. ‘Miss, you look sweet as always.’

  ‘That isn’t going to sweeten your report card, Emily,’ Miss Lam says.

  We sit down at our desks and Annabelle leans in. ‘Was Em being mean to you?’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘No, she said I was sweet. Weird, huh?’

  Annabelle nods. ‘I guess she can be nice, sometimes.’

  I take out my pencil case, sneaking a look at Emily. It was almost like she was offering to help me. No, that’s crazy talk, Vee. Emily’s like one of those extreme lollies, she can switch from sweet to sour in seconds.

  Miss Lam gets us into our comprehension groups, and I’m wedged between Hassan and Matty again. How can a guy who plays games all day be in the advanced group? You can file that mystery between Area 51 and the Bermuda triangle.

  ‘Hi, uniform boy,’ Hassan says, parroting Emily.

  ‘Hello, Hyperlamer,’ Matty snaps back.

  I want to give Matty a high five. At least Matty doesn’t put up with Hassan’s trash talk.

  Hassan howls. ‘Well, my mates and I stalked your mum’s Facebook,’ he says, ‘and we saw your baby photos … especially the ones at the pool.’

  Matty lifts his book up to his face. ‘You should mind your own business.’

  ‘I can’t help it, our mums are Facebook friends,’ he says. ‘Oh, and we love the one where you looked terrified of your rubber ducky.’

  ‘Cut it out,’ I say.

  Hassan gives me a look and we go back to reading in silence, but all I can hear is Matty breathing heavily against his book.

  The recess bell rings and I walk over to Matty once Hassan has gone. ‘It must suck having those photos online. I know how you feel.’

  ‘It’s different for you,’ Matty says, putting his book away. ‘At least you were given a choice.’

  ‘Yeah, now that I’m old enough,’ I say. ‘But not when I was a baby.’

  The bell rings for the next class and Matty treats it like a starting gun for a race, making himself scarce.

  Would Mum take my baby photos down if I asked her to? I’m sure she would.

  Bryan pokes me with my pen and pops my thought bubble. ‘Here, you go.’

  ‘You can have it, if you like,’ I say.

  Bryan smiles. ‘Wow, thanks. Hey, sorry if I embarrassed you this morning.’

  ‘Don’t worry. When it comes to embarrassing me, Mum is light-years ahead.’ I groan. ‘I mean, she made me wear this.’

  ‘I figured that out. You look better in your old clothes.’

  I can’t help but smile. It’s good to know somebody gets me.

  Chapter

  Seven

  After school, I’m walking back home with Annabelle. I’m happy to be her eyes as she scrolls through her phone.

  ‘I’ll send you Mum’s picture of us when I get home,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, I already got it.’ She shows me her phone. ‘Your mum took a great photo of us.’

  ‘Huh?’ I glance over at her screen to see us together in The Chronicles of Vee. The cat’s out of the bag. Annabelle’s out of the vault. What have you done, Mum?

  ‘Are you okay, Vee?’ Annabelle grips my arm.

  My body feels as flimsy as a kite. I think she might have to drag me home because my legs are going in all directions.

  I hold onto Annabelle’s arm, as she leads me to her house. I lean on her letterbox. ‘I think I’m coming down with something,’ I say. ‘I need to go home and rest.’

  ‘Get better by tomorrow. I’ll text you soon,’ she says.

  I walk around the corner as fast as my wobbly legs will carry me and go into rage mode, as if I’m Hassan when he loses a game. I throw punches in the air, trying to let all the anger out of me. But when I get home and into my room, I still have some rage leftover for my pillows. I try to distract myself with some calligraphy but all my letters have sharp, ragged edges like I’m using a knife dipped in ink.

  By the time Mum comes home, I’m lying on my bed, exhausted, emotionally drained and hungry for something.

  She creeps into my room like she’s trying to jump-scare me.

  ‘Now, Vee, before you get mad …’

  It’s way beyond late for that. I stare at her with hangry eyes.

  ‘You looked so natural in that shot with Annabelle, I just couldn’t resist,’ Mum says. ‘It’s our quickest growing post in months, it’s already got over twenty thousand likes and climbing …’

  I had a whole speech in my head, about how hurt I feel that Mum’s betrayed me. How she let Team Vee down. But my brain’s turned into mashed potatoes. With peas. And gravy. Give me a break, I’m hangry here.

