Page 34 of Finance Bros

Malcolm, you’ll need to memorize the lines. No reading off a screen for the real thing.

Malcolm’s pink cursor appears beneath Bailey’s green text.I don’t need a script. I understand the concepts fine. What if I just talk?

Bailey is quick to respond.This is a group effort, and all our contributions need to be attributable.

In pink:So, no ad libbing? At all? Because if you want it to look natural, I don’t talk like this.

Green replies, Practice makes perfect. This isn’t meant to be you. It’s acting. Like a persona.

I don’t want to add to this conversation, but I agree with Malcolm. He’s gotta feel comfortable in order for this to work. I stay out of it, though, afraid if I stick up for him or take his side, it’ll look like I’m trying to get back in his good graces, or worse,that I’m still in love with him. Never mind the fact that I kind of always will be. He doesn’t need to know that.

As horrible and uncomfortable as it is to work with him and re-center him in my daily life, I don’t hate having him there. Not that I love all the feelings coming back up, but they’re as familiar as my heartbeat, and I can’t help but welcome them back. The painful twists in my chest. The semi-obsessive thoughts. The overanalyzes of every word and gesture. Does he care? Does he not? Is there a future where we don’t hate each other?

I’m not expecting to lie next to him in a bed, snuggled up watching a movie ever again, but one of those golden smiles aimed my way—forme—that wouldn’t suck.

A question pops up in green.You here, Ryan?

My response is in blue.Present.

Green says,Can we get together Saturday evening and try out this content?

I don’t have any concrete plans for the weekend, but now I have to say what needs to be said. —Maybe Mal can film a few on his own and see if they come off more natural.

I can sense pink’s reluctance, but he types,I can work on a few Saturday morning and we can look at them in the evening. Wanna meet here again?

Bailey is fine with that.

Pink asks,Should I use some of the money to buy a ring light and something to hold my phone with?

Now I have to admit to using some of the money too, and I should have asked first. Shit. I type,I spent fifty one today on a content creator to help us with handles and hashtags, and he had a decent idea too, but we can talk about that Saturday.

Green in all caps: FIFTY ONE?

I reply:Look, he’s smart about social media and unless any of you are, I consider it money well spent.

Anyway,pink cuts in,ring light? Phone stand?

Green: Keep it under fifty.

I write for the record,These are all good investments if this is the route we’re taking.

Green:with a hundred and forty-nine left, we’re stuck with it, so we need to make it work.

I reply, feeling fairly confident.It’s gonna work.

There’sno sign of Kaylin or Stephanie at Malcolm’s apartment Saturday night. I waited until I saw Bailey go in before I approached the door, not ready or willing to be alone with him. The awkwardness between us is worse than his cutting remarks, and I have no doubt he’d rather avoid it, too, the same way he’s avoided me in the office all week like we’re not working on a team together. I don’t know where the hell he goes for lunch—I never see him in the break room anymore, and in the intern meetings, he’s always hyper-focused on his phone or Georgie.

It’s chilly this evening, even in my sweater. The concrete stairs shake slightly beneath my feet as I walk up to Malcolm’s door. I really dislike his apartment. It’s not like I think I have the greatest living situation in San Francisco, but at least the place I share with Deacon has character. It’s in an older building of renovated townhomes, spliced into smaller apartments, but it has the classic San Francisco bay windows and warm wood flooring. There’s even a fireplace. It’s small and crowded with my roommate’s workout equipment, but it’s not half as depressing as this. This looks like stripped down corporate housing with its gray walls and cut-out windows. The kitchen has a fluorescent light for fuck’s sake.

Okaying the ring light was a no brainer.

“I feel like we should make popcorn to watch the show,” Bailey says once I’m inside, and we’re seated on the couch.

“Not necessary. It’s five minutes’ worth at best,” Malcolm tells her as he approaches the sofa with his phone in hand.

Tonight, he’s wearing low-slung sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt. His ankles and feet are covered with white socks. Bailey is almost as casual in yoga pants, a zip up UC Berkeley hoodie, and short Ugg boots. I feel overdressed in my black sweater and jeans. I’m not uncomfortable or anything, but no one told me it was a pajama party.

Malcolm takes a second to look me over. “Plans later?”

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