Page 8 of Hard to Fake

When someone comes at me on the internet, I stick up for myself. I used to turn a blind eye, but over the past year, the level of nitpicking has gone through the roof—on everything from my appearance to my activities to the people I spend my time with.

If it was confined to me, I could take it. But strangers pick at other women for how they look or act and it makes me angry.

Not everyone can handle the weight of that criticism.

They shouldn’t have to.

In my head, I play back the voicemail from my mom. Phrases like “can’t afford mistakes” and “I won’t be covering for you again” come to mind.

It’s less a stinging hurt than a constant twinge, like when I pulled a muscle the first day of dance camp as a kid and ignored it for the rest of the week.

My friend twists a piece of blond-and-pink hair around her finger. “Are you going to be okay?”

Nova’s parents died when she was in school, and she had to figure things out on her own. She’s resourceful, and I’m determined to be too.

My brother would laugh if I told him I’m broke. We’re two years and six months apart in age, and he’s a professional basketball player who makes an insane amount of money—the kind that means you could buy a different house every season.

“Totally. Though I do need a new phone.” I reach into my bag and pull out the geriatric one I found in a drawer. It won’t update, and I can barely log in to my socials. It’s going to be a nightmare to post until I can get a new one, but I never appreciated how much they cost before.

“What are you going to do?” Nova prods.

That is the question.

I have a handful of brand partnerships, though those mostly provide me merch in exchange for promotions rather than cash.

I briefly scanned job openings online, but everything required a specific degree or technical skills I don’t have. The ones I qualify for don’t pay what I need.

A new post pops up at the top of my feed from an account that I follow.

“One of the alums from my sorority runs this big fashion brand,” I explain to Nova. “She’s crushing it, and she’s always built her brand by supporting other women.” I swipe through the posts, impressed.

They have a new collection launching soon. It’s a different vibe than the last one, emphasizing natural fabrics in bold colors.

Nova reads the post with me. “Does she need spokesmodels or brand partners? You should put your name in.”

I turn the idea over, tapping a finger against my lip. My friend is right that it could be a perfect fit for me. “She’s a big deal.”

“So are you,” Nova says loyally. “Have you seen how many followers you have? Plus, you’re smart, warm, and people want to be around you.”

My chest squeezes as I reach for my drink. “You’re the best. You know that, right?”

She beams. “Okay, speaking of fashion… please tell me you’re still going to the Kodiaks Halloween party this week.”

“I need to make sure my brother is a good host.”

Last year, the annual Halloween party was hosted by an ex-player who was the cause of endless team grief and drama. I told Jay he needed to host this year’s party to erase that from everyone's mind.

“What are you going as?”

I navigate my phone, grimacing as I wait for it to load my reference picture.

"That's wholesome,” she comments once I show her.

“Not the way I’m doing it.”

She laughs appreciatively. “I heard the prize is a thousand dollars.”

My interest perks up. If I won, that would get me a new phone.

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