TikTok Novel Draft (updated 8/11)

 Hey TikTokers, here is where I'm at with the draft. Feel free to drop any criticism you'd like!

       

Part 1: The Proposal

Brayden hadn’t considered the thorns. As he carried the plastic garbage bag outside, the thorns of forty-eight roses scraped his knee. A mere flesh wound is a small price to pay, he thought, for Madison to finally learn the inescapable nature of fate. 

When he had photoshopped the two of them together and posted it on Instagram for Secret Crush Day (a holiday he’d made up), she blocked him. When he later showed up to her soccer game wearing a replica jersey with her name and number, she had the coach ask him to take it off. When he made a video of himself singing his own rendition of “Greensleeves” and posted it to Youtube, he knew she didn’t watch it when he sent the link, because it never gained a view that didn’t come from when he clicked the link to check its views. Tomorrow would be different, he thought.Madison hadn’t been asked to homecoming yet, but Brayden was confident that none of his peers possessed a sense of chivalry that could rival his own. He knew that some girls just needed time, that they’d been so conditioned to accept the crude courting rituals of the modern man that they needed to be reconditioned before they could acknowledge when they were in the presence of a true gentleman, and he had no problem with waiting for what was surely destined.

Brayden gave his bag of rose petals a little spritz and put them in his closet, ready for tomorrow. As he pondered what he would say when his true love read the words that the petals spelled, he decided to open Facebook for inspiration. Though he had never actually embarked on an artistic endeavor, he always considered her his muse, and just the sight of her inspired him to consider creating something. Her best photos were on Instagram, but she had rescinded her follow acceptance. But they had been Facebook friends since 8th grade, and nobody really paid much attention to those accounts anymore. From her profile, he went to her albums, then directly to VACAY 2019!!!!, the album which contained his favorites. He suppressed the shame of violating his own code of honor, an act that linked him to the rubes at school who had only appreciated Madison for her body. Brayden would never be one of those men, but in these moments of weakness, he would sometimes sink to the level of the lecherous rubes and use VACAY 2019!!!! to satisfy his needs when he had the house to himself. He justified bringing himself to their level by acknowledging the fact that in his fantasies, Madison was his Queen.  

Imagining intimate nights in their chambers, he scrolled through his favorite pictures. First, was the one of her by a hotel pool. She was holding a drink that looked alcoholic, but Brayden knew it could not be so; she wouldn’t do that. The way her back arched so slightly drove Brayden crazy, so elegant and alluring. This is what those buffoons had never understood about Madison. She exuded class and sophistication and her sexiness was like the finest mead that can make any commoner drunk, but that only true nobility can appreciate. Sure, this post also accentuated her breasts, and Brayden could not deny his appreciation for that which sustained life. Afterall, it was her womanhood that he loved, and was there anything wrong with spending hours contemplating the way they glistened in the meadow on a warm summer’s day? Or shadows they would cast in the moonlight? Or the way beads of water slide off them as April rains fell upon them?  Of course not. By the time he scrolled to the shot of her watching the sunset, the one that revealed how the ocean had made her bikini bottom ride up on her, Brayden realized that the garderobe would be a more suitable venue moving forward, and off he went.

The next day, he hid his books under his bed--today he would “forget” them--and stuffed the pedals, chocolate, and teddy bear into his backpack so that his mother wouldn’t challenge his plans. He’d told his mother that he had a test to make up, so she dropped him off at school early.

When he arrived, the school was empty. Most entrances were locked, but he knew that the art teachers always propped their receiving door open for Ms. Jennings, who was always late and didn’t want to go through the entrance that admin monitored. Students weren’t technically allowed in the building yet, but nobody knew who was or wasn’t in the various clubs that met before the doors were officially open.

At 7:30, he began to arrange the pedals. He had fifteen minutes before he would see Madison. He knew that every day in the fall, Madison went to the captain’s conditioning sessions for the soccer team. She would arrive at 6:45 and meet her teammates in the weight room. Brayden had chosen today for his proposal, because on Wednesdays, the girls did core workouts and stretching, and Madison would not be too sweaty nor would her hair have to be tended to. He actually preferred how she looked on the cardio days. She looked natural and vital, only having enough time for a little dry conditioner and mascara, but he understood that women like to be prepared for the big moments in their lives so that they can have the perfect picture to share on Instagram, so core day it was.

A couple of cafeteria workers noticed Brayden but didn’t stop him. Brayden arranged a couple letters at a time, then ran up the stairs and added more, adjusting along the way. He would go up and down the stairs thirteen times, which would be the most exercise he would get in months. How good they were for each other! No other woman could inspire him to make such healthy choices. He finally placed the last petal and ran up the stairs for the final time. The message read: MADISON, GODDESS OF TIME AND SPACE, YOUR WHOLE AURA PUTS A SMILE ON MY FACE. MAY I TAKE YOU TO HOMECOMING? It was poetic and perfect, not your brutish, “Will you go to homecoming?” that you’d see on some simpleton’s poster. His was a message worthy of fair Madison.

At around 7:38, disaster struck; a crippling pain shot through Brayden’s midsection. Fortunately, Officer Newman had taken his post in one of the more populated areas of the school (in case of a shooter). Brayden approached him, “Sir, I need your help.”

“Um. Ok?” Officer Newman said.

“I have a pressing need to use the lavatory, but I must ensure that my proclamation of love remains in tact. Could you stand guard over my display?

“Yeah, sure.” Without a thank you, Brayden darted off. Officer Newman hoped that the kid was the kind who could do his business quickly so that he wouldn’t have to direct traffic away from the doomed display. Had he known it was for Madison Welch, he probably would have swept it up before anybody could see. He wouldn’t get the chance because A fight broke out in the red locker bay, so he had to leave his post. He’d hoped that he could grab another adult to watch the display that was sure to be fucked with, but there wasn’t another nearby. Sorry kid.

Brayden ran faster than he’d ever run so that he could make it to the bathroom in time. Fortunately, there was one right outside of the cafeteria; the stalls were open. The gods smiled upon him. He sat on the toilet and soon realized his problem was worse than he thought. The first phase of diarrhea would clearly not be the last, but he would not have time to let it run its course and would have to return after his proposal.

Before exiting the bathroom, he checked himself out in the mirror. His part was straight and he looked good. Mature and stately. He wore a white shirt with a black vest and khakis that he’d recently outgrown. He felt jeans would have been inappropriate. He then ran back toward the cafeteria. By this time, the doors had opened, and the students filled the hallways. He jostled through the crowd to make it to the cafeteria. He was sweating profusely, and his bowels were becoming patient. As got closer to the cafeteria, he could hear a buzz of excitement. He almost felt bad for the football players, for whom the homecoming proposal bar had raised. It was too late for any of them to top this. He considered how angry they might be, and how they might take it out on him, but he was willing to take on any punishment for his love.

Madison had finished the conditioning session and felt great. The school had a policy on midriff, which was a shame, because she looked amazing in her Lululemons and swore that she could see abs even more clearly than she had at the beginning of the session. Not to mention, her ass looked amazing in yoga pants. She was totally sure that Nate was going to ask her to homecoming, even though Nora had been laying it on thick, liking all his posts. Slut. Everybody knew Nate and Madison were primed to be the It couple of senior year. It was only a matter of time. She walked up to the second floor and headed to Bio. There was a big crowd at the rail that overlooked the cafeteria, and for a moment, she thought about taking an alternative path so she didn’t have to push her way through. However, she realized that something was going on. Maybe it was a fight. She hated missing out on big stories, having to settle for seeing it on Snapchat after the fact. She got her phone ready so that she could have something to share. As she got closer, people were laughing. It couldn’t be a fight. For whatever reason, people were eager to let her through. When she finally approached the rail, she pressed the record button on her phone.

Then she saw it.

There was a mess of rose petals scattered in a circle, then inside, the message read: MADISON, PLACE YOUR HOLE ON MY FACE. MAY I MAKE YOU CUM? She didn’t linger to see who was responsible, instead, she ran to Bio, but knowing Bio wouldn’t grant her refuge, she told Mr. Lewis that she had cramps and needed a pass to the Nurse. Hustling down the hall, the stares made it clear that the proposal had already been shared on Snapchat. She bypassed the nurse’s office and ran out to the parking lot. She would not return to school for the rest of the week.

