The Obsession, page 2
Two days is the longest I’ve gone without looking.
Isla’s focused on the road, so I take out my phone, click on the latest YouTube video, and head straight to the comments. It’s just a regular day-in-the-life video, starting with Mom waving us off to school—didn’t do that this morning since the camera had stopped rolling—and then everything she did after. I haven’t watched it, but she said she ran to the store to pick up road trip treats and some things to leave for me.
My eyes are trained to look out for blue, home, and roz. I spot blueqb straightaway. A snarky comment gathering attention with eighteen likes and six replies.
Buying junk food for ur 16 yo daughter doesn’t make up for leaving her home alone!!!
They aren’t wrong. Though fourteen whole days without Mom and with junk food is a dream come true.
The replies are mixed, some agreeing, some telling them to lighten up, and one asking how they know I’ll be alone.
Mom hasn’t said I will be, and she’s made sure to mention that I’ll be looked after. Which means she’s asked the neighbors to check in and is letting me have as many sleepovers as I want so that I “feel safe.” If she knows I’d prefer another person in the house to feel safe, then why is she leaving me alone?
Jules said she’ll be driving by the house on her way to and from work, going a couple of blocks out of her way to ensure I’m okay.
Blue has replied to the person telling them not to assume I’ll be alone.
Would u leave ur kid home alone for a week?
How do you know she’s home alone?
My stomach twists. How do they know I’ll be alone? I should be excited—two whole weeks, just me—but nerves creep in. I’ve never been on my own for that long.
Lou never mentioned anyone staying with her and she overshares everything!
Well, that’s how they know. Mom doesn’t get it—doesn’t get that some viewers see through her facade. She’s a good liar, but not perfect.
The knot in my stomach loosens as logic takes over. They don’t know, they’re just reading between the lines. Accurately, sure, but they can’t be certain.
Roz has also replied. Just once.
Lou doesn’t care about connie that’s obvious.
Okay, ouch. It’s not exactly that bad. Mom cares more about herself than anyone else but it’s not like she doesn’t give a crap about me. Her version of being a great mom is just a bit different from what I think and need.
“Connie, come on, what’re you doing?” Isla questions, turning on her wipers as a light rain mists the windshield. “I can practically see the gears of your sharp mind turning. Talk to me.”
We always talk. Before the vlog it was me and Isla against the world. I wouldn’t say I’ve lost her, but she is slowly being seduced by the money and lifestyle we have now.
“Oh. Just messaging Rosa,” I say, feeling crappy for lying to my sister.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Isla raises a perfect brow but stays silent. Her expression says it all—she doesn’t buy it, but she won’t argue. We have an unspoken rule now: Don’t fight about the vlog. It’s the only way to keep our relationship intact.
I curl my fingers into my palm, resisting the urge to reply to the comments flooding the screen. I’ll occasionally leave a quick thanks or an emoji on the nice ones, but even that invites more—people expecting engagement, demanding more of me.
Or worse, using it as an opening to tear me apart.
Too much makeup, not enough. Too quiet, too intense. I should chill out, I should open up, I should stay private.
There’s no winning. They think they know me.
We pull into the school parking lot and Isla stops next to her secret girlfriend’s car. Mom doesn’t want to add a girlfriend or boyfriend dynamic to the vlogs, so we’re not supposed to date.
So she has no idea that Isla and Ally have been together for six months, or that me and Seth are going on eighteen months.
Our family is filled with secrets. Most of them we only have to keep from everyone outside our house.
A few we keep from each other.
2
I keep my focus straight, walking from the entrance to my locker. Rosa, Dustin, and Seth all have lockers on the other side of the school, which means I start my mornings alone.
Not something I cared one iota about until the vlog blew up and everyone at school found out about it. There are a few things I refuse to let Mom film—sanitary products and toiletries restocks. Not because I’m ashamed, just because I don’t need the whole school inspecting my bathroom drawers.
My bedroom and bathroom are strictly off-limits.
Ignoring people at school is about as easy as ignoring the comments section.
My peers never seem to grow tired of talking about me. Their snarky quips have faded, thankfully, but their looks and whispers linger.
Sometimes, that’s worse.
The long, clinically lemon-scented corridor stretches on for what feels like miles.
It’s worst after a Q&A, particularly if they know I’m lying about something. Like how often Mom picks us up to do something fun after school. Unless she’s vlogging, she doesn’t actually do that. It’s a miracle that no one has created videos calling her out yet. There’s been a huge increase in content creators pulling apart others’ vlogs, so it’s only a matter of time before we’re a target.
I don’t know who Mom thinks she’s fooling. Most people are aware that if it’s online it’s not necessarily true. They should be, anyway.
Ahead of me in the corridor is a group of juniors. Five girls who seem to take great pleasure in teasing Isla mercilessly. My sister claims she doesn’t care because she’s going to graduate college debt-free and live in a penthouse.
Money isn’t magic, and I can’t convince myself that our lives are better now. No matter how much I love our massive five-bedroom mansion with a huge yard in a gated neighborhood, the nice clothes, and having the latest phone.
