Don't Follow Vee Read online

  ‘Uh, thanks.’ Okay, now I’m officially the anti-Vee, because the normal Vee would never get that kind of praise.

  Today is my Annabelle-light timetable. I have the first four periods without her. So I spend my time in each class keeping my head down, which is hard to do when I’m looking like a juicy red pimple on someone’s nose. At least I have Brenda and Audrey to sit next to in the first two periods, History and PE. They’re old primary school buddies but I don’t really know them anymore. I’m really missing Annabelle.

  At recess, Annabelle and I meet up at the canteen.

  ‘Hey, Vee,’ she says, ‘I was wondering if I could borrow some of your new clothes for my slime video.’

  ‘Sure, I have heaps,’ I say. ‘If we get dressed by my sponsors, they might want to support you too.’

  ‘That would be awesome.’ Annabelle smiles. ‘I’m so lucky to have you with me.’

  ‘I’m just a special guest, okay?’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s head over to the quad. Matty is going to give me his mum’s photos to scan.’

  I spot Matty standing up against the wall, wearing his sunglasses. ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Anything but suspicious,’ I say, laughing.

  ‘Ah, good.’ He passes me the envelope. ‘I found these in a shoe box – have a look.’

  I take out a photo of Matty’s mum. It looks like it’s been washed with a filter, except it’s for real. It makes me think about all the photos I’ve had printed for my vault.

  Annabelle feels the soft edges around the photo. ‘I can’t remember the last time I printed my photos out.’

  ‘It’s pretty easy,’ I say. ‘It only costs about twenty cents a photo.’

  ‘How do you know that? Isn’t all of your life digital?’

  ‘Um … I just do.’ I look away from Annabelle’s curious gaze and turn to Matty. ‘Do you think your mum will change her mind after this?’

  Matty nods. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘At least your operation is going banana smoothies so far,’ I say. ‘Anti-Vee is getting weirdly more popular by the second.’

  ‘You could always get a pet,’ Annabelle says. ‘My auntie adores her dog more than my cousin now.’

  ‘Yeah, a pet could take the spotlight from me,’ I say. ‘Do you know there’s a cat named Cuddles who has ten times more followers than me?’

  ‘You just need to get a unique pet,’ Matty says. ‘You could have the world’s first guinea pig Instagram star.’

  ‘Too late. Niles the Guinea Pig has over a million followers,’ I say.

  ‘Turtle?’

  ‘There’s the real ninja turtles in America,’ I say. ‘Some guy actually trained four real turtles to hold tiny weapons.’

  Matty grins. ‘Wow, I’ll have to check it out later.’

  ‘Trust me, we follow all the pet Instagram stars. But Mum is not a real-life pet person. She’d rather admire them from afar.’ I snap my fingers. ‘How about if I make her more popular than me?’ I say.

  ‘You still have half a bottle of red hair dye, right?’ Annabelle says.

  ‘My mum would rather be dead than red.’

  A thought bubbles up in my head. I have a new name for my mission. It’s Operation Don’t Follow Vee, Follow Vee’s Mum Instead.

  Forget Anti-Vee, I’ll create New Mum. If Mum has more interests, then she can start posting things about her own life.

  I chew on this new plan throughout periods three and four, until lunchtime hits. Then I grab my latest Operation Spy Star novel for my first detention.

  ‘Never thought I’d be seeing you in trouble,’ Hassan says, joining me as I head towards G7, the room opposite Mrs Ahmed’s office.

  ‘Can you give me some tips?’ I say. ‘Since you’re always in there.’

  He taps my book. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be getting punished?’

  ‘Mrs Ahmed said I could read.’

  ‘Trust the Instagram star to get special treatment.’

  I have a crowd of kids making a path to the detention room. Some kids are just taking photos of me, so they can tag themselves in it. This crowd reminds me of Emily when she’s about to finish a cross country race. Except not everyone is cheering me on to win. I’m blasted with a buzzy mix of heckles and howls that almost drown out the ‘Go, Vee’ comments. There are phones all around me filming my every step and kids are trying to interview me. I try to dodge the phones and the questions, picking up my pace.

  Annabelle cuts through the noisy crowd and waves at me. ‘Have a good detention.’

  I crack up. That is such an Annabelle thing to say. ‘Thanks.’

