Influential

Contents Landing Page Title Page Dedication Contents July 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 August 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 September 39 Acknowledgements About the Author Copyright 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Influential
 AMARA SAGE
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 For Connie & Lesley,
 I did it! Thank you for always telling me I could.
 I love you and miss you dearly.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 
 
 Title Page
 Dedication
 July 
 1 
 2 
 3 
 4 
 5 
 6 
 7 
 8 
 9 
 10 
 11 
 12 
 13 
 14 
 15 
 16 
 17 
 18 
 August 
 19 
 20 
 21 
 22 
 23 
 24 
 25 
 26 
 27 
 28 
 29 
 30 
 31 
 32 
 33 
 34 
 35 
 36 
 37 
 38 
 September 
 39 
 Acknowledgements 
 About the Author 
 Copyright
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 July
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1
 
 
 thereal_almondbrown 
 
 
 
 1079 
 
 
 3.5M 
 
 
 98 Posts
 
 
 Followers
 
 
 Following
 
 A L M O N D B R O W N 
 Public Figure
 Vegan living | Cruelty-free beauty
 Contact: [email protected]
 Follow @evefairchild for more
 
 
 
 
 I go to Settings. Account. Delete my profile.
 When the end credits for Unsolved Mysteries are done rolling, Netflix asks me if I’m still watching. I sigh, my breath shuddery from crying. The question seems passive aggressive, or maybe Netflix is just reflecting my own self-judgement back at me because I know it’s bad that I’ve spent the entire week since school ended in bed, alone, bingeing shows. That I’ve woken up, written off the day, and decided to pick up right where I left off last night.
 The black screen shows my reflection: low-angled, double-chinned, matted curls piled on top of my head. My brown skin that would usually be naturally sun-glowed a darker shade this far into July looks blotchy and blanched from staying inside.
 Every atom of me looks entirely different to the girl in the first photo at the top of my Instagram, angelically smiling out from a spotlit vanity mirror, poised with the pads of her fingers massaging a pea-sized pearl of cream into her face, her chin up, hair falling in perfect ringlets down her back. Next to her is Eve Fairchild – or Mum, as I call her – roller-balling moisture across her forehead, one hand daintily reaching for the product in centre focus, its VeGlow label face out. The direction was ‘mother-daughter pamper sesh’, though I felt the farthest thing from relaxed.
 When we came home from that two-day shoot in London, Dad had finally moved all his stuff out, taking Honey with him. Mum must’ve known because she’d had the house cleaned, the stinging smell of bleach stripping away the sniffs of my dog that clung between the sofa cushions, her hairs wiped clean from the skirting boards.
 Everything shit seemed to happen at once. With Dad leaving and school ending, taking the pretence of any friendships I had left with it, I just haven’t been able to post anything since. I can’t be pushing vitamin-D supplements when I haven’t absorbed a single milligram of sun all week, or share my OOTDs when I’m on day six of wearing the same bra and never change out of my pyjamas.
 I’ve hated being an ‘influencer’ for years, but I could at least grin and bear it when we were simply bending the truth of our lives. Now that truth has snapped and shattered into jagged shards of hurt and blame, it’s getting harder to catwalk my way over them like Mum expects me to.
 I close the lid of the laptop because no, Netflix, I haven’t been watching. For the last twenty minutes I’ve been doing this little thing I like to do at least three times a week called having an existential crisis.
 I go back to my phone.
 
 Do you want to permanently delete
 thereal_almondbrown?
 Yes No
 
 My thumb hovers over the screen, the words a blur, my body heaving with that desperate, gaspy breathing that always comes after the kind of crying that empties your head, leaving an ache at your temples. Since Mum gave up knocking on my door a while ago and I heard her leave for London without me, I sit up, drawing my knees under my chin.
 Big day today. Spencer set up a meeting with VeGlow at noon to discuss our product collaboration with them, and then we’ve been invited to the Skwimmy’s launch at five – this new shapewear/swimwear hybrid brand we’ve been promoting. I pick at the crusted edge of a scab on my leg, wondering what story Mum’ll make up about why I’m missing both.
 If I press Yes now and permanently delete my account, I won’t be thought of as a prospective business deal ever again. I won’t have another ad campaign like VeGlow’s to miss meetings for, or followers zizzing like mosquitoes behind the glass screen of my phone, or a launch party with a beachwear dress code to worry about when my skin’s torn to shreds. Everywhere bubbling with people and people and people. Strangers who know me by name.
 But no ad campaign means no money.
 And I have life-alteringly important plans for this money.
 I can’t stay here while everyone else from school is getting government grants for university courses I didn’t qualify for, and proper jobs with HR departments that would advise against hiring me after googling my