It worries me that Isla keeps so much inside, pretending to be okay with everything.
It worries me more that she genuinely might be okay with it.
As I pass, five nearly identical heads twist my way as if the girls have been practicing synchronized gossiping. They’d win gold. There’s nothing unique about any of them. Lara and her friends have the same polished high ponytail, rosy blush, and coordinated outfits. Every day they match color palettes like a family photo shoot. I half expect to see a burn book in their manicured hands.
I roll my eyes and focus on my locker at the end of the hall, pretending I’m alone, pretending that I don’t feel exposed and uneasy while dozens of my peers stare at me. The attention hasn’t died down, even though we’ve been vlogging for over a year now.
When I’m just within earshot, one of the coven members mutters something about my mom. If they’re using her to goad me into a fight, they do not know me at all.
I think she’s crappy too.
A cackle bounces off the walls and they glance my way. Do not react. It’s what they want, and I’m determined to never give it to them. I act as if it doesn’t bother me. My lack of response causes them to say it again, and this time I catch a bit more. Lou minus one…something.
I guess they’re talking about how I’m being left behind. I don’t see why that’s so terrible. I can’t wait. In fact, what sixteen-year-old wouldn’t want the house to themselves for twelve days?
Seth and Dustin have been talking about a party, since my house is pretty big. It’s the kind of house I dreamed of having before all the vlogging started. Gourmet kitchen, my own bathroom, a huge walk-in closet for my clothes. We have a home theater, a gym, a hot tub, and a sauna. Paid for by the lies.
I shove my backpack in my locker and grab what I need for math—evil to have first thing in the morning; my brain is still in bed.
“Hi, Connie.”
I look up, ready to tell whoever it is to get lost, and see Ellie smiling at me. Her fair hair is in two messy braids, her arms full of books.
“Oh. Hi, Ellie.”
She’s a year below me, so we don’t really see much of each other, but we always say hi when we pass. We share a love of fantasy novels and often recommend books. She’s one of the friendliest people in school outside of my group.
Holding the books an inch higher, she says, “I’ll let you know if any of these are good.” When she’s talking about books, her dark eyes seem to sparkle. I know she writes and wouldn’t be surprised if she becomes an author one day.
My eyes land on the book on top. “Oh, I’ve read that one and you’ll love it. I have the trilogy, so tell me when you’re ready and you can borrow them. Let me know about the rest.”
“Cool, thanks. Got to run. Mrs. McKnee is a total dragon if you’re even half a second late.”
I laugh as she runs slightly awkwardly since she’s holding four paperbacks she doesn’t need for class along with her laptop.
Ellie is the only other person I know who takes a book with them wherever they go. I have a couple stashed in my car, just in case. I don’t really know in case of what, but I sure feel better knowing they’re there.
My phone is showing one more minute until the bell, so I give in to temptation and open YouTube again. I’m never able to stay away from it for long, no matter how many times I promise myself I won’t look. At this point I think it might be an addiction, one I need help with. I’m not quite ready to ask my friends to confiscate my phone.
Blue has commented again, doubling down on their defense of me by calling my mom irresponsible for leaving me alone, telling her that anything could happen to me while she’s away for two whole weeks.
I frown, scrolling through Blue’s earlier comments. They’re all criticism, and it feels like shattered glass against my skin…but hold on. I reread the last few, making sure. The judgment is only ever about my mom. How have I not noticed that before? I lumped us together out of habit, out of forced solidarity, even when I didn’t feel it. But I don’t need to.
There have been plenty of disapproving comments about me, but not from the regulars.
Blue condemns the vlog—hard. Feels like they hate it. But their complaints never target me or Isla. Do they even realize their comments fuel the vlog, stuffing money into Mom’s pockets?
Actually, I don’t think they’ve ever mentioned my sister. Not once.
That’s weird. I’ve been so caught up in how often they comment that I didn’t really take in what they’ve been saying. I look back at Roz and Home, because they don’t hold back either.
Both have mentioned Isla but neither have been particularly unkind to her. They both state she’s the favorite, which is true because Isla pushes back less, but that’s not Isla’s fault. She’s just doing what she feels she has to. We’ve never struggled for money, but we’ve also never had it in excess. I assume she goes along with the vlogging so she’ll be financially able to escape when she’s eighteen.
One good thing Mom has been doing is putting money into accounts for us for when we’re adults. She regularly shows us the increasing balance, something that she’s surprisingly not shared with the viewers.
I chew on the side of my lip, unsure if Blue’s defense of me is a good thing…and why it’s bothering me so much. Other than the fact that I’d rather people didn’t talk about me at all.
My finger twitches over the screen, so close to liking the comments from all three of them on the latest thread.
If I do it, Mom will see.
But Blue’s most recent one isn’t about Mom. It simply reads I hope Connie has a blast.
The suffocating feeling of having little control over my life and Mom’s blatant disregard for my safety drive me forward. At least, they drive my index finger forward, straight into the like button.