Fortunately, Brayden didn’t see the horror on Madison’s face. He didn’t even see how his daft peers had perverted his message. By the time he’d made it to the cafeteria, his anxiety over the proposal had overtaken his ability to maintain command of sphincter. In an effort to flee the scene before fair Madison could connect him to the profane arrangement of flower pedals, he ran. He didn’t feel the initial burst but could feel the warmth run down the inside of his thigh.

He went to the nurse’s office and they welcomed him in without a pass. Both nurses, Mrs. Howell and Ms. Sharp were there. “I… Well, let me spare you the horrid details, but I think I may have food poisoning.” They shot each other knowing glances.

“I’m so sorry, Brayden. We can notify the office while you make arrangements to go home,” Ms. Sharp said. He thought it odd that they didn’t ask him for his symptoms; school nurses rarely allowed students to self-diagnose, but he wasn’t going to question their breaking protocol. He called his mother, and she was there within fifteen minutes.

He slept for several hours, then woke up to make another run at the toilet. He was tired and overwhelmed, and though he wanted his phone, he didn’t have the energy to go downstairs to get it from the car. He turned on his PC and began a campaign in his favorite game, Knights of the Dark Moon. His mother brought him Sprite and crackers and he was grateful that she, unlike some parents, didn’t hold the false belief that gaming should wait when a kid fell ill. He played the game for hours, then fell asleep again.

A Reprieve

Madison also used a stomach bug to explain her return home, though she had no symptoms. Unlike Brayden, she spent the day glued to her phone, staring in horror as the proposal appeared in virtually everybody’s story. So fucking gross. She couldn’t think of who would have done this, or why. This was below even Nora. Initially, there were unverified claims of who was behind it, but as the day went on, there was one name that outlasted all other theories: Brayden Morrow. But even that didn’t make sense. Brayden was totally the type to do that Nice Guy extra shit, but even in his total disregard for boundaries, he wouldn’t write something so gross, at least not for anybody else to see, and not in such simple terms. He’d gotten pervy with her before I’m her dm’s, but he’d always tried to do so poetically, talking about the fire that burned within his loins, gross shit like that. So even if he wasn’t the one asking her to sit on his face, she figured he probably at the very least thought about it. Yuck. Nate was the one who said stuff like that, and as long as he did it in private, she didn’t mind. They hadn’t done much outside of her giving him a hand job at Savannah Larson’s pool party, but she secretly wanted to try other stuff. He was probably pretty good at it, she always thought. But she wasn’t going to go any further until they became official. She wasn’t one of those girls.

    Thoughts of Nate took her away from her cafeteria trauma. She imagined homecoming with him. Feeling his strong hands on her hips as they slow danced the night away. Those arms. Oh to be held by him. They could do a cute couples costume for Halloween. He’d take her to the Criskrindil Market over winter break. That could be their thing every year. Maybe she would even lose it to him after prom. She’d always thought she would wait for marriage--or, at least, college-- but she could totally see Nate being the one, so why wait?

      Before she had a time to plan their eventual wedding, Madison got a message from her Chloe, her bestie: U Might want to see this…

The next message was a Reddit link to a video in the High School Fails subreddit. Madison opened it, and experienced maybe the most surreal 47 seconds of her life. The video was taken from above, near where she had stood. It captured the laughter then focused on the rose petals, and finally it caught him: Brayden. While the onlookers jeered, he ran away, though not quickly enough to hide the unmistakable stain in his pants. It was him after all.

  Madison texted back: OMG…… it was him

  Chloe responded: kinda. The original msg was some loser shit asking you to homecoming. Nate and some guys rearranged it when he wasn’t around. Dumbass.

  Madison wasn’t sure which one she was calling a dumbass, but now found herself in the worst possible scenario. Her stalker still wasn’t leaving her alone, and her dream guy embarrassed her in front of the school. She messaged Nate: UR such an asshole.

Nate responded: meant every word

She replied: Staaahhppp your so bad

Nate: u like when Im bad?

Madison: ???

Nate: That doesn’t answer my question

She liked the wrongness of the exchange, but was annoyed that he thought it was that easy. He would have to prove himself before she would let him go further. Naturally, she wouldn’t tell him that, and just said: we’ll see. Ciao.

Nate: what will I see?

Madison pulled her tank top down to reveal a little cleavage, then held her camera up high and to the side, pointing it downward to accentuate her chest. She pursed her lips slightly and snapped. No good. She flipped her hair and tried from a different side. Nope. Maybe a little higher. She’d take seven more shots before finding the right one, which she promptly sent.

Nate: holy fuck. My turn

She realized she may have made a mistake, opening the door for him to send a picture. High school boys had zero chill when it came to exchanging pics, going straight for the money shot. Girls’ disdain for dick pics had been covered exhaustively through memes, but guys still went there. Why were guys so eager to show their things? There was nothing pretty about a penis. They were so weird and intrusive looking. Sure, she might have thought about him inside her, and that thought excited her, but never once in any of her fantasies did she spend any time thinking about what it looked like. Penises were just ugly.

When his picture came back in the message thread, it initially appeared that his boyness predictably clouded his judgment. In it, Nate stood shirtless before the bathroom mirror. The initial photo only showed a  shaven, perfectly sculpted torso, but Madison knew that the messages app always cropped pictures a little bit. She didn’t want to see it, but she couldn’t resist. She clicked on the photo, and the cropped out portion appeared. To her surprise and relief, he’d not included it, but only barely. His boxer briefs were slid down as far as they go without him showing what she’d assumed he would, and in that area, framed by the perfect V of his lower abdomen, was the word: Homecoming?

Madison: OMG YES.

Nate: I can show u more

She considered telling him she only wanted to see it if he’d written “girlfriend?” on it but thought that it could be perceived as her asking him out, which was still unbecoming even in this era of wokeness.

Madison: Someday ; )

Nate: Why wait?

And below the text, in all it’s glory, was Nate’s penis. Like all the others, it was weird and ugly and almost funny looking. But it was Nate’s and she would need to learn to love it. For now, she deleted the photo.

After the exchange, she felt confused and slightly violated, but not even Nate’s penis could put a cloud over the big news. Madison was ecstatic, compelled to tell the world that the high school prophecy had been fulfilled, but when she opened her Social Media apps, they were dominated by the morning proposal. The gross one. She didn’t want to relive it, so she threw it across the room and spent the next hour figuring out what to watch on Netflix.

Charity

Brock Bramwell answered the phone from his bedroom in his Malibu home. He didn’t want to talk to anybody, but it was his agent, Lawrence, and he needed some good news. “Hello? Any word?” Brock asked.

“Brock, buddy,” Lawrence paused, “They’re going with Ethan Friar. I’m sorry.”

“You’re fucking kidding me. I really thought I killed it.”

“You did. They loved you. It’s just, they’re not sure the audience is ready for the new Brock. They just loved fat, funny Brock so much.”

“So you want me to get fat again?”

“No. Of course not. I mean, if you want to, I’d totally support it and could probably get you a fuck ton of roles, like really, with barely an audition, but no. I know how important your health is to you. But we do have to do something. Something just to get the new you in the public consciousness. It’s been nine months since the Oscars, and people are forgetting about Brock Bramwell.”

“What do you suggest?”

“How about a date? Real public thing. Hell, you don’t even need to go anywhere. Just start liking some pics on Insta. People notice that shit, start blogging about it. That would be a start. I’ll make some calls. Don’t like anything until I’ve gotten the greenlight from her people?”

“Whose people?”

“Emma, Margot, I don’t fucking know. Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

He didn’t feel like dating another actress. It was always more trouble than it was worth. Since he’d gotten in shape, he started getting more attention from women, but never knew how to handle it. He could never get beyond the thought that none of these girls would have considered him a viable partner before he got fit. And even worse, he felt like a hypocrite for pursuing girls who were fit. If he begrudged those who ignored him before he’d spent months with Hollywood’s premier trainers, how could he, in good conscience, date only girls who had the best trainers themselves?  But then, should he settle for less just because he had once been less? 

