I don’t know how to handle this. I think this is probably Bradley’s way of saying, “Let’s be friends again,” but it feels really strange. I still feel bad about how I treated him. I decide to be factual again. It’s always a sound plan. Stick to the facts.
“Good!”
This is my completely useless Millie one-word answer.
Bradley smiles at me. “I know it’s been going well for you. I’ve watched all your stuff. You’re great. You come across really well.”
He knows I struggle with the whole confidence thing. This is a really sweet thing to say.
“I don’t feel great at it, Bradley,” I confess. “I want this to work. I want it to be big. But to be honest, I’m finding it hard. I can’t quite believe what has happened. I keep expecting something to go horribly wrong and everyone is going to discover—”
Bradley interrupts. “Stop thinking that way! You are rocking this. What you’ve got, Millie, is a classic case of impostor syndrome. It’s when you doubt yourself constantly. You need to stop it. You’re very good at what you do.”
I look at him. He has pushed his glasses down so I can see into his eyes.
“Thank you,” I manage to blurt. It’s good to have Bradley back in my life.
Then I do something silly. For whatever reason, my jaw again detaches itself from my brain and decides to ask Bradley, “Are you single? Come on, you can tell me.”
As the words fall out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.
Bradley goes a bit frosty and mumbles, “No. I told you before. Even if I was, it is no one’s business. It’s certainly not your business.”
This feels harsh. I think Bradley realizes he’s gone too far, because he changes the subject fast.
“What’s next for you then, Millster?”
I look through my bag and pretend to reorganize it. When my hands are doing something, I can say things I’m struggling with in a better way. Classic nervous fidgeting. I pull out my pencil case, some tea tree oil, and a squeaky mouse. A squeaky mouse?
Dave!
Dave has a habit of dumping things in my belongings. I should probably be grateful it’s not an actual dead mouse.
“What’s next for me is I’ve got a meeting after school tomorrow with someone who manages vloggers. Lydia Portancia. She calls herself a ‘life content creator.’ She thinks she can help me take Hashtag Help to a new level. I want to grow what I’ve already got, but…”
Suddenly, Bradley takes hold of my right hand. It’s the one with the toy mouse in it. It squeaks. This is funny, but Bradley is deadly serious.
“Don’t lose yourself, Millie. You’re fine as you are. Don’t let anyone change your thing. Listen to what they have got to say, but you don’t have to follow their plans. You are fine as you are.” He squeaks the mouse again. “And Dave is fine, too. Give her a pet from me. See you around.”
With that, Bradley gorgeously geeks away.
“Don’t lose yourself, Millie.”
“You are just fine.”
This is very sensible advice.
What is not sensible is standing on your own like a spoon holding your cat’s raggedy toy in the drizzly rain. It’s not a good look. I go to class and squeak Dave’s mouse all the way there.