  Mrs Ahmed steps outside her office. She points to the sea of kids. ‘Are you all here for detention too? We may have to open up the hall to fit everybody in.’

  Everyone scatters like pigeons.

  Hassan and I step into G7. Twenty blank faces look up at me. Mr Zybrands, one of the woodwork teachers, is sitting up the front, looking just as bored as the rest of them. I wonder if he’s in trouble and has detention too.

  ‘Quickly find a seat!’ Mr Zybrands growls.

  Hassan and I pretend it’s a game of musical chairs and we scramble to the nearest free seat. I can see why this is pure torture for kids like Hassan. There are no devices allowed. I’ve seen kids in cafes look like they’re suffocating when the free wi-fi is down.

  I open my book and start to read. Hassan gazes longingly at it.

  ‘Can we share that?’ he whispers.

  I sneak a peek at Mr Zybrands, who has his head down, mesmerised by his phone. What a tease.

  ‘You’re so starved of fun, you’d read a book?’ I whisper back.

  ‘Hey, I like to read too, mostly gaming magazines,’ Hassan says. ‘How else do you think I ended up in the top reading group?’

  I read a page and pass the book to him.

  He passes it back to me in a minute. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Is there anything you won’t make into a game?’ I say, smiling. I quickly skim read the next page and pass it over. We’re playing hot potato book now.

  ‘Psst,’ a senior boy says. ‘Can we play too?’

  Suddenly, the whole room is playing pass the bomb with my book. I suppose when Mr Zybrands looks up, that will be when my book explodes and it’s game over. Whoever said that boredom leads to creativity was right. It does make my first detention a lot more fun.

  Hassan mutters under his breath. ‘I’d kill for a phone now, just to take a picture of this.’

  I squeeze my laughter down my throat until it bounces against my lungs. I’d love a shot of this moment too. But some things are better experienced than captured on a phone. I should write that down and stick it on the fridge for Mum.

  Back at home that night, Mum grills me like a beef patty about my detention.

  I sit on the stool and spin around. ‘Yeah, it was like any other normal detention.’ I skip the parts about our game, and how the kids in detention want to start borrowing books now.

  I think now it’s time to switch into Operation DFV mode. I watch Mum add spices to one of her killer stir-frys.

  ‘Hey Mum, why don’t we team up and do something new together?’

  ‘A double Trysday Fryday?’ Mum says.

  ‘No, it doesn’t have to be on a Friday,’ I say. ‘How about we both try some jazzercize or learn some French?’

  ‘Wow, you really want me out of the house.’ Mum says, smiling.

  ‘Yes, no, maybe,’ I say.

  Mum switches off the stove. ‘I guess doing something together might attract some more followers.’

  It also might get Mum out more, meeting some new people. She needs to make friends that are not tax consultants. She can’t be hanging out with me all the time.

  ‘How about you do a cooking class?’ I say. ‘Or maybe you can join a singing group …’

  Mum twirls around. ‘Cooking, singing and doing Pilates,’ Mum sings. ‘These are a few of my favourite things.’

  ‘When did you do Pilates?’ I
say.

  ‘I only did it once,’ Mum says. ‘And it happened pre-Vee-iously.’

  Hoping for inspiration, I grab my phone and can’t resist checking the latest Vee update. The red-haired Anti-Vee has now got close to fifty thousand likes. I’ve also got a stack of new followers, including Lucy55. A part of me tingles with excitement. That’s definitely the Mum part inside me. I scroll through the comments. They all love the new look. I feel like curling up into a ball. I thought it was tiring being myself, it’s even more exhausting pretending to be someone else.

  I scroll through the Instagram feed, looking for ideas. I stop at Emily’s Instagram. Mum follows everyone who went to Merryford Primary. I usually skip her but I can’t tear myself from her latest photo. She’s a walking fairy floss. It’s a picture of her doing last year’s Colour Run, encouraging her friends to join her for this year. I might not be her friend, but I quickly check the website anyway. The next Colour Run is in a few months.

  ‘How about we sign up to do the Colour Run?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Mum asks. ‘Some kind of painting competition?’

  I set out the table. ‘No, it’s a fun run.’

  ‘Those two words don’t mix.’