He scrolled through Instagram. There were plenty of up-and-coming targets whom he knew would be up for a photo op, and maybe they’d even have a proper date. But then what? He’d gone on a tear when the six-pack first emerged, living the life he’d imagined a leading man would live, new women every night. But those women wanted only the idea of Brock Bramwell. And they were too perfect. Fucking LA. All the white teeth, perfect skin. Brock was the star, the one who could command five-million-dollar paychecks even with the fat, yet all he could think about was their smooth, perfect skin, and how. in the wrong light, they’d still see the excess skin and stretch marks that even the finest plastic surgeons could not eradicate.

Instagram proved too depressing, so he switched to Twitter, thinking that he could workshop some jokes like he used to do when his sense of humor was his only asset. He sifted through the quagmire of political posts--he cared, but never had the energy to take a stand publicly--and then he saw it: a homecoming proposal gone awry in his hometown, Rockford, Illinois. A chubby kid running away in soiled shame. It conjured up memories of Samantha Benson, who played Sandy in their high school production of Grease. He’d been cast as Danny; the drama teacher had little to pick from. He remembered how hard he’d fallen for Samantha, and how the call sheet appeared to him as a prophecy. Foolishly, he’d not been able to separate the stage from reality, and when Samantha earnestly delivered her lines, so desperate to be loved by Danny, he thought that there was something between them that transcended their characters. On the night of the last performance, he told her that he had loved her since sophomore year. 

She was horrified and delivered her worst performance of the weekend.

Years later, Samantha looked him up after his first starring role, a high-school comedy rife with dick jokes. It killed in the box office and made Brock a star, and he flew Samantha out to LA and fucked her while she delivered a worse performance than the Sunday matinee of Grease. Even then, even after the accolades and validation of the entire showbiz community, Samantha Benson would never love him, just like this girl looking over the balcony of the cafeteria would never love the chubby boy who ran from what his cruel schoolmates had done.

The PR implications didn’t come to mind when he started a GoFundMe. He didn’t know who this kid was but figured he would find out before he had to cash out. He created an account and embedded the video, followed by a heartfelt account of his own experience as the fat kid in high school. He made a plea to the public to donate a few bucks so that they could give this poor kid the homecoming he truly deserved. He did this without contacting his agent, his publicist, or his manager, a major faux pas. He scanned the text to make sure it said what he felt, and he published it, pleased with what he had done.

Rebuke

Madison decided she would stretch her stomach bug into a second day. Her mom didn’t question it, and she’d not fallen behind in any of her classes, so there was no harm. She decided today would be the perfect day to work on developing a book habit. She had always seen her favorite Instagram follows sitting by the pool holding books with super cute covers, and it seemed like an adult thing to do. She pulled a book from the shelf, one that she’d bought as a summer read after Junior year, and positioned herself in bed, feet crossed. She had a mug on her nightstand that had been there for two days, and she placed it in her lap. With her right hand she propped up the book, and with her left hand she angled her phone to capture the book, her feet, and her mug. She placed an antique-looking filter on the picture and posted it to Insta with the caption: Sick day reading.

She waited thirty minutes before opening the book, because she needed to see how well her post was received. There were only fifteen likes and no comments. She considered deleting the post but figured that it was early, and people probably weren’t in the right mindset to admire her intellectual side. In college, she figured, the post would have gotten three-hundred likes by now..

Just when she was ready to open her book, She got a notification from Facebook, a personal message from Brayden. Gross. It read:

Dearest Madison,

I want to extend my most sincere apologies for what transpired yesterday. It had not been my intention to subject you to such vulgarities, and I want you to know that I would never think to broadcast our most intimate thoughts and actions publicly. Gentlemen keep pillow talk in the bedroom. Unfortunately my intended message was destroyed, and since I’ll never have that moment back, I have decided to use a more contemporary medium to relay what I wanted to say. And that is that a second doesn’t go by that I don’t think of you, and while we may exist on opposite ends of the high school caste system, I would never live with myself if I didn’t take the opportunity to ask you to grant me the immense privilege of taking you to the homecoming dance. Though we are both young, I can say with great certainty that if you would bestow the honor upon me, it would truly be the high point of my life. I understand a young lady like you with so many suitors has much to consider, and I will await your response as you consider your options.

Forever yours,

Brayden.

He is so fucking gross, she thought, as she did little more than a quick scan of the text. She didn’t need any time to consider his proposal and began her response.

Brayden,

I don’t know how to be clearer. When you used to write me notes in Spanish, I thought it was annoying, but sweet, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. When you tried to walk me home after school every day, I began taking the bus. When you used to leave me drawings of myself outside of my window, I was thoroughly creeped out and even told you never to show up to my house unannounced. When you wrote a short story about our wedding night in creative writing, I thought I was going to be sick. At no point have I ever given you the impression that I would ever spend one second alone with you, and if you don’t leave me the fuck alone, I’m going to call my uncle (a lawyer btw) and I’m going to get a restraining order that will have your chubby dimpled ass thrown in county. Trust me. You don’t want to fuck with me. In case you don’t know, I’m going to the dance with Nate, and if he catches wind of this, he’ll beat your ass back to the middle ages, or whatever the fuck era you think you’re from.. Leave me alone. I don’t owe you anything.

Though she was satisfied with what she wrote--and even thought it was her best writing outside of her personal essay in English 10--she still thought it might be too much. She wasn’t so much concerned that it would hurt his feelings, but she was afraid that he might be the kind of guy to hack her into a million pieces because he couldn’t have her. His persistence and weirdness scared her. She thought it best to just have Nate scare the shit out of him. 

She picked up her book again, but couldn’t focus. After she’d read the first page for the sixth time, her phone began buzzing. A text. Then another. And another. One friend after another sent her the same link, a link to a GoFundMe from Brock Bramwell. Oh. My. God. She read the description, and this time she had no problem with her focus:

Hey friends, I came across this video today. I know that many of you have seen it, and many of you have probably laughed as you watched it. Maybe in a different place, I would have laughed, myself. But here’s the thing: that kid, running from his failed proposal? I was him. As most of you know, I struggled with my weight for most of my life. I know what it feels like to love so intensely, but not have any love in return. This young man put himself out there in an attempt to woo a beautiful girl, not caring what people thought, which is more than I could have said at that age.I don’t know who this is, but I know that he has a heart that is bigger and braver than most of use who will watch this video. So I started this GoFundMe thinking, you know what? Wouldn’t it be cool to show this kid a good time? So who wants to join me? I’m putting in 1000 dollars, which is more than enough for a great night, but maybe if you all kick in a few bucks, we can give this kid a night he’ll never forget. Who’s with me?

Madison had accomplished much in her short life: She was on the honor role, she’d started on the varsity soccer team for three years, she was even in line for a few college scholarships. But even with all of that, she had never been prouder than she was in this moment, where Brock Fucking Bramwell called her a “beautiful girl.” Sure, it was super annoying that he seemed to think that he and Brayden had anything in common, but never mind that. He thought Madison was beautiful. She decided to hold off on commissioning an asskicking by Nate.

Bounty

In less than 48 hours, Brock’s GoFundMe page hit 50,000 dollars, which was obviously more than a high school kid without a cocaine habit and thirst for bottle service could spend on a date. Brock hadn’t considered how the extra money would be spent, but by then, his publicist, Devin, took control. “I gotta tell you,” he said, “if the acting thing doesn’t work out, we’ll hire you at the firm. Kidding, of course, but this was fucking gold. We’re tracking down the kid as we speak, and if we can line everything up, we’ll have you on the daytime talk show circuit with the kid. You’ll be everywhere!”

Lawrence echoed the enthusiasm, “Brock, this is just what you needed. I just talked to the people at Andrea Live, and they want you as soon as possible, before this story cools.”

None of this was his intention, of course, but Brock was not naive to the game. He knew that you had to exploit any publicity that you could get, and he knew that a spot on Andrea Live wasn’t something that happened every day. He’d only been on her show once before, and had to share the interview couch with his castmates. This time, a full segment would be about him. Him and the kid, that is.

Within minutes of his phone call, he got an email from Lawrence. It had the kid’s name and contact information. Get the kid on video chat ASAP invite him on Andrea Live. The producers want video of the call for  b-roll. I’ve attached directions on how to do it if you need. Don’t fuck this up.

