Page 33 of The Emerson Effect
I find a video where Twila is twirling in a dress made by one of the companies she promotes. I watch it a few times, my mind spinning, then click the icon that will take me to the sound she used in the video. I save the sound to my favorites list, then drop my phone to the bed before digging through my closet. I have a shirt that’s similar in color to the dress she wore. I change into it, leaving on the cargo shorts I’m already wearing.
Pulling my ring light stand out of the closet, I set it up and turn it on low so the lighting won’t be too harsh. Grabbing my phone, I open BingBang, tap the icon to record a new video, then choose the sound. Attaching the phone to the stand, I set the timer to start recording and back up a few steps.
I know the words to this song, which happens to be about longing for someone special, so I lip sync with the music while staring at the camera lens with a soulful expression. At the last second, I throw in a wink.
I considered spinning around a time or two, but that would make it too obvious that I was copying Twila’s video. This sound is very popular, so as it is, it’ll be difficult to prove it’s her I’m performing for. The matching shirt is enough.
I watch the video, and surprisingly, I’m happy with the first shot and don’t need to do it again.
I type out a one-word caption.“Perfection.”
My thumb hovers over the icon that will post the video, but I don’t tap it. Biting the corner of my lip, I consider adding a hashtag. I haven’t added one to any of the other videos I’ve posted about Twila, and they’ve all gone viral.
What would happen if I add one? Just one that will confirm I’m crushing on someone on this app.
Making the decision, I go back to the caption and slowly type out the hashtag symbol followed by, “secretcrush.”
Happy with the choice, I post the video and close the app. I toss the phone back to the bed so I can put my ring light away and change back into the shirt I was wearing before. Hanging the blue one back into the closet––there’s no reason to create more laundry––I turn back toward the bed and freeze.
My phone chimes the unique sound for BingBang notifications. Then it chimes again. And again. Over and over until the room is filled with the sound. I walk forward slowly as if the floor might collapse beneath me, then stop by the bed topick up my phone. Notifications pop up at the top of the screen in time with the constant chiming, but they’re replaced with the next one instantaneously, making it impossible for me to read any of them.
Holy shit.
I’m not sure if I should look right now. Maybe I should wait for a while until things settle down.
But hell, I can’t resist.
Opening the app, my eyes almost pop out of my head as I stare at the “ninety-nine-plus” symbol next to the icon for my notifications.
“Holy shit.” This time, I say the words out loud.
I’ve had videos go viral, of course, but this one seems to be racking up the comments and likes as well as the views. And it’s only been, what? Three minutes? Four? This is insane.
Before I can check the comments for the general vibe, my phone rings. I grin when I see it’s Twila and quickly swipe my fingertip across the screen to answer her video call. As soon as her face pops up on the screen, I can see her expression matches my own wide-eyed wonder.
“Holy hell,” she says by way of a greeting.
“Ditto,” I reply, and she shakes her head slowly.
“I’ve already been tagged like a hundred times,” she says.
I shake my head. “I haven’t checked the comments, yet. I was just about to start reading them when you called.”
“Grab your tablet,” she says. “Let’s read them together.”
I nod and grab the device from my nightstand before stretching out on the bed. Pulling two pillows behind me to cushion the wall, I lean back and prop my phone against my bedside lamp so Twila can see me as I open BingBang on the tablet.
“Please, just tell us who it is already,” Twila reads. “Oh, and this one––Everybody shut the hell up. My show is on.”
She laughs at that, and I can’t help but smile, but my grin drops when my gaze lasers in on a negative comment.Who cares? Nobody knows who this guy is, and we probably have no clue who the chick is, either.
I tap the icon to see the replies to that comment, and some of my confidence returns as people ream the guy for being an asshole when he could’ve just scrolled past the video.
“Oh, listen to this,” Twila says, excitement lacing her voice. “He’s crushing on Twila Greene, and no one can convince me otherwise. Emerson reacts to her videos more often than anyone else, and I swear she mentioned margaritas in one of her old videos.”
“Did you?” I ask, looking over at my phone so I can see her face.
“I don’t know. Probably. I’ve posted several girls’ night videos, and we drink a lot of margaritas.”
