Erin Breeler used to be the social media QUEEN. At school we lived and died by her every post. As soon as you got the notification of ANYTHING she did—you looked. It was like the law.
Erin used to make my life a living hell.
Things have changed. Not so long ago, Erin standing in front of me would have been the worst start to a school week since I was eight and accidentally spent an entire Monday with a huge cornflake in my hair. No one needs cereal dandruff. That was bad, but I would have preferred that to Old Erin. Old Erin was MEAN.
New Erin is different. New Erin is still gorgeous as ever, but she’s actually managed to turn into a human with feelings that you can relate to. Also, she seems a bit … lonely. In fact, she’s kind of sad. Ever since she was outed as Mr. Style Shame, her world has changed a lot. Mr. Style Shame was the Instagram account that humiliated everyone within a 100-mile radius of the school. It caught you at your very worst moment and posted it for entertainment (including poor Lauren’s high-heel disaster). Erin was behind it, and once we all found out, she deleted it. All of Erin’s social media accounts have lost loads of followers, and because of that, shops and designers don’t send her anything. She’s not an influencer anymore. She’s just one of us now, completely harmless. The Goddess is gone.
I feel bad for her. I know I probably shouldn’t because she made my life a living misery, but lately she’s seemed so defeated.
None of this explains why I am feeling sick and why my heart is pounding out of my chest. Mum would call this “muscle memory.” Your body reacts to a previous threat whether you want it to or not, EVEN when that threat has disappeared. Erin is the tarantula who bit me, but who has now lost her fangs of doom. I’m still terrified of her, though.
Erin with eight perfectly tanned, toned legs—that’s a terrible thought.
“Hello, Millie,” Erin says very softly. She doesn’t so much stand as float. She’s a wasp in a really nice coat. No, not a wasp—a bee. She probably could still sting, but she can be cute, too.
“How are you?” I manage to get out. In my head she’s still loaded with potential danger.
“Oh, you know,” she groans, “I’m just trying to be a better me.”
If this were a daytime talk show, we’d all be clapping for her now. But it’s not. It’s my school.
Erin keeps talking. “No one really talks to me these days. It’s just … I’m trying to be different. I know I did wrong. I’m trying to be a better me. Does that make sense?”
It does. I totally get what she is saying. We’ve all done things we regret. We’ve all done wrong. Erin did REALLY bad stuff, but she knows about her fashion. She knows about style. She totally gets going viral and she understands the world I’m now in. Perhaps she could …
A thought flashes through my head like a greyhound that’s seen a really big bone. I let it go, though, as it would cause trouble. BIG trouble.
Instead, I try some comforting stuff. “You could always start again, you know. All your skills are getting wasted. Perhaps you could do something else online, but just something that isn’t … evil.”
Erin gives me a hurt, hard stare.
“I don’t mean evil!” I blurt. I think I save myself. “I mean, something positive that lifts people up! You can make people look incredible! Why not start again with something totally new?”
Erin sighs. “Perhaps,” she murmurs. “Anyway, it’s going great for you. You’re doing so—”
I interrupt her immediately. I can’t cope with sudden vocal compliment outbursts yet. “Yeah!” I say. “Not too bad. Anyway, we better get going. See you soon!”