  ‘Like jam and noodles?’ I say, laughing. ‘Why not? You do the run for charity and get bombed with coloured powder as you go – total fun while you’re running. Come on, Mum, it’s time to brighten up your life.’

  ‘Is that you or the red hair talking?’ Mum places two plates of chilli stir-fry on the table. She takes a few overhead photos, adjusting the chopsticks in different positions. I quickly take a photo of her doing this. It’s one for the vault.

  I put my phone away. ‘Forget about The Chronicles of Vee for one second.’ I wish it could be for more than a second, but baby steps first. ‘It will just be nice to do this together.’

  ‘Okay, let’s do it!’ Mum says.

  ‘Cool, we start training this Saturday.’

  Mum laughs. She doesn’t think I’m serious. I don’t know if I am either. I guess we’ll both find out on Saturday morning.

  Chapter

  Twelve

  I drag Mum out early on a Saturday to Chipping Norton Lakes. It took a double shot of coffee to get her out of the house. But I’m glad we’re here. It’s absolutely packed with crazy people who don’t believe in snooze alarms and sleeping in.

  ‘Let’s do a lap around the lake,’ I say, attempting a few pathetic stretches.

  Mum yawns and all I smell is coffee breath.

  ‘Shouldn’t we take it easy first?’ she says.

  ‘We already are. I had been thinking about doing five laps.’

  Mum grimaces. ‘I’m already getting a cramp just thinking about that.’

  ‘We’ll start with a walk to warm up,’ I say.

  We walk side by side. Mum swings her arms up and down, like she’s pretending to be a steam train. ‘Chugga, chugga, chugga.’

  ‘All aboard the Mum express, next station is the other side of the lake,’ I say, breaking into a fast walk. ‘Come on, Mum. Let’s start jogging once we turn the bend.’

  Mum’s groaning like her engine is labouring up a steep mountain, even though the path is flat. We walk past the bend and Mum’s trailing behind me. She’s not running yet.

  ‘Okay, we’ll jog when we get past the knobbly tree,’ I say.

  Mum ignores the tree. ‘Can we just stick to walking today?’

  I turn around and walk backwards, facing Mum. ‘It’s not called the Colour Walk.’

  ‘I’ll run on the actual day,’ Mum pants. ‘Well, for as long as it takes to do a photo.’

  I stop. ‘Mum, we need to do this together.’

  Mum unzips her jacket. ‘Okay, I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Awesome, let’s go.’

  I charge forward and run down the path. I jog for a whole minute alongside the lake, trying to race the ducks. I turn around and Mum’s trailing further behind, with her mobile out.

  I run back to her and Mum shows me a photo where I’m jogging by the lake. ‘Look how pretty the water looks glistening in the sun.’

  I wipe my shiny forehead with my wristband. ‘No more photos until we reach the playground on the other side of the lake,’ I say. ‘Deal?’

  She nods, saving her breath.

  I pull Mum into a reluctant jog and I keep pace beside her.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s pass this little kid on his scooter up ahead.’

  The kid is wearing a helmet and a baseball cap on top of his helmet, like he’s trying to be cool and safe. He must have heard my thoughts because just as we up our pace, he goes faster.

  ‘That’s not fair, he’s on wheels,’ Mum wheezes.

  ‘Just imagine he’s got a donut on top of his cap,’ I say.

  ‘Vee, I’m not that bad,’ Mum says. ‘I don’t need food to move.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ I say. ‘I’m pretending he’s wearing a giant stack of pancakes.’

  We finally get into a nice rhythm. Mum’s heavy breathing is in sync with my footsteps and we’re making our own dance song. We reach the playground, which is actually an outdoor gym being used by some oldies.

  Mum falls to her knees on the grass. ‘Vee, could you get my lungs for me, I think I dropped them back there.’

  ‘Seriously, Mum, it’s only been ten minutes,’ I say.

  A lady with steely grey hair and a neon pink tracksuit rushes over with a water bottle. ‘Are you okay?’

  Mum holds her hand up. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

  The lady smiles. ‘Nice morning for a stroll.’

  Mum gets back on her feet. ‘Did you just say scroll? I’d kill for a cinnamon one.’

  The lady chuckles.

  ‘How about a photo?’ I say, doing my classic peace pose.

