Girl (In Real Life) Page 7

  “Well,” Dad says, “I would say that we’re an open family. We talk frankly about these things at home, on and off camera. Our channel is an extension of that openness. Jen and I don’t believe Eva should feel embarrassed about it.”

  I press pause, because I know what’s coming up. This is the bit that hurts the most. I take a deep breath and get ready, like when you’re about to rip a plaster off.

  “It’s important to say that we’re careful about what we put on the channel. We make sure Eva is okay with it!” Mum’s fake eyelashes flutter, like she knows what she just said is a total lie. But no one seems to notice. “We wouldn’t film anything she was uncomfortable with. All About Eva is a really special channel. We have this enormous bank of amazing memories that we get to keep and share. And Eva’s grateful she gets to live this fabulous life. If she was ever uncomfortable, then we’d stop filming.” Every time I watched that, it felt like getting punched in the stomach.

  “Yes,” Lisa says, “Eva was invited to be here with us today, but she’s at school, is that right?”

  Dad smiles and nods. “School has to come first.”

  “Very sensible!” Jeremy says, and they all laugh. “So, Eva is thirteen. Isn’t she just a little bit embarrassed that millions of people know she’s started her period?”

  “Everything is a little bit embarrassing when you’re thirteen!” Dad says. “But she’s used to it. Eva went viral before she even came out of the womb!” And all of them laugh again.

  “Jen and Lars, thank you so much for talking to us…”

  I stopped the video and flicked through the messages from Hallie and Jenna. Then I dropped my phone in my blazer pocket without replying. Inside my chest, a rain cloud was gathering, getting darker and heavier as I walked towards the house. By the time I reached the front door, it was ready to explode. I stormed through the door and ran upstairs without taking my shoes off. I could hear Farmor on speakerphone and Mum calling, “Eva!” as I shouted, “Leave me alone!” and slammed my bedroom door. I curled up on my bed with my shoes still on, staring up at the strings of fairy lights criss-crossing my ceiling, and waited.

  A few minutes later, Mum’s head poked around the door. “Hey, sweetie. Are you okay?” I glanced at her then looked back up at the ceiling. The smoky black eyes that looked nice on TV now made her resemble a badger. She slowly walked over, like she was expecting a bomb to go off. I felt her sit down next to me on the bed. “So, you watched it?” I folded my arms and twisted my hands in so she couldn’t take them.

  “I know it’s difficult for you to see right now, sweetie.” I felt her hand rub my shoulder and I squirmed away. “You will be really proud of us one day. And proud of yourself.”

  “You lied about me,” I said quietly.

  “Sorry, what did you say, sweetie?”

  “You lied,” I repeated. “On TV. You said I was okay with it and you would stop filming if I was uncomfortable. Those were your exact words.” Mum rubbed my shoulder again and I pushed her hand off, willing my eyes not to let out any more tears.

  “Eva, as your parents, sometimes we have to make decisions about what’s the best thing to say in certain situations. Dealing with the media is like juggling fire. Say one wrong word and that’s it, total disaster. I’m sorry you’re upset. I feel awful. But what could I say? We were on live TV.” She squeezed my arm, then got up. “I am sorry. I hope you know we do all of this for you.”

  “Yeah, right,” I whispered. I blinked and a tear rolled down my face. I looked over to see if Mum had noticed, but she’d already turned around by then.

  My phone vibrated for the millionth time, and Carys’s name flashed up.

  You okay? What did they say??

  I’d ignored everyone else. Messages, tags, screenshots, all the clips being shared. I don’t know, maybe I thought if I ignored them I could pretend this wasn’t really happening. The only one I’d replied to so far was the picture Spud sent me of his head Photoshopped onto King Charles I’s body. I wiped my eyes and replied to Carys.

  The usual stuff they always say. Like it’s not a big deal.

  Carys replied: Talking about you on TV is a big deal. Hope you’re okay.

  My phone buzzed with another message from her:

  So glad you volunteered as my class buddy btw

  I replied: Me too

  Dad’s voice came up the stairs. “EVA! Farmor wants to speak to you!”