This would be fun, he thought. He’d become jaded by the times he’d made a kid’s day; usually the kid was just happy to meet somebody famous, but this was different. He could bring joy for reasons other than his own fame. He was proud of himself, but then slightly ashamed of his pride.

Regardless, the call was a role, and an important one, at that. After practicing a few times, he called Brayden. The kid answered right away, but the video only showed a spinning ceiling fan. “Hello? Am I speaking with Brayden?”

“This is I,” a voice said, but still no face entered the screen.

“Brayden, it’s a pleasure to speak with you. This is Brock Bramwell, the actor.”

“Actor? Stage or screen?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you an actor of the stage or screen?”

“Well, mostly the screen, though I’ve done some theatre, improv, mostly… I’m sorry, but have you not seen any of my movies?”

“I’m afraid not. I mostly watch streamers.”

Brock had no idea what the kid was talking about and already knew that this phone call would not be played on Andrea Live. “Gotcha. Well listen, bud, I just wanted to call to tell you that I thought it took a lot of balls to go for the girl like you did, and I’m sorry your classmates messed it up.”

“Oh, yeah. It was unfortunate.”

“And listen, I don’t know if you realize this, but there are a whole lot of people out there who think the same as me, and we’ve collected a lot of money for you to have a real kickass homecoming.”

“That is very kind of you sir, but it does not appear that I will be attending, as the object of my affection has not responded to my requests.”

“I see. You know, I think I could help you with that. This girl…”

“Madison.”

“Madison. Does she watch Andrea Live?”

“Is that the homosexual comedian’s show?”

“Yes, although I don’t know that we’d want to refer to it that way.”

“Is she not a homosexual?”

“She is… Nevermind. But look, she wants you and me to come on the show to talk about your proposal, and we’re going to give you a check to help with homecoming. Maybe if Madison’s watching, you could give her that proper proposal you wanted to do before. Maybe I could help.” Brock felt dirty suggesting this. He knew there was no way that this girl would ever like him but would probably go for it to get on tv.

“This is a most intriguing proposition. When will this be?”

“Friday. My agent is going to contact your mom and we can arrange a first-class flight tomorrow for you guys and put you up in a really nice place, all expenses paid.”

“Hmm. I’ll need a moment to ponder this. Would you mind if I finished my campaign and called you back?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Thank you, Brock. This is exceedingly kind. One more thing. Could Madison come as well?”

“I’ll check with the producers and see what we can do. For now, can you hand the phone to your mom so we can work out the logistics?” 

Brock had not gotten the b-roll friendly reaction from Brayden, but Brayden’s mother made up for it. She cried and screamed and said thank you at least ten times. Brock could imagine how hard it must be for a mother to send a kid like Brayden to public school.

Brock covered the plane tickets for Brayden and his mother--the producers had not actually offered first-class-- and Andrea Live handled the hotel and Limo services. Brock had suggested he take the two out to dinner, but the producers preferred to save their first meeting for the cameras. They also encouraged Brock not to have any additional contact with the family until they would be united on stage.

Brock showed up to the soundstage at 9:30, an hour before filming would begin. His handlers were all there, and he went to his dressing room where his stylist showed a couple ensembles. She suggested that he go with an everyman look, which included a 500 dollar pair of jeans, 450 dolar black t-shirt, and 900 dollar boots. He agreed with the choice, got dressed, and then sat in a chair and looked through his phone while hair and makeup people got him ready for the camera.

He scrolled again through Twitter and was happy to see how many of his fellow stars had shared Brayden’s fundraiser, which by now could cover a house and college. Having lived so long in a town sterilized by a lustrous nihilism, it was nice to see people cared, even if there was always the possibility that acts of philanthropy were motivated by image. Whatever the motivation, it didn’t matter. A kid with a shitty life would get to have something good happen for once.

The producers briefed Brock on the plan: Andrea would first bring out mom to give some background on Brayden, how he’d been treated at school and all of that, then Brayden would come out. Finally, Brock would come out to present a giant check for 400,000 dollars, which represented the GoFundMe money plus what Andrea/Andrea Live kicked in. There were other surprises in store for Brayden and his mother, details of which were not shared with Brock. Brock had been told that the kid and his mother were in the green room.

The show began with a little lighthearted monologue and then a segment where Andrea interacts with the crowd in one of her usual bits where she searches the crowd for celebrity doppelgangers, often giving her own audience less-than-flattering doppelgangers for comedic effect; the crowd howled when Andrea found a Steve Buscemi lookalike. After the segment came a quick commercial break. Camera two faded in in a medium shot of Andrea, now seated in her chair. Her somber tone cued the audience in to the serious nature of the next segment, and she spoke about the epidemic of bullying, sharing her own experiences, quick to note how much worse it is for kids now with social media. The director readied the b-roll and then cut to the video of the proposal. The audience gasped, even though the words in the petals were blurred out. Watching from a monitor in his dressing room, Brock didn’t agree with that choice but understood that Standards and Practices couldn’t allow it, though he didn’t understand why they allowed an uncensored shot of Brayden’s soiled pants.

A producer led Brayden’s mother to the stage, so that when they returned, the lights faded up to reveal her next to Andrea. The lights came up and Andrea turned to Deborah, “Deborah, I know how hard that must have been to see that. Is that your first time watching it?”

“No,” Deborah said, “A friend from work sent it to me after seeing it online.”

“How embarrassing.”

“Oh, well… Yes, I guess. I…”

“That must have been so hard, as a mother, seeing that happen to your son.”

“It was. But it wasn’t a total surprise. Brayden has always had a hard time navigating the social aspect of school… It’s hard. I’ve always known he’s been different, and I have to admit, I used to push him to be more like the other kids, develop interest in more traditional things, but I have to give him credit. He knows who he is and what he likes. I admire that about him. It would be easy to just feign an interest in football or rap music, but that’s not him.”

The crowd applauded. The technical director cut to shots of the audience, some of whom were already crying. “Wow,” Andrea said, “That’s truly incredible. Now I understand that he’s been bullied for some time. Tell me about that.”

“It’s gone on for years. I guess it probably started when his father passed.” Andrea handed Deborah a tissue. “Thank you. He just sort of retreated into himself. He’s an extremely sensitive boy, but he carries his pain on the inside. As he got older, he wanted to socialize less and less and now it’s at the point where I can’t get him to invite any friends over. I’m not sure he even has any. Excuse me.” She wiped her eyes. “I tell him all the time, you’ve got to put yourself out there, and he always says, mother, I have plenty of friends in my community.”

“His community?”

“The gaming community. He plays these role-playing games with other people online, and it seems to make him happy, but I can’t imagine it’s enough. So I still push and push, trying to get him to get involved, to put himself out there in the real world. So when he finally does, and this happens… It’s just… It’s just a lot.”

“That must be so hard,” Amanda said, placing a hand on Deborah’s knee. After a beat, she turned to the crowd. “Well. what do you say we bring him out?”

A pair of producers with headsets guided Brayden to the stage where he was met with a raucous standing ovation. He’d not seen what his mother had said but knew that these fine people truly appreciated his proclamation of love and he realized that the adult world was far different from high school. These mature women saw who he was: a gentleman. Basking in the glory, he imagined what Madison must think when she sees this. Surely then she will realize that she’d been wrong all along. He was far more comfortable in the spotlight than anybody had figured he would be, and he took his time getting to the stage, waving to all parts of the audience, then finally bending over at the waist in a dramatic bow. Andrea and Deborah stood to greet him with hugs, and he took his place on the couch, which, in his mind, felt like a throne for this, his coronation.

Though the producers had helped Deborah with hair and makeup, they felt that Brayden should look “natural.” He wore a pair of black pants, a maroon buttoned-down shirt, a leather vest and a fedora that he felt looked masculine and stately. He was alone in this assessment, but the producers loved it for their own reasons. Andrea also told him how great he looked when she greeted him on stage. He thought that she wore too much makeup but kept the thought to himself. When the applause died down, they all sat.

“Well, well, well,” Andrea began, “you certainly have stirred up the crowd.”