  Mum shields her eyes from the sun with one hand and takes a snap of me with the other. ‘What a perfect post for a Faturday.’

  ‘More like Fiturday,’ I say.

  Mum pumps her fist. ‘We’ve already got our first like.’ She pinches the screen and shrieks. ‘It’s ruined by this dark blob.’ She flusters around. ‘All this running around has made me feel light-headed.’

  I look at the photo. There’s a shadow of Mum’s head down below.

  ‘You’re that dark blob, which is fine since you’re the creator – of Vee, and the Chronicles,’ I say, laughing. ‘Look, it’ll be okay. Remember, we only delete a post in emergencies …’

  ‘Because it only takes a second for everyone to see it,’ Mum says. ‘Yeah, yeah it’s a golden rule.’

  ‘Come on, Mum, let’s keep going.’ I run ahead of her this time because I’m trying to hide my smile. It’s the first time Mum has ever been in a Vee post, kinda. If we keep training every week, maybe she’ll come out of the shadows.

  Mum and I jog, walk and rest for one more lap before we head home. Mum is ready for an ice bath but she treats herself to a smoothie instead. She’s still worrying about her post but it’s already had a few hundred likes. Saturday mornings are like an extra boost to Vee posts because everyone’s lazing around with their phones.

  Mum hops into the shower and I launch into the next phase of Operation DFV. I walk over to our neighbour’s house where Andi and his wife live with their new baby and a cat named Snuggles.

  Andi waves. ‘Hello, Vee, are you here for the pet date we spoke about?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I say. ‘Can I borrow Snuggles for an hour?’

  ‘I hope this convinces your mum to get a cat,’ he says.

  As much as I’d like a pet someday, getting my life off Instagram is the real plan.

  Andi passes me a piece of string. ‘This will help you. It’s like a video game for cats.’

  I let Snuggles curl up against my leg. ‘Let’s go, Snuggles.’

  I dangle the piece of string in front of me and lead him all the way to my place. Mum’s still in the shower.

  ‘Come on, Snuggles,’ I say. ‘Let’s just hang out in the l
iving room.’

  But Snuggles doesn’t understand me. Plus I don’t speak fluent cat. Snuggles races up the stairs to the bedroom. For a pudgy fluffy cat, he sure moves fast when he wants to. I’m just struggling up the landing when I hear Mum scream. I follow the sound to the bathroom, where I find Mum wrapped in one towel, with another around her hair.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ Mum says.

  ‘Um … whatever you were screaming about.’

  ‘I wasn’t screaming, I sneezed.’

  ‘Oh, bless you then.’

  Mum gives me a strange look as I back out of the room. I walk towards my room, calling out in a frantic whisper, ‘Snuggles, Snuggles … here puss puss puss.’ I take out the piece of string. ‘Snuggles!’ I check under my bed but he’s disappeared.

  Mum knocks on my door, still in her towels. She sneezes again. It’s loud enough to set off car alarms. I’ve never heard Mum sneeze like that before.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I say.

  ‘Yeth …’ Mum scrunches her nose. ‘Maybe I’m allergic to exercise.’

  ‘Come on, Mum, no one is allergic …’ I look over Mum’s head and see Snuggles perched on my top shelf, like Spider-cat.

  Mum sneezes again and Snuggles must think it’s a shot gun aimed at him, because he leaps off the top shelf and attacks the towel on Mum’s head. It feels like it’s all happening in slo-mo. I can see Snuggles shedding fur and Mum’s face finding new levels of horror.

  ‘Snuggles!’ I say. ‘Be good. Sit.’

  ‘He’s not a dog, Vee.’ Mum waves the towel in the air and backs out of my room, with Snuggles following. Mum’s sneezing with each second step down the stairs. I trail behind them, trying to grab the source of the chaos.

  Mum’s nose is glowing so red she could stand in for Rudolph on Christmas Eve. ‘How did Snuggles get in here?’

  ‘I invited him over for a play date,’ I say. ‘It’s for our Caturdays posts.’

  The word tickles Mum’s nose and she sneezes again. ‘I think I’m allergic to cats.’

  I finally manage to snatch up Snuggles into my arms. ‘Sorry, Mum, it was a bad idea … but maybe you could take a photo of us?’