  I threw my feet over the side of my bed and went out to the landing. Dad was at the bottom of the stairs, holding out his phone. I ran down, grabbed it out of his hand then went back up to my room and closed the door.

  Hearing Farmor’s voice say hello was enough to make my eyes watery again. I tried my best to sound like I was okay. But holding tears back made my nose sting, and Farmor asked if I had a cold.

  “Did you watch their interview on TV?” I asked.

  Farmor was quiet for a moment. “Yes, your dad sent it to me. Did you know it’s only four weeks now until you’re coming over! I’m hoping it won’t be blowing a gale by then.”

  “So what did you think? About the interview?” The line went quiet so I said, “Farmor?” to check she was still there.

  “I think your mum and dad are very busy with the channel. It must be getting very popular. And I think you are wonderful. You know what else I watched today? A porpoise!” I smiled, leaned back against my pillows and listened to my grandma’s voice. I could hear gulls in the background. It was like being carried all the way across the ocean and swaddled in her arms. I could feel the prickly softness of her woollen cardigan, her breath on my hair, the smell of grønkål soup on the stove. And I was that other Eva again. Not the one everyone was laughing at. Or the one Mum and Dad lied about on TV. The real one.

  The next day after school, Hallie and Gabi went straight to the sports hall for gymnastics practice, so Carys and I walked to the lockers together. On the way, practically everyone I walked past said, “Happy first period, Eva!” I wondered how long it would take to save up for a face transplant.

  “I still cannot believe how many people watch this stuff,” Carys said, scrolling through the All About Eva videos. “Eighty thousand people watched you get a filling!”

  “I know.” I sighed. “The good old days.”

  Carys laughed. “So, how many views has the period one had now?”

  I refreshed the page. “Two point eight million.”

  Carys whistled. “Periods are a lot more popular than I realized.”

  “It’s got comments from people in Malaysia, the Philippines, Uruguay!” I said, scrolling. “I mean, where even is that?” I shoved my phone in my pocket and sighed. “I wish I could just delete it.”

  “You know, you could…” Carys said, then she stopped, like she’d changed her mind. Or maybe she’d clocked Jenna running towards us.

  “Eva!” Jenna called. “Did you see my TikTok?”

  I shook my head and she handed me her phone. I tapped play and immediately the words Period Positivity!!! Jenna A!!! flashed up on the screen. It cut to a jar stuffed full of tampons and then to Jenna doing a headstand. 3 reasons I love my period!!! Number 1!!! You can finally join in with girl talk!!! The video cut to Jenna throwing tampons around her bedroom. The words: Number 2!!! It’s natural!!! Number 3!! You can still work out!!! popped up as Jenna did a headstand.

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, gazing at me.

  “It’s really, erm, good,” I said.

  Then she skipped off shouting, “Anyway, Eva likes it!” to her friends.

  Carys smiled. “My friends at St Aug’s were into doing stuff like that.”

  “St Augustine’s is your old school?” I could hardly believe she hadn’t mentioned it before. St Augustine’s is a private school outside town that looks exactly like Hogwarts. People at school sometimes ask why I don’t go there because they assume my parents are millionaires. They’re not. Anyway, I doubt I would pass the exam to get in.

  Carys c
leaned her glasses on her sleeve. “You’re wondering why I left St Augustine’s, right?”

  “Kind of,” I said, closing my locker and trying to ignore the gigantic avocado engraving. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. This school is pretty nice…” As I said that a Year Ten boy walked past and spat into a bin.

  We both laughed and Carys didn’t say anything else about St Aug’s.

  I pulled my gloves on as we walked outside and started heading down the hill. Carys kept her eyes on the pavement.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me why you left.”

  She bit her fingernails then said, “There were some people bullying me. My parents wanted me to have a fresh start here, so…don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I won’t say anything.”

