“Marty, Jen, I know you’re both just looking out for me. I get it. You want what’s best for me and my career. I trust you both. But at the end of the day, I make my decisions. And I don’t owe explanations to either of you. So please understand me. I’m going. What’s gonna happen? I don’t freaking know, okay? I just know that video…” I shake my head, let out a breath. “It did something to me. I dunno.”
“But the effect on your career—” Marty starts.
“I’m more than my career!” I shout.
“It’s just an internet video!” he shouts back.
“That’s where you’re wrong, on several levels,” I say. “It’s not just an internet video. It’s a very real and very heartfelt piece of personal communication. She just had no other way of getting in front of me than putting it out in public. Also, the ‘internet—’” I put air quotes around the last word, “is how my generation interacts with the world, Marty. TikTok, Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat. I know to you it’s just…the internet. To us? It’s an integral, vital part of how we as humans interact with our society. With each other. It’s not just content. It’s meaningful. It’s just not funny stuff and ha ha ha look at me act like an idiot for fifteen seconds for a few thousand likes. It’s…” I sigh, trail off. “You’re not going to understand, and it honestly doesn’t matter. The point is, regardless of what you or Jen or anyone else thinks, Jolene’s video wasn’t just some random internet thing that has nothing to do with me. It means something to me, and I can’t explain why, and I don’t care to try. It’s important to me. I’m going. So get out of the way.”
“What are you going to do, Westley?” he asks, not moving. “Go and accept her proposal?”
Yes.
“I don’t know, Marty. I don’t know. I just know I felt something real and important when I watched her video, and I have to do something about it.”
Marty looks at Jen, and they exchange some sort of wordless look. Marty steps back and to the side, raising his hands in surrender. “Fine, whatever. But when this shitshow you’re embarking on backfires and explodes in your face, don’t come asking me to fix it for you.”
I snort. “Sometimes in life, you have to make choices that have nothing to do with your career. This is one of them, for me.”
Jen backs away, her expression thoughtful and serious. “Just promise me one thing, okay?”
“What’s that, Jen?” I turn to regard her.
“Stop and think before you jump into anything. Consider the ramifications. Not just for you—what you do affects us, too.”
I nod. “I hear you.”
Jen gestures for me to go ahead. “As long as you understand that both Marty and I strongly recommend against this course of action. You do what you have to do. Just…be smart, okay?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’ll do my best. But sometimes, the smart thing and the right thing are very far apart from being the same thing.”
A sigh from Jen. More of a huff, annoyed, resigned. She pulls her phone from her back pocket, taps, types, and my phone, plugged in and resting upside down in the console cupholder, burbles with an incoming message.
“What’d you send me?” I ask, reaching for my phone.
“Her address.”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “Then why argue with me?”
“It’s my job. What you’re doing is rash, reckless, and impulsive. It’s not the smart thing. But I know you well enough to know when you’ve got your mind made up on something. And my job is also to assist you, even when I don’t agree with what you’re doing, as long it’s not going to get you hurt or risk hurting someone else.” She pins me with a hard stare. “Speaking of which—don’t make promises to this girl that you can’t or won’t keep, Wes.”
“I legitimately don’t have a plan. I just need to go meet her. See her face-to-face.”
Not a lie, but it’s also not the whole truth.
I input the address into my phone’s navigation app—just outside Chicago. Apparently I’m in for a road trip.
I’m coming, Jolene Park. I hear you, and I’m on my way.
Saying Yes
Jolene
It’s eight in the morning. I’m not a morning person. I hate mornings. I hate waking up. I hate alarms. I hate feeling laggy and dumb and disoriented. I also don’t like coffee, which complicates things.
But I’m awake at 8:12 a.m., lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what in the name of sanity I was freaking thinking, post that stupid, crazy video to my TikTok. She made me that account when the app first came out, mainly to help pass the time during long chemo sessions and the even longer recovery periods, when I was capable of doing little more than scrolling—when even the swiping motion with one thumb caused pain throughout my whole body, when even blinking made me nauseous.
I became somewhat hooked.
Or, a lot hooked.
I like taking clips of myself playing my uke and singing cover songs. Not the whole thing, usually, just bits and pieces. I don’t have a lot of followers or views, but it’s fun.
Then, Bethany came over and I told her about my idea. I’d expected her to talk me out of it. Or maybe talk me down to something rational, like sending him a letter. But no. She went and enabled my crazy-ass idea.
I expected nothing from it.
A few views, some comments.
I wake up this morning after a couple days of being too sick to even look at my phone.
Finally feeling better, I check my phone…
Ten million views.
Articles about my video on Buzzfeed, Variety, E!, People, Entertainment, and more.
Tweets.
DMs.
Encouraging and supportive posts from several A-list celebrities, as well as thousands of private citizens.
But…
Nothing from Westley. No indication that he’s even seen the video, despite its viral popularity.
Gah. What was I thinking?
So dumb. So desperate.
I have to do something besides lie here and stew about it, so I force myself out of bed. Change from my pajamas—a T-shirt and underwear—into a pair of tiny, loose, gray cotton shorts and a green tank top…not much better than pajamas, but who cares. Lurch into the kitchen and put on a kettle for tea—I’m an old lady, at heart. I like Irish Breakfast tea in the morning, with buttered toast and a fried egg.
Lame.
But comforting.
Mom and Dad aren’t awake yet—they’re still jet-lagged from our trip to Italy. Dad’s been given a paid sabbatical from his position at the university, where he’s a professor of economics.
What does that even mean? What does a professor of economics even do? I took economics in my online homeschooling program, and I still don’t really know what need there is for a whole university department in the subject.
Yeah, I homeschooled. When you’re in and out of hospitals your whole life and either sitting for chemo or going in for radiation or recovering or just plain sick as a dog because LEUKEMIA SUCKS, going to a normal school isn’t really possible.