  I only have two words for Mum. ‘I’m done.’

  ‘Done with what?’ Mum says.

  ‘I’m finished with The Chronicles of Vee,’ I say.

  ‘But you’re always alone in your shots,’ Mum says, her hands on hips. ‘We’ve had so many comments about you being a Nigel No Friends …’

  ‘And I didn’t care. The whole world doesn’t need to know everything about me,’ I say. ‘I need some privacy too.’

  ‘I know, I get that.’

  ‘Then why did you have to post that shot of us?’ I yell. ‘That’s why I have the vault!’

  Mum holds up her hands. ‘Okay, okay, let’s just talk calmly about this, Vee … it’s just one photo.’

  It’s too late for calm. I whip my hair around like I’m a tornado, bringing up parts of my prepared speech. ‘You’ve exposed my best friend to the world.’

  Mum doesn’t move an inch. ‘But why are you hiding her?’

  I open my mouth, but I don’t have an answer.

  The room is still spinning in front of me, so I collapse back onto my bed. ‘Now everybody is going to annoy me even more about getting on my Instagram. You don’t know what it’s like.’

  Mum takes a step back. ‘I’m sorry, Vee. I promise I’ll double-triple-check with you next time.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what you say now,’ I say. ‘But when we get more followers, who knows what else you’ll do. You’ve changed, Mum.’

  ‘I’m just adapting,’ Mum says. ‘So we can take things to the next level.’

  She’s sounding like Emily. That’s the last thing I want to hear right now. I turn my back on Mum and pull a blanket over my head.

  ‘Okay, Vee, we’ll talk about this after dinner,’ Mum says sharply, as she stumbles over my abandoned schoolbag. ‘I’m going to order some food.’

  Mum only orders takeaway if she’s too unwell to cook. I hold onto my growling stomach, suddenly feeling guilty. Should I really quit? What will happen to Mum?

  I wake up the next morning, and there’s no camera, or Mum, in my face. Nobody taking photos of my sleepy look, telling me to act natural.

  I tossed and turned all night, fighting between anger and guilt. Did I want my own life? Or should I make Mum happy? Couldn’t I have both?

  I must admit, going to bed early with a tummy full of delicious vindaloo curry was probably a bad idea. Mum tried to talk to me, but I blocked her out, as if I’d stuffed curry puffs in my ears.

  Mum knocks gently on my door. ‘Can I come in?’

  She might as well ask me if the sky is blue or if fish swim. But that was before. Now it’s actually a legit question.

  ‘No!’ I say, as the bad Angry Vee suddenly comes to the surface. Mum shuffles down the hallway and the Sad and Guilty Vee kicks me in the guts again.

  I creep out of my room for breakfast and there’s a box of Coco Pops on the table. I bite my tongue. If Mum thinks she can win me over with treats, she’s dead
wrong. It doesn’t stop me from pouring some into a bowl and adding a few drops of milk (too much and it turns into chocolate milk with rice bubbles. I like my Coco Pops crunchy.)

  Mum comes in with her coffee mug. ‘Morning.’

  ‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,’ I say, letting out a curry-pops burp.

  Mum shrugs.

  ‘And I’m never brushing my teeth, ever again,’ I say. ‘I’ll be a dentist’s horror story.’

  Mum takes out her phone and I cover my face. ‘Please don’t.’

  ‘Just one …’

  ‘No.’

  Mum puts her phone face down on the bench. She glances at our ideas whiteboard. ‘Do you know what the record is for our longest break between posts?’

  ‘One week, when I went away on school camp last year?’ I say.

  ‘No, I still posted shots of your empty room,’ Mum says. ‘I called it my Veetox.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘The longest break has been two days,’ Mum says. ‘And that was because I was knocked out with the flu and you were only four years old at the time.’

  ‘You could have asked me to do a selfie,’ I say. ‘I’ve seen two-year-olds who know their way around a mobile.’

  ‘Just saying, we’re very close to 150,000 followers now.’

  I nearly choke on my Coco Pops. ‘From that one post yesterday?’