  Carys linked her arm through mine and I felt this tiny fizz of excitement that she was my friend, like when school announces a snow day. “If anyone asks, say I was homeschooled but my parents got sick of me.” We reached the bottom of the hill and Carys stopped. “Want to hang out for a bit? I don’t feel like going home yet.”

  “Me neither.” I smiled. “Want to walk into town and get a milkshake or something?”

  “Hmm,” Carys said. “I was thinking of somewhere more peaceful.”

  We’d been walking across fields and down little country lanes for about fifteen minutes when we arrived at a brook. It was surrounded by beech trees. Little clusters of brown leaves were skating across the water in the breeze. On our side of the brook, the edges were frozen, and little twigs and stones were encased in ice. I poked it with a stick and watched the ice break into shards, like spindles.

  “Come on!” Carys said, jetéing like a ballerina onto a large stepping stone. She flung her school bag onto the bank on the other side, then carefully placed her feet on protruding stones until she had crossed the stream.

  “Is it slippy?” I asked, carefully placing my foot on the first stone.

  “Nope,” Carys said, stretching her arms up towards the clouds and pirouetting. “It’s glorious!”

  I tried to place my feet in the exact spots Carys had trodden on, but my shoes were completely soaked by the time I got to the grassy bank.

  “So, the water is kind of freezing,” I said, feeling my teeth start to chatter.

  “Here.” Carys handed me her scarf then lay on the grass, gazing up at the sky. “It’s been ages since I watched the clouds.”

  I checked to see if the grass was dry, then sat down and wrapped Carys’s scarf around me.

  “My mum’s going to kill me for not going straight home,” I said, as my phone glowed with a missed call from her. I was supposed to be helping make dinner. They were being sponsored by this new recipe box called Box of Yum. I thought about Dad setting up the camera, ready to record as soon as I walked through the door. I followed Carys’s gaze up to the wispy clouds forming whirlpools of grey and white. Patterns you could lose yourself in.

  “Want to head back?” Carys said, leaning up on her elbow.

  I dropped my phone into my bag, pulled out my sketchbook and fished around in my pocket for a pencil. Then I lay back on the grass, gazed up at the clouds and said, “Nope.”

  It was dark by the time I got home, but my parents hadn’t called out a search party. Or even recorded a vlog appealing for information, which was more like them. I had about a thousand missed calls from them though.

  “Finally!” Dad said as I opened the door. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried sick.” He didn’t have the camera on, so he might have been telling the truth.

  “I was at the brook,” I said, casually taking off my coat.

  “At the brook?” Dad said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s like a small river,” I said, pulling off my muddy shoes.

  “I know what it means, thank you,” Dad said. “Why were you at the brook when you’re supposed to come straight home? It’s almost five-thirty! It’s dark! We had no idea where you were.”

  I shrugged. “Guess I needed some fresh air.” I walked past Mum, whose face looked even more gobsmacked than Dad’s, and headed upstairs. I had this prickly fear on my skin, like they were both about to shout at me. But I had this other feeling too. I mean, I know it was a small thing. Going to the brook after school isn’t exactly the Roundhead rebellion or whatever it was Mrs Peters was going on about today in history. But it was the first time I’d ever done what I wanted, not gone straight home to record content or whatever. And it felt kind of good.

  I left my door open a tiny bit so I could hear what Mum and Dad were saying. I’d messed up their plan of filming us making the Box of Yum live. Dad wanted to show me a new homework app, but they weren’t sure I was in the right mood. Mum said she’d try to get me to play a Virtual Escape Room game after dinner, so at least they’d have some “fun” content for Sunday’s vlog.

  I leaned against my bedroom wall and flicked through the missed calls and messages on my phone.

  There was one from Hallie:

  You okay? Where are you? Your mum just called me!!

  I had the same kind of message from Spud, only his said:

  Jen’s blowing a gasket.

  They’d phoned my friends? Was it in their Daily Goals to completely humiliate me or something? I sent a message to Hallie explaining what happened, and a thumbs up to Spud. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Mum said as she opened the door. “Lars was just worried about you. You weren’t answering your phone.” She perched on the edge of my bed. I flicked my eyes up to make sure she wasn’t filming. “So…were you with some friends? Hallie didn’t seem to know where you were.”

