Chapter Twelve #3
But along with partnership offers, I also received a good deal of emails with subject suggestions, and those emails were my favorite.
Parsing through them could be challenging, however, specifically because some emails didn’t contain suggestions but rather critiques or insults.
The first time I opened an email that called me a dumb bitch I had gasped and then reread the words, along with the misogynistic rantings that followed after.
I had stared at my screen for several seconds and then burst out laughing.
And truly, laughter was how I dealt with the majority of the vitriol I received in my DMs and email because the hateful, often incoherent commentary was only worth a laugh and a quick block.
But finding the helpful suggestions from my followers sometimes meant having these harsh reminders of the sort of people who were only too happy to ignore or actively oppress women, particularly women of color.
Alex had suggested I hire an assistant to handle administrative tasks, like sorting through my email, but I had been dragging my feet.
Hiring help meant less money in my pocket, and although I was making enough through the creator fund to pay my monthly bills, I would prefer to have more of a savings cushion before I added another expense.
More importantly, hiring an assistant meant another person would be privy to my true identity…
an identity that was becoming harder and harder to conceal the more popular the Matildas became.
Still, I saw to the task, and my diligence was rewarded with five new names to add to my potential subjects list. And after days of feeling lost at sea and alarmingly uncreative, I felt the urge to work on a script.
It took several drafts to get the combination of details and snarky jokes correct, and then a lot longer to nail the timing and delivery, but I was pleased with the final product.
I skimmed through the comments of that video now.
Aside from a few troll remarks, people seemed to like it, and I was pleased with the views in comparison to the likes and reposts.
My fingers were crossed that this video escaped the suppression my last few videos had been subjected to because the more views my videos received, the more I was paid.
The algorithm was obviously limiting my audience, but I wasn’t worried… yet.
As the afternoon sun dropped closer to the horizon and the temperature turned coolish, I ate a light dinner and hopped in the shower.
After carefully treating my curls and applying makeup, I studied the new Scorpions jersey I had bought earlier in the week.
I figured that if I wore it with a pair of fitted wide-leg jeans and sneakers, it would work.
When I dressed and stared at my reflection in the mirror, I smiled.
Casual enough for a basketball game but stylish enough to show I had dressed with care.
With my mass of black and chocolate curls cascading down my back and bouncing against my cheeks, and my tawny skin highlighted by the Scorpions, gold and red team colors, I felt pretty.
Grasping a bunch of my curls and pulling them over my shoulder, I recalled how much I used to despise them.
Growing up, I was only one of a handful of Latina or Black girls who attended my school, so my definition of what was beautiful was often skewed by my classmates.
It was a trend that continued through high school and into college.
A younger Sofia had been so keen to fit in.
I used to curse my mass of curls, insisting on straightening them anytime I left the house.
Most nights in college found me in the campus gym, working off any calories I had allowed myself to consume that day.
But all that exercise never succeeded in giving me a trim abdomen or smaller thighs.
I was a Latina with curves, no matter how much I longed to be a dainty waif, like Caitlin.
Tucking a curl behind my ear now, I considered all the ways, for better or worse, my friendship with Caitlin had shaped my self-esteem.
The ways in which Caitlin’s beauty was always held up as ideal; the guys who dated me only to get close to her; the club bouncers who invited us into the VIP section because Caitlin had flashed her dazzling smile at them, including me by proxy.
I loved Caitlin and was well aware it was not her responsibility to prop up my ego, but being her friend had taught me hard lessons about how I viewed my own self-worth.
Yet here I was, once again, wanting something of Caitlin’s I could not have.
Tonight was not the time to ponder such uncomfortable thoughts, so I reapplied my lipstick, grabbed my purse, and requested a ride to the arena.
Twenty-five minutes later, I walked along with a stream of fans as they filed into the towering sports center, ablaze with lights. Traffic clogged the downtown streets, and I was elated. All these people were excited to cheer on the Scorpions women, and I was thrilled to be a part of it.
I had just stepped through the entrance, scanning the cavernous lobby for an idea of where I should go, when a large hand suddenly grasped mine. Whipping my head around, my gaze collided with Alex’s.
“There you are,” he said, pulling me from the crowd with a gentle tug.
“Were you waiting for me?” I asked, following him through the throng to a side door that led to a private stairwell.
“Of course.” He said it so nonchalantly, I blinked. “I didn’t want you to have to wander around trying to find me.”
I laughed. “I appreciate it. The crowds are ridiculous. I’m surprised you even spotted me in that madness.”
“I’d find you anywhere,” Alex said simply, directing a quick smile at me over his shoulder.
And I was thankful he was paying attention to the stairs in front of us and missed the way my face crumpled with emotion—an emotion that was compounded when I realized Alex still held my hand.
I knew I should pull away, that he’d only done it to lead me through the crowd and now that we were alone, it wasn’t necessary.
But I didn’t. Instead, I dared to grip his hand in mine just a tad bit tighter.