I get the bus from the mall to Lauren’s house. The whole time, I’m thinking about Bradley.
When Lauren lets me in, she seems really confused. “I’m reading something that someone shared. They want hair like a young Joseph Stalin, but they don’t want to show a photo of Stalin to the hairdresser.”
I am very used to Lauren being a bit “out there,” but this is seriously random, even for her.
“And…?” I ask.
Lauren stares at me. “What’s so wrong with Stalin?”
Where to start? I spend the next five minutes explaining that Stalin killed everyone who didn’t agree with him, that millions starved when he was in control, and that, generally, he was completely horrible with a really bad mustache.
Lauren listens to all this and then holds up her phone and shows me a photo. “But, to be fair, he was really cute when he was younger. Look! He could be in a boy band.”
There is absolutely no doubt that Stalin, when he was younger, was quite attractive, but it all comes back to what Bradley says. How much stuff should we let people get away with in real life because they are cute and take a good photo? I’m feeling quite—what word does Mum use?—militant about this.
Lauren interrupts my thoughts. “Anyway. What did the escalator-geekathon say?”
“Don’t call him that!” My reaction takes me by surprise. I feel a bit protective of Bradley now.
Lauren looks at me. “Millie. I would be amazed if Bradley Sanderson didn’t seriously fancy you! I mean, how many NON-dates do you think he goes on?”
“Lauren!” I snap. “It was NOT a date, and he does NOT fancy me. We’re just friends. He has a girlfriend. He can help me, and we can both … have a good time.”
Lauren drops her phone and shrieks, “YOU fancy Bradley Sanderson!”
“No!” And I really don’t. “But he knows his stuff, Lozza. He says planning is the key. And he thinks that the vlog should be REALLY honest and talk about stuff that properly affects people. And”—I sort of say this really quickly—“I shouldn’t wear too much makeup.”
Lauren is startled. “Everybody wears makeup in vlogs and in life, Millie. It’s one of the world’s lovely things.”
Lauren has gone pale. I can see it even through her foundation.
“Lauren, I don’t think that no makeup is a bad idea. In one of the vlogs, I want to talk about how you don’t want to go online because of how you look. I won’t say your name! I’ll just talk about how to be more confident and what to do if people call you names. And just by me not wearing makeup, it makes the point that it’s real and I believe what I say.”
Lauren has gone even paler. There is now probably not even a shade of foundation in existence that matches her skin tone.
“Millie, I’m worried about you.” Lauren puts her arm around me. “This is basically an invite to every troll in the world. It’s like walking up to Mr. Style Shame and saying, ‘Come into my bedroom and call me a dork.’”
I remember what Bradley said about everybody getting trolled, whatever they do.
“I can handle it,” I say.
At that point, an odd sound starts downstairs. It sounds like a thunderstorm.
Lauren notices that I’m a bit concerned.
“Don’t worry, Mills. When my dad gets really cross with my mum, he does a drum solo on the radiators with forks. Their marriage counselor said it was a good way to ease the tension.”
I hear Lauren’s dad shout, “I’m only here because of her!”
Lauren sighs. “He also does that. A lot.”
I don’t know what to say. Which is every shade of useless.
Lauren must sense this, because she hugs me and says, “Let’s get together in the shed tomorrow. Let’s do it. I’m there for you every step of the way—as long as I can be off-screen with defined brows and a decent lippy.”
“I love you, Lauren. You’re brilliant. Just please don’t marry a Russian dictator.”
Rubbish jokes are all I can manage sometimes. She smiles, and I leave. Her parents don’t notice. Her dad is playing the kitchen cabinets and her mum has turned the TV up to a volume level that even Granddad could hear.
#Help is happening. Lauren is ready. I’m ready. I think.
I think I am. Can I handle it, though? Can I handle people calling me stuff?
I hope I can delete it from my head.
When I get back to Granddad’s, I start to plan what I’m going to say. I write down a few notes. I’d like to talk to Dad about it, but he’s not here. To be honest with you, he’s hardly ever here. He’s mainly somewhere else arranging something else. When I lived with Mum, she was there even when she wasn’t. If I needed her, she would usually magically appear. I miss that.…
Okay, yes! I miss HER.
Anyway. I can’t think about all that now. I have to be clear in my head about what I want to say and where I want things to go. I need to keep focusing forward. Moving up like a … lift.
No. You can stop thinking that, too. I do NOT fancy Bradley. I do, however, love someone who is just proud to be who they are and gets on with it. Hurrah for escalators …
In a way.