“Thank you,” Braden said, and the crowd cheered again. Deborah dabbed at the happy tears that flowed from an overwhelming sense of irrational pride. Andrea began the interview, asking him what things were like at school. “I guess,” he began, “I’d say that I’m a touch misunderstood. I think that sometimes my intellect makes other young men at school feel threatened, and so sometimes they make fun of me.” This was not exactly how Andrea wanted him to introduce himself and redirected the interview to play up his victimhood.

“I see. And what do these other boys call you? Any names? Do they hit you? Make fun of your weight or your clothes?”

“They’ve never challenged me with violence, which I’m fairly certain comes from my proficiency with the blade.”

“The blade?”

“Yes, I’ve been training for years.”

“I see.” Andrea made a sort of comedic, wide-eyed look of terror at the crowd, which laughed. Brock saw this from backstage and noted the irony. “And do they call you names?”

“Yes. I have a healthy appetite, you see. In the middle ages, this was a sign of prosperity and wealth, but I’m afraid that it is now ridiculed. I’ve been called names that I don’t feel are appropriate to repeat for this fine audience.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“I won’t lie, Andrea, it doesn’t feel nice, but I have to remind myself that much of my mass comes from muscle that is hidden beneath.” The audience applauded. Brayden considered standing and flexing, but his shirt was a bit too tight, and he feared he may rip it.

“That’s great. Now, tell me about this homecoming proposal. I gotta tell you, if somebody did that for me in high school, I would have felt so special.”

“Yes, and I think that my dear Madison would have if not for some of the immature boys who vandalized it.”

“Are these the boys who pick on you?”

“You could say that. There is one, Nate, my romantic rival, who probably took umbrage to my courting fair Madison.”

“So this Madison must be pretty special.”

“Absolutely. Her mere presence gives meaning to my life.” A loud awww came from the crowd. “And frankly, I am more upset that she was subjected to such crude language than I am about myself.” A louder Awwwww.

“Wow. You know, you’re one special guy. And because we think you’re so special, we have a guest who would like to bring something out to you.”

Backstage, the producers summoned Brock, handing him one of those large cardboard checks that can’t actually be cashed. He walked onto the stage and the crowd cheered wildly. He had been directed to walk out and immediately deliver his message. He waited for the applause to dissipate, then began, “Brayden, I saw what you did at school, and I thought it was so great. And not only did I think so, but thousands of others did too. So we put together a fundraiser for you to have the best homecoming ever, so it is my privilege to present this check for four hundred thousand dollars for you, which can not only cover the greatest homecoming ever, but I think could also get you a head start in life. Congratulations, buddy.”

Brock approached Brayden. Deborah, caught in a whirlwind of elation and shock, threw her arms around Brock. Brayden, however, hardly reacted. He suddenly looked lost, not knowing how to act. It was a lot of money for a kid to comprehend.

Andrea stepped in, “And that’s not all, Brayden. We’ve set you up with an entirely new wardrobe through Macy’s, and just for fun, Best Buy has set you up with an Alienware gaming PC package worth over five thousand dollars.” The last bit was finally enough to elicit the intended reaction. Brayden began to cry. “What do you think about that?” Andrea asked.

He composed himself, then spoke. “This is all wonderful, and I must say this is perhaps the greatest thing to ever happen to me.” The crowd cheered. Camera 2 even caught some in tears. “But I only wish that my dear Madison could be here to enjoy this with me. Andrea, if I may.” He turned to camera 4, which had been off the technical directors radar for most of the segment. The producers to the side of the stage looked at each other wondering if the other had approved it. “Madison, my proposal did not go according to plan, as you know. I’ve long dreamt of the day when I could shower you with gifts, treat you the way you deserve, and it appears that I now have the means to do so. Please make me the happiest man alive and join me for homecoming.” The crowd launched into their biggest applause yet.

Andrea closed out the show, thinking that this segment with the bizarre kid would go viral, regretting that it couldn’t have been moved to sweeps week.

Gauntlet 

Madison, still home with her mystery ailment, watched. She’d followed the fundraiser in horror, watching it build up to a fortune, but seeing this was more than she could handle. What. The. Fuck. She turned off the television and threw the remote as though it were scalding hot. Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Calls, messages, notifications. She didn’t know how she’d be able to show her face in public again. But as she gave her homescreen a closer look, she saw that she’d received an endless number of follow requests on Instagram. She blindly accepted them all. This had not been the way she’d hoped to reach Insta fame, but she wasn’t about to prevent it from happening either.

By the next day, the segment had indeed gone viral and more internet sleuths connected her Instagram account to the story. She unblocked Brayden, aware that those same sleuths may cast her as a mean girl if they found she had blocked him. It became clear that she would eventually have to publicly acknowledge Brayden, which made her feel sick, so she did not make any new posts since her sick day photo. She noticed that her new followers had gone through previous photos, each of them now with over a thousand likes. There were tons of comments, too. Most of them were nice (You truly are a beauty worthy of a young man like Brayden) and others were gross (I’d sprinkle some rose petals for DAT ASS), but Madison loved them all. Insta fame was every bit as great as she’d always thought it would be, and wondered at what point she would be able to shill beauty products. Somewhere, she had read that she needed around twenty-thousand followers, which she had already eclipsed.

Brayden’s appearance on the show hadn’t been great for everybody, though. 

“When this shit dies down, I’m going to beat the fuck out of that dude,” said Nate on the phone with Madison. Over the past 24 hours, he’d been hounded online before deleting all of his accounts entirely. Still, people had saved screenshots of him, sharing them on Twitter, making him the week’s face of bullying in America. “So what, now you’re going to go to the dance with this asshole?” 

“Don’t be silly,” she said, “You’re the only one I want to go with.” She wasn’t technically lying, but the situation had become complicated. A producer from Andrea Live contacted Madison, telling her that a film crew wanted to come to the dance, and that they thought it would be great if she went with Brayden. They understood her apprehension, but hinted at a possible appearance on the show if she agreed. And she loved Andrea. She watched all of the time. Everybody did. She told the producers she’d need some time to think about it, as she hadn’t had a chance to talk to Brayden, which was a lie (she hadn’t responded to his texts, calls, Facebook messages, or Instagram DMs). 

Nate FaceTimed her. He didn’t look happy, which made her realize the cost of her good fortune. He hadn’t done anything that bad, afterall. He didn’t deserve to be attacked like this. “So what’s the deal?” He said.

“Ok. So here’s the thing. I’m kinda stuck now. There’s like all this pressure for me to go with him, which I obviously don’t want to do.”

“So don’t.”

“But don’t you get it? I’ll be the biggest bitch in the world if I turn him down after all this.”

“So you tellin’ me you don’t want to go with me.”

“I’m telling you that I do want to go with you, but I can’t just, like, say no for no reason.”

“What do you mean no reason? You don’t need a reason.”

“It’s like, I’m, like, single, sort of, right? So I don’t have a good enough reason to reject him. But if I had a boyfriend…”

“Oh, I see you Uh Huh..”

“Right, I mean, that’s where this is going, right? I mean, I’m not about being with somebody who hooks up with other people if that’s what you want.”

“No, no. Relax. I just don’t want to mess up what we have and shit. Know what I’m saying, baby?”

“What do we have? Because I’m pretty sure we don’t have anything yet. But if you were my boyfriend, you’d have a whole lot.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna tell me what that would be like?”

“Why don’t I show you?” Madison propped her phone on the desk, then looked side to side to make sure the coast was clear. She took off her t-shirt, and was wearing a bra. She reached back to the clasp, undid it, then slid the shoulder straps down. At that point, she stopped, arms crossed, holding the bra in place. 

“Well? Come on, you’re killing me.”

“I’m waiting.”

“Ok, Ok. Madison, do you wanna be my girlfriend?” She pulled her arms away and in that moment, none of the online harassment and doxxing mattered to Nate.

Back at school Brayden felt renewed. Everybody wanted to know if he’d talked to Madison. Some girls were even positioning themselves to be his backup plan. “You know,” Laura Connors said, “if Maddie doesn’t come to her senses, I’m sure you could find another date. I don’t have a date yet, you know.”

“Shame,” Brayden said, “I’m sure that will sort itself out. I do expect to hear from Madison upon her return, though.” He remained fiercely committed. For now, he was content waiting for Madison. She hadn’t said yes, but she hadn’t said no to the Andrea Live proposal, which--like for most men--to him was as good as a yes. Maybe she was planning an acceptance ceremony worthy of his two proposals. Or maybe it was just the same thing that had always been the problem between them, that she’d never dated a true gentleman. 

