Page 73 of If This Gets Out

Fucking Twitter. If it got taken down à la Vine I wouldn’t be mad about it.

Footage of Angel’s outburst has taken over the site. Angel Phan is trending alongside the main Saturday hashtag. A still of Angel screaming has become a meme, and a reaction shot of Ruben and me looking horrified has become a popular reaction GIF.

Naturally, Chorus has been freaking out. We’re being kept in here until further notice “for our own safety,” which really means until they figure out what our next move is. Like always, we’ll only be told when they come to a decision, because they know best.

I click on the Saturday hashtag, which is still number one worldwide. I’m not sure why I keep checking it. It’s like I think if I keep my eyes on it, it might slow down or go away. It hasn’t yet, though.

The top tweet is fucking TMZ, with the caption:FALLEN ANGEL: formerly squeaky-clean Angel Phan of Saturday is GUILTY of getting wasted in Berlin! Watch his drunken tirade now!

I start reading the comments.

Yikes.

They’re all saying what I feared. That his rant is confirmation that we all secretly hate being in Saturday. That we hate the band, and all want to escape. Even the people who have us as their avatar seem to be having a field day with this. One with over three thousand likes just saysI KNEW HE HATED SATURDAY LMAOOOOOO.

I keep reading.

who cares omfg???

Honestly, I wish they’d quit and go solo already, we all know they’re going to. Maybe then my boy Ruben can get out of this mess okay

They haven’t even been good since self-titled, stream REDZONE

I want to remind people that it’s legal for the boys to drink in Berlin! Like, who hasn’t gotten messy occasionally? Jfc

Where is Jon?? His bottom is in trouble #anjon

He’s probably just mad “Signature” flopped hahahahaha.

My eyes start to sting. It’s all bad. It’s just all criticism, never-ending.

We’re a boy band, so getting hate comes with the job description, and after two solid years of constant online abuse, I’ve gotten as used to it as possible. I’ve learned to avoid social media as much as I can and I try never to read comments. For one thing, I think the music we make is good, even if it’s not really my thing, and that helps.

Second, every famous person I know has dealt with this. Some more than others, sure, but nobody is liked by everyone. It’s impossible. Before they get big everyone thinks they’re going to be theoneartist everyone loves, but it never works out like that. Never. Every single person has at least one thing about them a lot of people won’t like. Hell, even Beyoncé gets hate for beingtooperfect.

The thing is, haters and trolls don’t matter, even if it seems like they do. Sales are the most important thing, and we’re still breaking records. While we still have that, the trolls can talk their shit, but we’re safe. I know that.

I exhale.

As long as we haven’t upset Geoff too much, we’ll survive this. His opinion is the one that really matters.

I run a hand through my hair, pushing it up and away from my forehead. It keeps falling over my eyes lately. I’d definitely cut it if I could. I read more comments, trying to find one positive one. Or one that is positive enough to drown out the dreck. Further down, there are actually a lot of fans standing up for Angel, but those seem a lot quieter than the haters for some reason. They shouldn’t be, though. They should matter just as much.

Ruben slides out of bed, and comes up to me. I minimize the browser.

He starts rubbing my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how tense they’d become. “What were you looking at?”

“Porn.”

“Fun, show me.”

I roll my eyes and load the page.

“Oh God, were you reading comments?”

“I can’t help it.”

“Zach.”

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