  ‘Uh-huh. That Stella hashtag was a passport to a whole new universe of followers.’

  Wow. That’s what Emily meant when she said next level.

  ‘That’s great news, Mum.’ I slurp the chocolate milk from the bowl. ‘But please don’t follow me today.’

  ‘I’m happy to give you a break,’ Mum says. ‘How long do you need?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  I slink away, leaving Mum standing there, mouth wide open and staring into space. I wonder if that’s what she was like during her Veetox. I don’t have the guts to tell her it may be forever.

  Chapter

  Eight

  I’m on my way to school with Annabelle and I’m dying to tell her about what’s going on. But I don’t know how much I should tell her. To use one of Mum’s lines, should I spill the whole jar of jelly beans?

  ‘My parents were so surprised to see me on your Instagram,’ Annabelle says. ‘I thought you weren’t allowed to have any friends on there.’

  I bite my upper lip, taken by surprise. ‘Mum made a blunder. But she said it was a happy accident.’

  She pats my schoolbag. ‘Thanks, Vee. I’m honoured.’

  ‘It might be the end of The Chronicles of Vee,’ I say, spilling a few jelly beans.

  Annabelle stumbles as if she’s tripped over my words. ‘What? Really?’

  I’m dying to tip over the whole jar and explain the vault thing to Annabelle, but would she think that I’m weird to lock her up in there?

  ‘I’ve been doing some deep thinking,’ I say. ‘I don’t know if I want my whole life up there anymore.’

  Annabelle clutches my arm. ‘But you have fans, who love the things you do.’

  I picture a group of people wearing T-shirts with my face on it, holding ‘We love Vee’ banners. It’s creepy and cool at the same time.

  ‘Besides, your mum does all the work, doesn’t she?’ Annabelle says.

  A fire breaks out inside my head. There’s smoke rising from my nostrils. ‘Well if that’s true, then she doesn’t need me.’

  Annabelle laughs. ‘You can’t be serious. You can’t have The Chronicles of Vee, without Vee.’

  I break out of Annabelle’s grip and walk on ahead. She just doesn’t get it, but that’s my fault too because I didn’t share enough jelly beans. But she’s bugging me all the same. I have to find someone else who is an Instagram star. Since I don’t know any, I have no choice but to talk to Bryan.

  At lunchtime, I leave a confused and slightly miffed Annabelle hanging out with Brenda, one of our old primary friends, and head to the handball courts. Bryan’s already playing so I wait in line. Matty stands next to me. ‘I didn’t know you played handball.’

  ‘Can’t be that hard,’ I say.

  ‘That’s what I thought too,’ Matty says. ‘But after a month of handball, I still miss the ball more than I hit it.’

  I’m only standing in the queue so I can chat to Bryan. I could have gone to the canteen and grabbed a beef burger to distract him, but hopefully he’ll get out before I get in.

  It turns out Bryan is pretty good at handball and I’m up next. I land in the deuce square and Bryan serves me the ball. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wanted to talk,’ I say.

  ‘You could have just come up to me.’ Bryan turns to his friend, Mafi, who’s standing in the queue. ‘Sub?’

  ‘Yeah, man,’ Mafi says, slapping Bryan’s hand.

  ‘Wow, there’s subs in handball?’ I say.

  ‘Only for the good players like me,’ he says. ‘So what is it?’

  I stare down at his shoes. ‘Do you ever get sick of eating burgers?’

  ‘You got me out of a handball game to ask me that?’

  ‘Just answer the question.’

  ‘I did get sick from eating a burger once,’ Bryan says. ‘But I’m a burger-head for life. What’s this about?’

  ‘I’m sick of The Chronicles of Vee.’ I glance up at him. ‘Well, I’m actually sick of Mum. It’s not fun anymore.’

  ‘How can you get bored of getting free stuff and having everyone like you?’

  ‘I’m just tired of everyone following me,’ I say. ‘When does it stop?’

  Matty steps in between us. ‘Welcome to my world.’

  Bryan gasps. ‘Whoa, you’re already out?’

  Matty smiles. ‘I need four extra arms to be as good as you.’ He turns to me. ‘So, you want to get back at your mum too?’