Brayden hardly allowed himself time to think about it. He’d been busy in the online community. His gaming package from Andrea Live opened a whole new lagless world of possibilities, and while Deborah insisted that most of the money eventually be put in a trust, she did allow him to have a little fun. He used three thousand dollars to purchase some video and sound equipment so that he could turn his bedroom into a proper streaming studio. His newfound fame afforded him the means to stream on Twitch, and his YouTube page now had thousands of subscribers. And he was generous to his audience. He occasionally took the video equipment outside where he demonstrated his skills with the Katana. Sadly, Deborah would not let him use the money for a new sword, but his skills more than made up for the dullness of his blade, and his exhibitions were consumed by the thousands. The comments encouraged him, noting his skill, and usually ended with the hashtag #sayyesmadison:

A true gentlemen worthy of his metal #Sayyesmadison

Slice that shit up! #sayyesmadison

Damn bro, lit AF #sayyesmadison

But soon, a new hashtag appeared: #shecansayno. Brayden wasn’t in tune to the modern world, and rarely ventured into the traditional forms of social media. He had not understood the genesis of this hashtag, but noticed it was usually attached to cruel comments:

Put your toy away, neckbeard #shecansayno

Why don’t you draw the blade across your throat, loser #shecansayno

He was unphased by the cruel comments, because even though they grew in number, the majority were kind and appreciative of his rare skill.

The producers of Andrea Live wouldn’t leave Madison alone. Nate wanted to call them himself to “get those pussies to back off,” and while she appreciated the sentiment, she knew she would have to face the proposal, one way or another. “You’re kidding, right?” Nate said when Madison told him she might have to go with Brayden.

“I wish I had a way out of it. But I have to say something, and I can’t possibly imagine how I can say no. Do you have any idea what kind of pressure I’m under?”

“I guess, but what about me?”

“What about you?”

“What do I get out of all this? Like, you don’t want to be public with us because of this whole Brayden thing, so we hardly even see each other. I mean, my other friends, they do stuff with their girls, go to movies, dinner, get hotel rooms and shit.”

“Ahh. I get it now. It’s sex. It’s all about sex with you.”

“That’s not all it is, but yeah. Is it that wrong for a guy to get a piece of ass from the woman he loves?”

“Love?” The word tingled. Madison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Usually, guys waited at least a month to say this. They’d only been secretly official for a couple of days, and had not even seen each other since they became secretly official. “You… Love me?”

“I guess, it’s like, I can see myself beginning to feel like I could fall in love with you and shit.”

“Nate! Ohmygod!”

“I… I mean it, baby.”

“I feel the same way. Listen. If you let us handle homecoming my way, you can have whatever you want afterwards.”

“Yeah? Deal.”

Complication

Brock was working out when his agent called twice. He worried he’d missed something important, a meeting, an audition. He’d been trending on Twitter since Andrea Live, and it was only a matter of time before it materialized into something. Lawrence answered on the first ring, “Brock, Fuck. Finally. We got a problem.”

“A problem?”

“Yeah. Some bitch from The Manhattan Times didn’t like your appearance on Andrea.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. She just published a piece on consent, the patriarchy and all that shit, and how that poor girl was assaulted by you and the kid.”

“Assaulted?”

“Right, she was put in an uncomfortable position without any prior consent implied since she and your boy didn’t have any relationship. And now there are rumors swirling that he’s kind of a creep who won’t leave her alone.”

“Yeah, I could sort of see that, really. Fuck. I just wanted to do something nice, you know?”

“Oh I do, but now you’re sort of a target, since in their opinion, you enabled the kid and made the girl’s trauma worse. You know she hasn’t been to school since the video?”

“Shit. So what do I do?”

“I don’t know. We’ve considered a second GoFundMe for the girl, but we decided that could be interpreted as prostitution. We gotta get on top of this. Judging from her Instagram, she’s your typical shallow teenager who is desperate for likes. Probably a starfucker. But she’s not the problem. It’s the public. You need to somehow make it known that you’re looking out for her.”

“I see.” Brock had only just tried to do something nice for some poor kid. He didn’t want to make a statement--but didn’t mind the publicity--and he certainly didn’t want to subject an innocent girl to forced interaction with the stalker, which after their meeting, was now a believable title for the kid. Maybe if he could convince Brayden to ask somebody else, then he could fix this. But even then, how would the public know that he’d stepped in to protect the girl without throwing Bradyen under the bus?

He figured he probably first needed to see what people were saying, so he looked up the The Manhattan Times article on his phone and read it.

Homecoming: When Asking for Consent is itself an Assault

By Susan Wright

As society struggles with consent, still shoehorning the complicated issue into a binary transaction, certain trite traditions remain stronger than ever. This was made clear on last week’s episode of Andrea Live, wherein a maladjusted high schooler used the national spotlight to ask a girl to homecoming. Sounds innocent, perhaps even sweet, no? I’ll be the first to admit that when they paraded the poor kid out, I cried at his story and cheered when he so confidently deflected the actions of his bullies (no matter how mistaken his illusion that he will rise to the top of the food chain after high school). Like the thousands who donated money to give the young man an unforgettable night in a crowdfunding effort spearheaded by film star, Brock Bramwell,  I wanted to see something good happen to him. And so when said Hollywood actor marched out the giant check and Andrea announced the gifts from her sponsors, I felt a sense of vindication, despite knowing nothing of the unfortunate young man.

But then things got uncomfortable.

Emboldened by the adoring audience, the young man doubled down on his Homecoming proposal, again asking the target of the first proposal to the dance, this time backed by millions of Americans, a comically large budget, and of course, a Hollywood actor cheering him on. This is when the cheering stopped in my apartment. All I could think was, what about the girl? What about what she wants?

The homecoming dance has always been a hallmark of the high school experience, no matter how antiquated the practice has become. And in recent years, we’ve seen a rise in elaborate proposals, sometimes rivaling marriage proposals, a phenomenon no doubt fueled by YouTube and social media. So when young Brayden publicly asked poor Madison to be his date, it was just high school business as usual, right? 

Wrong. For the majority of high school students, there is a tacit agreement regarding homecoming proposals. One does not simply ask any girl he chooses. It has long been understood and accepted that the homecoming proposal be made to somebody that will likely say yes: Friends asking friends, boyfriends asking girlfriends, crushes asking their crushes only after finding a high likelihood of a “yes” from her friends. Brayden doesn’t fit into any of these categories. 

In fact, when I spoke with students from Rockford North High School, in Rockford Illinois, the comments I heard about their relationship were alarming, maybe even frightening. “He is obsessed with her,” one student--who preferred not to be named--said. And does she have any feelings for him? “Absolutely not,” she said. The students offered up anecdotes that presented a young man who’d been denied over and over again, but seemed not to ever get the message. 

Brock Bramwell and Andrea Carson stepping in to enable this young man to further put undue pressure on an innocent and uninterested girl was irresponsible at best and displays, once again, Hollywood’s problem with consent. Brock’s motivation seemed to be personal. It’s been well-documented that he struggled with weight before his star-making turn in The Messengers, and while it’s admirable that he’s turned his health around, it’s impossible to ignore the notion that he has not gotten beyond his own high school failures, looking for his own vindication through this high school student. 

I don’t begrudge him his opportunity to right a wrong from his own past by helping a kid who represents a former version of himself. We all do that if presented with the opportunity. We all, in some ways, were traumatized by the high school experience that we were told would be one of the best times in our lives. Some of us push our own children to avoid the mistakes we made, so on some level I understand where Brock is coming from. And I guess that’s why I feel compelled to write this article.

I had a stalker in high school, and that stalker nearly became my rapist. He was harmless, they’d all say, and despite my rebuke to every one of his incessant pleas of love, it was I who was encouraged to let him down easy. Nobody told him to stop. Nobody cared that I would take the long route to class. Nobody noticed when I stopped wearing makeup in hopes that he’d lose interest. There was no end to any of it. And worse, I always heard the same refrain: He’s such a nice guy. And keep in mind, we’re talking about the 1990’s, a time where the hero of every teen movie was some sad sack teen who couldn’t take no for an answer, and in the end, his persistence won over the girl. 

