Call It What You Want To

Chapter 4: Kyler

I hadn't talked to Taya Beckett since freshman biology, so I was more than surprised when I saw her name pop up on my phone screen. I had to read her texts back a couple times. No way did Little Miss Perfectionist miss a due date and need my help. I was used to the jocks, stoners, and over committed people, but never did I write an essay for someone like Taya Beckett.

Freshman year she was the peppy little gymnastics star that would be the token "flipper" at a pep rally, was always surrounded by her friends, and notoriously was making the honor roll. Taya was very much the center of attention and everyone knew her. After that class we had together, I never really noticed her except for maybe passing each other in the hallways. It was almost like she disappeared while still being right in front of everyone.

After looking over her outline, which was actually really good, I agreed to write her paper. A few minutes later I had a Venmo payment of one hundred and seventy-five dollars from @TayBeck. Full payment up front, that's what I liked to see.

I spent the rest of my evening glancing between a previous AP Gov essay I wrote for a senior last year and what Taya already had. This was gonna be easy. I just had to rehash the old essay into something new. Mrs. Reynolds was a hard grader, but she didn't pay close enough attention to notice if an essay seemed similar. After all, every essay was over the same topic and it was over the history of the government, it's not gonna change!

About an hour in, Milana popped her head in my room. "Can you take me to the gas station?" she asked, her hot pink fanny pack (that she insisted on calling a "belt bag") already slung across her body.

I glanced at the clock, seeing it was almost 8:00 at night. "For what? I'm busy."

"I wanna do an ASMR snacks video when Kenzie sleeps over tomorrow," she answered as if it was obvious.

"A fucking what?" I asked, fully hearing her, but not able to comprehend what I heard. Milana huffed and started to explain it before I cut her off. "I know what it is, Lani, but why are you doing one?"

"Cause some of us actually care about our online audience."

Milana knew I hated the family channel, but she never said anything. She didn't really care and didn't understand why I hated being on the camera. She didn't get it that all the comments about her were about how people "wished they were as cool as Milana at 12 years old" or how she had "such a mature style". Nobody commented on how "she's changed so much in a few years" or analyzed every emotion she made and tried to diagnose her with something.

"And it's just fun. Girlhood is making fun videos with your friends," Milana continued with a know-it-all attitude. Ever since she saw the Barbie movie this past summer, Milana became obsessed with "girlhood" and "embracing the wonderful world of being a girl". It was one of the things that a lot of our family's followers loved about Milana, that she was a girl and she loved being a girl. I felt like I'd be the dickhead to tell my starry-eyed sister that "girlhood" also means holding your keys between your fingers when walking across a parking lot at night, or constantly fidgeting with your clothes to make sure you were fully covered and wouldn't be the subject of catcalls or judgment.

"Fine, gimme like five minutes," I told her. Milana whispered "Yes!" as she grabbed my keys off the hook by my door to go start my car. I closed my laptop and found a hoodie to wear and hide the fact that I've already gone braless for the night.

I met Milana in the garage, where she had already started my white Land Rover. "I told mom we were leaving, be back in an hour," she said as I slid into the driver's seat with Taylor Swift music already queued up through my sister's spotify account.

"An hour, what the fuck are you getting?" I asked, hitting the garage door button before pulling out.

"I kinda put in a Chik-Fil-A order too, lowkey," Milana said, pursing her lips together into that pouty "duck face".