  I shrugged. “Just a new friend from school.”

  “A boy?”

  “No!” I felt my cheeks redden and I pulled my knees up closer to my body. I didn’t want to tell her about Carys, but I didn’t want her filming a vlog called Has Eva Got a Crush??!! or something either. I sighed. “Her name’s Carys. She’s just moved to our school. I’m her buddy for the week. I’m supposed to be showing her around.”

  “And Carys wanted to see the brook?”

  I sighed again, even louder. “I wanted some time to myself, and to avoid getting a camera shoved in my face, okay?”

  Mum moved back, like she’d been blasted with cold air. “Okay, sweetie, that’s fine. But you need to let us know, okay. What were you doing at the brook?”

  “You don’t need to interrogate me,” I said. “You’re not in Justice Force any more.”

  Justice Force was this TV show Mum was in when she was younger. It was about this detective called Justice Force, who solves impossible-seeming crimes from the past. Mum played the part of Stephanie Knowles, the lawyer in season two. But she was killed by a gunman after only four episodes. All these years later, Mum’s still annoyed about it. They only showed her face in that episode for a total of eight seconds – she timed it. She didn’t get another TV show after that and she hates anyone bringing it up. The same way she hates anyone knowing her real name is Rainbow. She changed it when she was eighteen – she has a special certificate from the government. All those years ago, years before they started the blog, Mum rebranded herself. It wasn’t even Mum who told me, it was Dad. And he said Uncle Gareth’s real name is Garfunkel, but I’ve never been sure if he was joking about that or not.

  “Okay, Eva,” Mum said, standing up. “You don’t need to be hurtful. We were worried about you, that’s all.”

  “Worried about the channel,” I said.

  Mum pursed her lips. “You know that’s not true. We care about you, Eva. You’re our world! It’s just, the channel is getting a lot of attention at the moment. Your dad and I have to maximize it. And yes, that means new content. We work hard to give you this life, Eva. It’s taken us years to build the channel to this level. You can have anything you want, you know that, don’t you? All we need is a little cooperation.”


  “A little humiliation, you mean,” I mumbled.

  “What, sweetheart?” Mum said, but I’m pretty sure she heard me.

  “Nothing,” I said, and I did the smile she knows is my fake one.

  Mum looked really upset as she closed the door.

  And if I said I didn’t feel good at that exact moment, I’d probably be lying.

  When I came downstairs the next morning, Mum and Dad were celebrating. They’d had a call from a national newspaper asking them to write a weekly parenting column. It would start the next weekend. I fake-smiled in between gulps of vitamin-enriched orange juice, and listened to Mum’s squeals of excitement as she spoke into the camera about it. I took a bite of toast and pretended to have a coughing fit, so Mum kept having to re-record her monologue. Eventually, Dad told me to go to school early if I couldn’t stop ruining the video. I grabbed my things and headed out without saying goodbye.

  It would have been a more dramatic exit if I hadn’t left my books for Languages Club on the kitchen table. Dad ran barefoot down the drive to hand them to me.

  “Hey, have a good day, kiddo,” he said, or at least I think that’s what he said. I can never be one hundred per cent sure when he speaks in Danish. I have Languages Club every Friday lunchtime. None of the teachers at my school speak Danish, so me and a few other people who are supposed to be bilingual have to go to Madame Chapelle’s classroom. It’s the one with loads of computers at the back. We play games and watch videos in whatever language we’re supposed to be learning until the bell goes. Madame Chapelle speaks loads of languages, but not Danish and not Arabic either. Spud’s friend Rami has to learn that. It looks way harder than Danish. Madame Chapelle sits at her desk reading French magazines and sometimes speaks to Clarissa in Mandarin. It means I have to take extra books on Fridays, but it’s not too bad. Madame Chapelle always gives us biscuits at the end. The worst bit is Dad asking me about the new vocabulary I’ve learned, which I’ve usually forgotten by the time I get home.