Done.
Oh crap, I’ve done it.
My heart thuds harder, pumping adrenaline through my body at a rate that makes me feel dizzy. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing, but disobeying Mom feels like finding a bubble of oxygen deep under the ocean.
Thank you very much, Blue. You are spot-on about everything you say.
The bell shrieks above my head, making me jump, and I almost drop my phone.
“Bye, fam. See you next time,” Lara calls, her little posse giggling as they pass.
Mom’s cringey catchphrase, repurposed.
I slam my locker shut and head to math. A small rebellion, but the feeling it leaves in my gut is anything but small. For all my resolve, I can’t shake the feeling that talking to Blue was a mistake.
3
Mom holds the camera as Isla loads the final bag into the car. It’s filled to the brim with enough clothes and snacks to last two weeks. She turns, grinning as she slams the trunk shut. “That’s the last bag. We are officially ready, guys! I’m so excited for this road trip!”
Her voice, her movements—amped up for the audience, like we’ve been trained. I know she’s excited, she’s told me enough times, but she wouldn’t be this exaggerated, this Hollywood-smile perfect, if the camera wasn’t rolling.
“Wow, guys, I can’t believe I’m taking my first baby off to tour colleges! This is so exciting and so emotional,” Mom says, reaching out to grab Isla’s hand, camera capturing the moment. “I remember when she was a tiny newborn asleep on my chest. I’m sure I’m not old enough to have a nearly adult daughter!”
Don’t roll your eyes. Do not roll your eyes.
“Okay, we need to say goodbye to my little Connie.” Mom rotates the camera and pouts. Oh great. “I’m going to miss you so much, but I know you’re being taken care of.”
Sure…I’ll be taking care of myself.
Not that I’m about to complain. The break in constant filming will be amazing. I’ve been left a list of shorts to film so “the fans” can see what I’m up to, but they never take me long to produce, as I keep them under a minute. I’m so uninterested.
It’ll keep Mom off my back, and the less I speak to her the better. I need a full break from hearing her tell me what I need to do or what I’m doing wrong.
For once I would love if she just cared about me. No ulterior motives, no thinking about how our relationship can be monetized, just her considering how to make my life better behind the scenes.
“I’ll miss you guys too, but I can’t wait to hear which colleges Isla falls in love with…and then which one she picks!”
“Aw, we’ll call and text all the time,” Isla says, giving me a hug. The camera is quickly turned again to capture the moment. I don’t really like showing affection on the platform, because some comments are awful and downright inappropriate…but whatever gets a click. “Message if you need anything,” she whispers in my ear, giving me a glimpse of the big sister I know and love.
“Oh, and obviously my little sis will be the first person I tell when I make that all-important decision. After all, it’ll be you coming for girls’ weekends.” Isla looks at the camera and laughs. “Okay, cool moms are allowed too.”
Vomit. In. Mouth.
How did she manage to say that with a straight face?
I’m not sure exactly when Isla changed so much, but she’s not the same person she was a year ago. She has semi let the vlog and “local celebrity” status go to her head, so I hold on to the little pieces of the old her that occasionally shine through.
Also, if I never get called a local celebrity again, I will have led a good life.
There’s only eighteen months between us. She’s almost finished junior year and I’m hoping once she’s graduated and gotten away, she’ll wake up and ditch the sheep costume.
There will be no more long days filming, sometimes over and over if Mom isn’t happy with a take. It’s going to be the best thing for Isla. As jealous as I am that she’s getting out a year earlier than me, I need her to go.
“We can visit you when we’re doing this for Connie,” Mom says. Isla will still be in high school when I’m touring colleges next year. I don’t have the energy to correct her. One of the viewers will do the math and point it out, probably tell Mom she needs to go back to school.
My bitterness is starting to curl its talons around every inch of my body. I hate it so much, but I can’t prevent it from happening. I want to scream from the suffocating pressure to be perfect and perform.
I’m dreading my college tour video. I don’t really want the whole internet to know where I’ll be, nor do I want to see Mom act like the best parent on the planet only to change the second she stops recording. It hurts every time it happens.
Think of something else.
Mom stretches her hand out and pouts. “All right, we really have to go now.”
“Bye, Mom,” I say, hugging her next and trying to look miserable enough that everyone knows I’ll miss my family but not too sad that they’ll call Mom out on leaving me behind again.
It’s always a struggle to hit every emotion I’m supposed to feel spot-on.
Not that I always care, as evidenced by my liking Blue’s comment yesterday and not pointing out Mom’s mistake a minute ago.
No one’s perfect, no matter how hard we all try to portray that image.
“We’ll call to check in soon.”
I smile again, hoping that she won’t. My twelve days of freedom start as soon as they drive off, and I want to forget them for a while.
They both get into the car and the camera is passed to Isla, who points the damn thing my way.
My stomach clenches as I smile and wave, not too enthusiastically. I don’t let it reach my eyes and put no excitement in the wave. Maybe one day this experience will benefit me. I could be a director.