Eventually, I caved into the pressure, and I allowed him to take me to a house party. We were seniors, and at my school, drinking in the house without adults was the standard weekend event. He picked me up, brought me flowers and everything, and even cleaned up nicely. I wasn’t attracted to him then, but wondered if I could become attracted to him. I remember thinking that maybe it was me who had been wrong, and that I should give this guy a chance. Still, I was nervous and uncomfortable. I don’t recall trying to get drunk, but I can imagine that my anxiety may have caused me to drink so quickly. Once at the party, I was more comfortable. I had friends there, and though he was following me around the entire time, I didn’t care. But as the night progressed, things became blurry. Free of any inhibitions, I danced and danced. I danced with my friends, and I danced with him. I was later told how people cheered us on, all hoping that we would finally be together.

At some point in the night, he guided me into a bedroom. I don’t remember this, making out with him, which he claims I did. But what I do know is that my friend and her boyfriend entered the bedroom, not realizing it was occupied, and they came in on him removing my clothes, while I was barely conscious. She took me home. 

In those days, people didn’t see what happened to me as assault. It was a bad decision, mixed signals and the like. Even my friend who stopped us didn’t get the weight of what happened, later apologizing for “interrupting us.” Furious, I confronted him. I had honestly expected for him to be contrite, to beg me not to call the police, or anything at all. Instead, he launched into a soliloquy of how much he loved me, and how magical the night was, and how sorry he was that we’d not been able to have more time alone. And when I told him what I thought about this magical night, that’s when his real self came out. He lashed out at me, calling me names I’d rather not repeat, telling me how badly I’d wanted him, and how since he was the only person who’d loved me and done so much for me, that I owed it to him anyway to go to the bedroom with him.

Making it worse, seemingly nobody back then understood that I was not in a position to consent, and our time in the bedroom became steamy gossip fodder that was fair game for people who didn’t even know me. And when after that weekend, he and I were not a couple, then I became the slut. He still wouldn’t leave me alone, and classmates were telling him how sweet he was and how he didn’t deserve me. It nearly ruined me. 

So excuse me when I don’t want to jump on the #sayyesmadison train, because I understand what this girl must be going through right now, and I don’t want to put her in the position I was put in all those years ago. And I know I’m not alone. I know there are many of you out there who, like me, were pressured to say yes to somebody we despised. Let’s put an end to that now. Let’s put an end to public proclamations of love that put women in situations they do not want. Let’s tell the Brock Bramwells and the Braydens of the world that we’re sorry you didn’t get dealt a fair hand, but we don’t owe you our time or our bodies. Let’s put and end to #sayyesmadison and remember that #shecansayno.

Though Brock thought the writer treated him unfairly, he couldn’t exactly disagree with what she said. Unable to keep away from the damage, he searched his name on Twitter. The results weren’t pretty. Where just a few days prior he was the hero to a bullied teen, he now enabled the assault of another. 

I prefer the Brock Bramwell who was fat and funny and didn’t force high school girls to submit to men #shecansayno

Step one: Do nothing to attract women to yourself

Step two: Publicly embarrass hot girl you like

Step three: Profit!

#shecansayno

The divide between the #metoo movement and the anti-bullying crowd hadn’t seeped into the high school yet. Brayden was still riding high, enjoying how much kinder his peers had become. He suspected that some of the kindness was done in jest, but he rarely understood what the joke was. But as nice as everybody had been, Madison had still not given him a response. She’d only recently come back to school, but was not taking her usual paths. He even skipped 6th period to watch the water fountain where she usually gets a drink, but she’d not come out fifteen minutes into the period. He began to think that she was avoiding him, which infuriated him. He’d done more for her than any teenager could ever be expected to do for a woman, yet she still spurned his advances. All he had wanted was to join her at the dance. He knew that it was only the social construct of high school that was keeping them apart, and that in her heart, she knew that they deserved each other. And maybe at the dance, just a small kiss. Would that be too much? Throughout history, men had expected--and been granted--much more for so much less. 

And now, with his fame and fortune, who was she to deny him? It should have been the other way around, he thought. What did Nate have that he lacked? Brayden was more cultured (he was an avid anime viewer), he now had more money, he was more intelligent. All Brayden could think was that Nate had the physique that the modern woman found appealing. But why? Modern society had taken an evolutionary response and perverted it. The female was only ever attracted to muscle because it implied strength, which then implied protection. Was Nate the stronger specimen? Of course. But was he the greater protector? Absolutely not. Brayden was the master of the blade, not Nate. So why was Madison ignoring the evolutionary imperative? She was turning away the provider and protector.

Just then, the door to Mrs. Swanson’s room opened. Brayden began to sweat immediately. He’d been so lost in thought that he forgot to walk casually as if their eventual meeting were coincidental. When Madison saw him, she froze, which allowed Brayden to speak first.

“Good afternoon, Madison,” he said, “I’m sorry to startle you, it’s just that you haven’t responded to any of my messages.”

“Yeah. Right. I was going to, but I forgot or something,” she said. With such limited social interaction, Brayden couldn’t see how bad of a lie this was.

“You are forgiven, my lady. So because I can’t know which messages you saw, if I may, allow me to present what I had wanted--”

“Ok.”

“Ok, what.?”

“Ok, I’ll go,” she said, looking at the floor, “but you can’t tell anybody yet and you can’t talk to me publicly. I want it to remain a secret for now.”

“Ah, a secret courtship. I understand. We shall meet only under the cover of darkness.”

“Huh? Um, I have to get back to class. Remember, don’t say anything.”

“Adieu.” The feeling in Brayden’s heart was something that he’d only felt a few times in his life. This was better than when he got the call from Brock. Maybe not better than getting the gaming system from Andrea Live, but right up there. He couldn’t wait to go home and spend some time looking at Vacay 2019!!! Without the guilt of lusting after a woman who was not his to lust after. It occurred to him that he should shower when he got home. He’d been so focused on his computer that four days had passed since his last shower, and if presented the opportunity to meet his secret lover at night, he did not want to repulse her with his scent, even though his pheromones may bring her even closer. 

Madison ran back to her class. I can’t do this, she thought. She tried to think of anything about him that wasn’t revolting, but even his most benign qualities made her want to vomit. She even dreamt of a scenario where he underwent a makeover like in those old teen movies. Maybe with a makeover and a little coaching, he could be almost tolerable. Probably not.

After school, she asked Katie, her bestie, for advice. “You know, Madi, it’s only one night. I mean all you have to do is just show up with him. Who says you even need to dance with him?” Katie had a point. All she needed to do was dinner, pictures, and walk into the gym. She probably would have to have one dance with him, but then she could do her own thing, maybe even sneak away with Nate. 

“You’re right,” she said, “I just don’t know what I’ll do if he tries to, like, touch me or anything.”

“Then you get to slap him and have an excuse to bail.” 

The Squire

Aiden swung the door open and called out for his mom, who was not yet home. He knew this, but was so excited that he couldn’t wait to make his announcement on the off chance that she’d come home early. When there was no response, he went to his room to spend alone time with Vacay 2019!!!. Ten minutes later, with renewed clarity, he began to plan. For weeks, he’d seen the dance as the end goal, but it was becoming clear to him that this would only be the beginning of their courtship. 

He still needed to win her love. For years, just getting their attention had been the unattainable goal. He’d never gone on a date nor been kissed. How does one accomplish these things? He first searched, “how to get a woman to love you,” but the results were mixed. He was not being honest with himself. He felt confident that his words and uncommon sense of chivalry could lead to love, but he wanted more. He wanted to feel what he felt when he looked at Vacay 2019!!!. Into Google, he typed, “How to seduce women.”

The first result linked him to a book of the same title by a man named Carl Steele. The cover of the book showed Steele wearing a knee length black leather jacket over a black, button-down shirt left open to show a wealth of chest hair and silver jewelry.  To Aiden, he looked more like a character from a video game than a gentleman, but something in Aiden told him that this is the type of person who could not only win the love of a Madison Welch, but could also seduce her. He had some money left over in his new checking account, into which his mother deposited a small portion of the fundraiser, so he ordered both a physical copy and the e-book. Within seconds, his AlienWare PC downloaded and opened the e-book, and Aiden began the first day of the rest of his life.

