Page 33 of Lady and the Camp
So they gave up on molding me. They dubbed me their little social butterfly and didn’t expect much else. My creative interests involved hosting stage productions with toys for the neighbor kids. I played around with video on an old camcorder. Once I discovered YouTube, my world changed forever.
Guilt pressed in that I hadn’t let my family know I’d returned to Michigan. I would, in time. Right now, the fewer people who knew my location, the safer I felt.
Twila had taken off for the day, and as promised, left me the computer’s password:ProfessorPeanutButter!It broke the second golden rule of passwords, using a pet’s name (the first being using the wordpassword). She’d left it for me on a sticky note with the added disclaimer:Don’t share withanyone!
What mattered was it worked. I was in. Time for damage control.
I pulled up YouTube, where the most cesspool and bottom feeder-driven comments lived. As expected, more downvotes than usual appeared on my recent videos. Way more. Videos that hadn’t had much new engagement in months now offered new comments. I tended to see familiar usernames posting, but these new comments came from unfamiliar names. The general sentiment being I was a hack, a broke girl boss, unoriginal, ugly, fake, talentless.
Yikes.
Then I found the descriptions about my face and body that devolved from critical to cruel.
My throat tightened. A heavy sensation hit my stomach as I sank farther into the chair. The worst comments rewound again and again in my head.
Criticism came with the territory of putting myself online. I was used to it. The influencers I knew said to keep doing your thing and move on. Haters were unhappy with their lives and took out their frustration on public figures because they couldn’t fight back. Or wouldn’t.
I clicked on another video finding more of the same. The pit in my stomach grew solid. My bones filled with heavy dread. I kept clicking, kept reading.
I couldn’t stop. This was like some troll-infested merry-go-round I couldn’t pull myself off of.
What if they’re right? I’m a fraud. A hack. Ugly. A loser.
The insults cycled through my mind. Each new round an attack.
A crackling noise outside snapped my focus from the screen. I shot up, moving to the window. Nothing. Nobody. A branch lay in the grass in front of the office.
My heart beat fast. I wasn’t getting anywhere with damage control to my brand. More likeIwas damaged after reading how much these trolls hated me.
Forget YouTube for now, I’d check Instagram. People could be mean there, but overall, I viewed the app as my happy place. The organic beauty community made efforts to support each other. I logged in with my fake, unknown to anyone account on the desktop computer. My content looked pretty and my videos had a streamlined look I’d worked hard to create.
I flinched noticing how long it had been since my last post. Everyone would forget about me without any new content.
What would I even post about? Toxic mosquito repellent? Hmm, maybe a natural repellent existed I could explore.
Only the very thought of coming up with new content exhausted me.
Back to scrolling. The comments on Instagram wildly speculated about my life.
I heard she’s in federal custody.
Maybe she’s in witness protection.
Witness to what? Bro crime?
She could at least give us an update on the Sheek moisturizer combo she promoted. Is the 30% off deal still valid?
Never mind I hadn’t been named the official spokesperson when I’d mentioned that deal. And I had no control over discounts.
I added a comment from the lurker account to check the Sheek website for sale updates. Anything more and I’d go too far and raise suspicion.
I needed to log into my real account and check my DMs. I regularly communicated with the brands I worked with by direct message. Just because the Sheek deal fell through didn’t mean I couldn’t look for another opportunity.
I logged out of the lurker account, and into my real one. Shoot—two factor authentication required. The account didn’t recognize Twila’s computer as a trusted device. My phone where the code was sent—back in the cabin. Of all times to not have my phone.
A growing sense of panic pressed against my chest. Dread filled everything else.
The office door flew open.