  I squint at him. ‘What are you doing to yours?’

  ‘Mum’s refused to take down my baby photos,’ Matty says. ‘So I’m going to find her old baby photos and put them up online.’

  I smile. ‘Sounds like a great plan.’

  ‘Yeah, except I don’t have a scanner,’ Matty says.

  ‘I could do it for you,’ I say. ‘Just give me your mum’s photos.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Matty lets out a crazy laugh, clasping his hands together like a villain. ‘In return, I’ll help you sabotage The Chronicles of Vee.’

  ‘Sabotage?’ I feel my insides being flipped around like pancakes. ‘I don’t want to hurt Mum.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you’ll do if you quit,’ Bryan says.

  ‘If only I could convince her to stop …’

  A few party poppers go off inside my head. I’ll create Anti-Vee. A Vee not worth following, even a Vee worth avoiding. Then Mum would have no choice but to quit Instagram altogether.

  Chapter

  Nine

  The bell goes and my mind is whirling with ideas for Anti-Vee as I walk to my Maths class. Mr Metwally stands by the door.

  ‘Phones in the basket please.’

  Everyone drops their phones in the basket on his desk. He’s one of the stricter teachers here.

  I sit in my place next to Annabelle. ‘Do you want to help me with Operation Don’t Follow Vee?’

  Annabelle nods and shakes her head at the same time. That’s Annabelle for you. She can be wishy-washy sometimes.

  ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘So you’re really serious about shutting down your Mum’s Instagram. What will you do?’

  ‘Everything that bugs Mum, that gets her goat, as she calls it,’ I say.

  ‘My mum says “ruffle her feathers”,’ Annabelle says.

  I laugh. ‘Because she’s a Mama duck? I can’t imagine your mum being mad anyway. She’s too nice.’

  Annabelle shapes her hand like it’s a duck’s beak, using it to talk. ‘So what else are you going to do?’

  ‘I am creating an Anti-Vee.’

  ‘Like an evil Vee?’

  ‘Not “take over the world” evil,�
� I say. ‘Just a naughty Vee that will make Mum stop posting things about me.’

  Annabelle puts her hand down and stares straight at me. ‘Are you sure you want this?’

  ‘Yeah, totally.’

  ‘Then as your bestie, I’m with you all the way.’

  Mr Metwally has us on fractions today. But two-thirds of my brain is thinking about what really annoys Mum; what she hates the most about me. And all the foods that she doesn’t like. Actually, make that nine-tenths of my brain. By the end of the day, I have a killer idea to kickstart Operation DFV.

  After school, I duck down to the shops to buy some things. It’s like I’m going undercover on a spy mission. Then I go home and grab a Typo notebook. It’s got a purple cover with gold stars on it. The perfect place to store my plans for Operation DFV.

  I start with a list of things that annoy Mum. It’s tricky because most of them are linked to her taking photos of me. I’ve lost count of the times where she’s disgusted with a shot where I’m not looking at the camera, or when the photo is blurry. She has to delete those straightaway, as if they’re a beetroot stain on a white shirt.

  I blow my nose with a tissue and deliberately chuck it on the floor. I could throw all my dirty clothes down there too. Forget Throwback Thursdays, it’ll be Throwdown Thursdays.

  I give myself a high five. What a gruesome idea, Anti-Vee! Why not have a weekly schedule of gross posts?

  Muddy Mondays (where I leave muddy footprints in random places)

  Tattoo Tuesdays (temporary, of course, so I can shock Mum again and again)

  Whiny Wednesdays (where I complain about everything)

  Throw-down Thursdays (hello, floordrobe!)

  Farty Fridays (if only phones had smell-o-vision)

  Caturdays (Mum’s not a pet person)

  Sunday Rundays (the thought of running puffs Mum out)

  It all sounds a little harsh but it’ll be worth it if I want an Insta-free life.

  My brainstorming soaks up half a notebook of ideas. I glance at the clock. One hour before Mum gets home. I run to the kitchen and open the cupboards and burrow through them, struggling to find inspiration. Mum’s clutter in the kitchen works like its own security system because only she knows where everything is. I dig out a few pots and lids. I’m so busy cooking up a storm that I don’t see Mum come in.