When the history of our time is written, they might call this the greatest Friday ever. Everyone’s been giving Erin massive evils. There’s even a new phrase at school—the Evil Erin. It means you MAJOR death-stare someone and make them feel AWFUL. But I’m trying to be realistic. Everyone knows now that she’s Mr. Style Shame, but she’s still gorgeous and everyone will eventually forgive her and she’ll be back.
I don’t care. Lauren and I are friends again, AND people think my cat is seriously cool. And I think that because of what people have said at school today, Dave and I need to do one FINAL vlog. If only I could find her.
On the way to the shed, Granddad tackles me. “I’ve noticed, Millie, that you spend a huge amount of time getting the perfect self-photograph or the perfect ‘vog’ whilst time is passing you by. Have you tried actually sitting with people and talking to them face-to-face?”
“That’s life now!” I tell Granddad gently. “And it’s selfie and VLOG.”
“Whatever,” Granddad snaps. “But I hope you also realize that life is happening now. Real life.” And he pokes me in the shoulder. “Put your phone down—it’s not the be all and end all of the universe. Another thing—boys are not always playing games. They are confused, too, you know. And don’t go full-on. Leave some mystery.”
This is some of the lecture I have heard Granddad give to Teresa many times. It’s his speech from the last century. The best thing to do is to nod and say, “Yes!”
He may have a point about the phone, though. But I can think about that after I’ve done my vlog.
“And I’m not happy with my ripped-up calendar, Millie, but I will just have to live with it.”
“Sorry, Granddad,” I say, and bow my head. He’s right. A destroyed plover is a slightly tragic thing to see. “I’ll buy you a new one for Christmas.”
When I open the shed door, Dave appears from nowhere and darts her way in. It’s like she’s a celebrity and she knows it.
I sit on the big chair, and Dave dives onto the space next to me. She curls her tail around the front of her body and sits quietly in front of the camera. I’m feeling a mixture of brave, going-to-be-sick, terrified, and excited. I start filming.…
“Hello! It’s me, Millie, and this is Dave, and yes, I purposefully have her in the shot this time.
“So obviously lots of you saw the video, and lots of you are still seeing the video where I’m trying to make a serious point about looking after your friends, and Dave—her name is Dave, by the way—decided to freak out in the background and try to kill my granddad’s calendar.
“I was, as you can imagine, feeling totally embarrassed and was genuinely thinking about moving abroad and changing my name until I realized that YouTube is global anyway. Besides, I can’t do that as I have a family who loves me loads despite being completely insane, and they would miss me. As would my lovely friends, too, including my friend Bradley. Do go and check out his vlog about escalators. I KNOW it doesn’t sound cool, but you may actually really come to appreciate them. I sort of have. Plus it was my brilliant friend Bradley who said I should just get back on here and say look—you can’t tell cats what to do. And this is my advice about cats and life in general. You can’t control any of it, and that is really, really scary. So what you have to do is just let mad cats and mad life do their thing and go with it. You’ve just got no control.…
“Remember the very first vlog I did? It’s just the same thing.
“For example” (and I point to Dave and command) “Dave, attack the bird!”
(Dave does nothing.)
“Dave, go on two legs and pretend you’re on a TV dance competition!”
(Dave does nothing.)
“You see? No control. So this is me, Millie Porter—stress-head, Queen of Sensible, control freak, in charge of a completely unpredictable, uncontrollable life and cat—saying that you should try to chill out as much as you can. Even if you own a mad feline. Bye! Hashtag Help is out of here FOREVER!”
Dave still does nothing.
I upload and feel sort of good about things.
As I message Danny to say I will meet him on Saturday, Dave starts to act odd. Typical. When I need her to act calm, she acts strange.
Mum is staring in through the shed’s tiny window. She sees me looking, storms in, and grabs hold of my hand.
“Mills. I’ve got something to tell you, and it’s very important.”