1. Izzy
1
IZZY
May
Three months later
Being canceled over a celebrity interview was certainly not on my bingo card, but here we are.
I scroll through comment after comment, tag after tag. Each one reminds me of what a horrible person I am for the questions I asked of Lux. As if I’m the one who came up with them. And as if it happened yesterday. It’s been three months, and even Lux herself jumped to my defense and begged her fans to stop harassing me. But the Luxonators don’t mess around and I’m still enemy number one.
“Give it here.” My best friend, Finneas, snatches my phone out of my hand and tucks it into his bag. “You have to stop looking at the comments. It’s not healthy. ”
“I can’t help it.” My shoulders droop, along with my heart, as a sense of dejection I’ve become far too familiar with lately seeps into me. “It doesn’t matter what I post or what I say, they’re always ready to attack.”
I built my social media platform from nothing, and now, at twenty-seven, I’ve amassed millions of followers across all platforms.
“You know what you need?” he asks, though he doesn’t wait for me to respond before answering his own question. “A margarita. And to disable your comments.”
“You know I can’t do that.” I swipe gloss on my lips and press them together. “It’ll screw with the algorithm.”
He waves the server down at our favorite downtown LA taco joint.
“Are you ready to order?” The dark-haired woman asks with a smile.
“Yes,” Finneas says. “Two frozen margaritas, please. Chips and guac. And—” He pretends to scrutinize the menu as if we haven’t been here a million times. As if we don’t order the same thing each time. “Two orders of your al pastor tacos.”
With a nod, she scribbles on her pad. Then she takes our menus and disappears.
Resting my elbows on the table, I cup my face in my hands. “I can’t believe this happened.” I’m hurt. Embarrassed. Angry. Still.
“It’s not your fault, buttercup. It was bound to happen eventually.”
My chest tightens with dread. “The entire internet hating me? That was bound to happen?”
“Maybe not the entire internet, but you know how it goes. When you reach a certain level of popularity, there will always be people who want to drag you down. The sad truth is there’s no one people hate more in the world than a successful woman. Even other women. The interview was bullshit. I know that. You know that. Even Lux knows that. People will move on eventually.”
I swallow back the emotion building like it does each time we discuss this. “I guess.”
Normally, I pride myself on being positive. I like to see the bright side of things. In the days after the interview, I was sure that the controversy would blow over and be replaced by new juicy gossip within weeks. I underestimated the tenacity of the Luxonators.
When our server drops our drinks off, I snatch mine up and suck it down.
“Whoa, there.” Finneas takes the glass from my hand and sets it on the coaster. “Let’s slow it down.”
“I need it.” I reach for it, but he drags it to his side of the table, where I can’t get to it.
“I didn’t invite you here so you could get drunk, just a little buzzed.”
Bottom lip stuck out, I huff. “I’ll be good, promise.”
Finneas stares me down, weighing the sincerity in my words, then slides my drink back over.
This time I take a smaller sip while maintaining eye contact with him.
I half expect him to pat me on my head and say, “That’s my good girl.”
“This will all blow over eventually. In a year’s time we’ll look back and laugh.”
I’m not sure I’ll ever laugh about it. I’m far too traumatized by the whole ordeal. People say the most unhinged things online. As if they’ve forgotten that the people they’re talking to are real and have feelings. Or maybe they don’t forget. Maybe they flat-out don’t care.
“I hope so,” I say, despite my doubts.
“Why don’t you go visit your sister for a while? Get out of LA. You’re not happy here right now, and I hate seeing you like this.”
He has a point. I’d already planned to visit my sister in the next couple of months, and now that my invite to the brand trip I was slated to go on in a few weeks has been rescinded, I have more than enough time.
Trolls online and even people in the social media industry treat me as if I’ve committed murder, when in reality, all I did was read the questions I’d been given and instructed to ask. Even The Tea cut our contract short, as if they’re not to blame for the entire debacle. Bunch of bitches.
Lips pressed together, I nod. “It would be good to get away for a few months.”
“Months?” he asks, gaping. “I meant like a week. Two tops.”
I shrug. “I like it there and I miss my sister. It’s not like I have any obligations here. I’m not even filming videos right now, so I have the time.”
Finneas frowns. “But I’ll miss you.”
“You can come visit.”
Brows pulled low, he assesses me over the rim of his margarita glass. “In Maine?”
“It’s not a foreign country. Even if it was, you have a passport.”
His sigh is nothing short of dramatic. “But it’s so far.”
“Wow. And here I thought you loved me. ”
He sticks his tongue out. “I’ll consider it.”
By the time we leave dinner, I’m pleasantly buzzed, not drunk, and I feel a modicum better.
Still, I book my plane ticket before going to bed.