Page 21 of Subscriber Wars

“So you what? Sang with her?”

Poor Tom is so confused. It’s okay, Vee was too until her comments started blowing up while she was live-streaming her video. The weirdo actually thought only a handful of people would see her belting out that heart going on song. Newsflash, it’s the internet, where privacy is nonexistent and public humiliation is gold.

I scrunch my face and level Tom with a bored look. “Hell no, I didn’t sing with her.”

I nudge Vee in the side. She’s stiff and tense, so I pull her close and give her a fake boyfriend squeeze before adding, “I stood behind her and put my arms out like the guy did in the movie and mouthed “watermelon” until she realized I was behind her. Which took a while. Had the comments from people laughing not started chiming, we probably could have gotten through the whole song.”

Two things I wanted out of my college experience: fame and more fame.

This clusterfuck of a conversation is neither of those things.

“All I’m saying is, it wasn’t that funny.”

I eye Rowan with something like disbelief. Or is that malice?

“It was just lame pick-up lines.”

The playing cards clenched in my hands bend inward. “They weren’t just pick-up lines,” I argue. “They were the best of the best in cheesy lines.”

Rowan shrugs, and my voice rises with my poor judgment in friends. “I used them to hit on my chem teacher!”

You had to be there.

“I didn’t think it was funny.”

Is he serious? “Let me show you,” I offer, settling into my chair and leaning forward.

As if Rowan were my chemistry teacher, I lick my lips like I did to her and say, “If I was an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes.” I grin and give him one more. “You must be calcium bicarbonate, because if you let me get you wet, then the reaction will be explosive.”

“Dude.” Maverick chuckles. “That’s so lame.”

And Ms. Harp agreed, ushering me to the campus counselor and giving me the crisis hotline number as if my pick-up lines were a cry for help.

I slouch back onto the metal chair. “It’s not lame, it’s clever.”

Needless to say, yesterday was rough. Hence the reason for my hangover this morning. Something had to wash away the looks of pity.

“I’m just saying it wasn’t your best stuff,” Rowan adds, his gaze on the pot of chips in the center of the table.

Wasn’t my best stuff… I shake my head. “This coming from a guy who thinksThe Fast and the Furiousdeserved an Oscar.”

Rowan’s head snaps up from his hand of cards. “Don’t even start with the Vin Diesel jokes tonight. All I’m saying is, since you and Vee stopped your prank war, your feed has been inconsistent. You need to find your niche. You can’t just keep posting random videos. Your audience needs to know what they can expect from each clip.”

They can expect me to kick Rowan’s ass soon.

My lips flatten, and I feel the muscle in my cheek twitch. “Thanks, Mark Zuckerberg. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I ask for your fucking opinion.”

Maverick sighs like the old man he is. “I raise.” He’s trying to get us to focus back on the game and not continue to argue about how my last video performed. The one that Malcolm referred to as lacking substance tonight. Never have I wanted to kick someone’s ass as much as I did Malcolm’s. If it wasn’t for Vance shoving me back toward my house, I think I might have stalked over and beat the shit out of him, just because I had to stare at Valentina’s cleavage the entire time I endured talking to him.

All I wanted to do is sit out on the back patio in Vee’s chair and watch her fall while she attempted to kick the ball, but then Vance showed up and was talking to the little liar, distracting me from my entertainment for the evening. So by the time Malcolm monopolized even more of my shitty night, I was done.

I don’t even care that my UniCamFlix entry video yielded less than optimal results. I have eight weeks to submit more. With my new cameraman, I plan on stepping up my game on the next one.

Rowan takes his turn and stays his hand. “Forget the singing chick, dude. Malcolm is your newest competition. Watch his videos. He’s hilarious and consistently finds fresh new material to use. Here—” Rowan thrusts his phone in my face. For a second, I worry I might crack a tooth from how hard my jaw is clenched, “—watch. It’s the funniest shit I’ve seen.”

I push his phone away. I don’t need to see how sucktastic Malcolm’s material is. He’s never been a threat to me.

“Please.” I scoff. “Malcolm couldn’t get views unless he offered a hand job with each watch. The only reason he has sponsors is because he bought most of those subscribers with Mommy and Daddy’s money.” Malcolm’s videos suck just as much as his 90’s haircut. I’m not worried about his ridiculous spoofing videos.

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