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“So, are you going with us, Cam?”
I whip my head around to Blaze. “What?”
“To the gallery,” he answers me, a goofy smile on his face. “You spaced out staring up at the stands, dude. You’re into her.”
“I’m just tired.” I try to play it off. “But, um … I’ll see about the gallery. I don’t know how long this community service thing will take.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Blaze pats my shoulder.
“Thanks.”
I’ll need it.
“I’m going to livestream part of this,” Nila tells me the moment we step out of the door of the pet shelter, a chocolate lab mix named Luna in tow. “You can talk about your love of dogs, community service, and interact with some of the fans that comment.”
“Nope.”
Her shoulders fall. “What do you mean, no?”
“I’m not doing any of that. It’s a waste of time. No one cares.”
“You have almost seven hundred thousand followers, Cameron. Someone is bound to care. Not to mention, if it all goes well, we can make the video available for them to view later. I think they’ll eat it up.”
“None of those people even know me,” I argue, growing more defiant as Luna tugs at the end of the leash. “I’m here to walk the dogs, not make a show out of it for the whole world to see.”
She places a hand on her hip. “You’ve got this all wrong. You are here to make a show out of your community service. How else are you going to convince people you’re not the angry, unhinged man the media is portraying you to be?”
“I don’t care what people think. I’m just here to do my community service.”
“You don’t have to pretend like you’re some selfless celebrity. They don’t exist.”
“That’s a big assumption,” I snap, growing defensive. “You don’t know me.”
She sighs, pushing some of her fiery locks out of her face. “Okay, fine. Maybe that was a little over the top. I’m just ... I’m trying to make this work for you, Cameron. You have to understand that most of social media is a show. It’s like a highlight reel of your life, and honestly, it’s not always an authentic one. We amp up the good moments to be magical.”
“And that’s why the depression rates are so high. People think everyone else’s lives are better than they really are. It’s sad. I don’t want to be a part of it.”
“Well, you have no choice,” Nila levels with me. “Your managers are trying to clean up your image, and I’m just here to do what I was hired to do. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
“Wow, you’re kind of cranky today.”
“No, I’m not. You’re the one being difficult.”
“No, I’m just speaking the truth about social media,” I say to her, folding my arms across my chest. “I mean, you have how many followers? And are any of them your real friends? Because my real friends have nothing to do with my social media.”
She grows quiet before pulling out her phone. “Let’s just get this over with.”
Uh oh, I hit a nerve.
And now I feel like a jerk.
“Nila, I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” She stops me with her hand, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Start walking and I’ll start the livestream.”
I inwardly cringe at the loss of emotion in her tone. Right now, she’s impossible to read.
I let out a sigh, still feeling like an idiot for jabbing at her like that. I start off down the street and do my best to ignore the ping of the livestream starting.