How to Seduce Women

By Carl Steele

If you’re reading this, congratulations. Your life is about to change, whether you realize it or not. How do I know? Because I was you. For most of my life, I allowed women to dictate my worth. I allowed their words to control who I was. I allowed myself to  succumb to the feminist ideal, eating away at my manhood, but getting no closer to the ultimate goal. You see, society wants you to think we’ve evolved. Society wants us to believe that millions of years of mating practices are now wrong, ignoring the fact that we are all here because of them. 

We’ve all been brainwashed. I spent my years in high school trying to be the nice guy, because that’s what movies and TV shows told me to be. And time after time, it got me nothing. I was in the friendzone. I was good enough to ask for rides, favors, money, but I was never good enough to reach the promised land. And no matter how many times I’d hear things like “I don’t like you like that,” or “I think we’re better as friends,” or “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” I’d come back for more punishment. I’d been used and abused in ways that society doesn’t recognize as abuse. All I’d ever wanted was what nature had promised me.

People have referred to my methods as a secret, but I believe that misrepresents what it is that I do. You see,  it’s not a secret. It’s tradition. It’s nature. For millions of years, males have gotten what is owed to them by taking it, not because they were sweet and sensitive and said pretty pretty please. And make no mistake, though many of my critics have equated my methods to assault, I’m here to tell you that what I teach is anything but. You can look up my chapter on consent (Chapter 9) if you want, right now. You need consent, and I show you how to get it without her even knowing she’s giving it.

So sit back, sip on your beverage of choice, and enjoy the ride.

Aiden found the introduction to be abrasive, but when he researched Carl Steele, the results could not be denied. There were countless pictures of Steele at night clubs, always with a new woman at his side. Beautiful women. A touch artificial, too much makeup, but beautiful. Aiden also noticed that Carl wasn’t a traditionally attractive man. He was a bit too thin, which only accentuated his large nose. If not for his outrageous wardrobe--that did not look much different from the wardrobe of a Vegas illusionist--he looked like somebody who would never be noticed. Clearly, this Carl Steele knew something, and Aiden knew that if he wanted Vacay 2019!!! To become a reality, he would have to take drastic measures. He continued on.

Chapter 1: The Look

From peacocks to lions, the male species has always known the importance of getting the female to notice. Some men have this easy, the Brad Pitts and the Zac Effrons. The universe granted them the power of being noticed with little to no effort. But you’re probably not Brad Pitt, or you wouldn’t have bought this book. I can confidently say I am no Brad Pitt. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck. Looks will fade. My methods are forever.

So you don’t have much to work with, right? Maybe a little extra weight, maybe not enough. Maybe you’re not exactly filling out your jeans, if you know what I mean. You’ve probably spent your life limiting what you can have because of this. I’m telling you it doesn’t matter. Women aren’t like men. Men are driven entirely by looks. I’ll go out on a limb here. Your white whale, that girl who inspired you to read this book? She ain’t ugly, is she? In fact, I’ll bet you two have nothing in common. See, we’re visual creatures. It’s ok. You don’t need to apologize for that. You don’t need to apologize for being shallow. That is how you were made. You were meant to mate with the most impressive specimen. 

And the best part is this: Women weren’t wired that way. Women assess our value by the way WE perceive it. I want you to say that with me. I don’t give a fuck where you are, you say it: Women assess our value by the way WE percieve it. If you think you’re a loser, she’ll think so too. If you believe you are important, intelligent, mysterious, and you have something she wants, something she needs… she’ll believe it. And that leads me to the look.

You absolutely must be noticed. So many men get this wrong. They think being noticed means wearing nice clothes. Wasting time at the gym. No, being noticed is being noticed. You might look at the cover and think, I can’t wear that, but I’m telling you, you have to. I know that I look unusual. I know that it isn’t the norm, and that’s the point. I know that when I walk out in the club, no other man will look like me. And you know what that creates? Value. Women look at me and they become curious. They say, who is that guy that wears such strange clothes? It makes me seem confident. It builds intrigue. At this point, you’ve already won. 

So what should you wear? I like a lot of leather, a lot of black. I like loud hats and big boots. If you go to my website, you’ll find a list of clothing companies I prefer complete with suggested ensembles.

Aiden put down the brilliant book. Of course! He’d had it all wrong. He tried to look nice when he’d asked Madison to the dance. He might as well have been wearing camouflage. There was still about two-thousand dollars in his checking account, which should at least be enough for a modest wardrobe. His mother would likely take issue with his clearing out the account for clothes, but wasn’t this what the so-called popular kids did? And did his mother not tell Andrea that she wanted him to fit in? 

After selecting the right size he indiscriminately added items into his cart. And because he could, he shipped the items overnight. For the price of 1,796.00, he purchased:

One pair of black combat boots

One Black leather trench coat

One long sleeved black mesh shirt

Black fingerless gloves

A black leather do rag 

A stainless steel cobra belt buckle

Two pairs of distressed black jeans

Four designer v-vneck shirts

A black fedora

A black leather outback hat

Fingerless gloves

He did not order underwear. Steele cautioned against it, reasoning that going without underwear sends a powerful message and shows confidence, like a car salesman who assumes the sale.

The next day after school, Aiden tried on his clothes. None of them fit right, but Aiden didn’t notice. He looked dark and mysterious. The trench coat even allowed him to conceal his sword, making him even more dangerous than ever. It also covered the mesh shirt, which hugged his torso too tightly and cradled his belly like the mesh bag that holds a dozen oranges in the grocery store. In his only moment of self awareness, he decided that the t-shirt should go over the mesh top. 

Over the next hour, he would try different combinations, deciding which would be best for his rebirth at school. He used to judge the others at school and their obsession with appearance, but even he now understood how one’s attire can make him feel like a new man. He took a few photos of himself in the mirror, but thought better of posting them. He wanted to see the looks on their faces when they laid eyes upon the new and improved Aiden.

Downstairs, Deborah returned home from work. Things had gone well, lately, and all of the Aiden stuff had allowed her to focus on herself. She didn’t go a day without worrying about Aiden. When he was a baby, she’d just always assumed he’d grow into something more closely resembling herself and Michael. Though they didn’t know each other in high school, they’d spoken at length about their teen years and hwo they had been both moderately popular and involved. Michael was an athlete, though not a star, and Deborah served on yearbook and student council. They had friends and lived a pretty typical adolescence, which led to a pretty typical college phase. They were well-adjusted, if unremarkable, and they thought that this would be Aiden’s floor. Parents rarely imagine their kids being less than themselves.

“Mother,” Aiden called out. Deborah had never been sure why, but somewhere around age twelve, Aiden dropped “mom” in favor of “mother,” and no amount of protesting could change this.

“Yes?” She called back.

“Come upstairs, I have something to show you.”

She went upstairs to find Aiden--or at least something resembling him--buried beneath a mass of black leather. She gasped. The trench coat was the first thing she noticed, and she recalled how, at the dawn of the school shooting era, that this was once seen as the uniform for a mass killer. And she was not naive. She knew that he checked a lot of the boxes: a loner, out of touch with reality, intelligent, bullied. 

In recent years, she found herself increasingly haunted by thoughts about those mothers of the shooters. It had always been so easy to blame them for missing the signs. But at what point are they supposed to say something? Is this one of those moments? It’s not like he bought guns. He bought a trench coat and some weird accessories that looked like the type of thing that hackers wore in 90’s movies where the internet had magical properties.

Standing before her, he looked so pleased with himself, yet still wanted her approval, which she knew--and hoped, for his sake--wouldn’t last forever. As bizarre as this ensemble was, Deborah loved seeing her son confident and happy. He had  always been resilient, but she was never sure if the perceived confidence he’d had was more a lack of self-awareness, and here in his new clothes, he displayed a real, if misguided, confidence.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s really something,” she said, “You look like The Matrix.”

“You mean Neo. And thank you, mother, that is quite the compliment. I must confess these clothes cost a considerable sum, but I don’t want you to worry. I don’t plan to spend frivolously in the future.”

“It is your money, of course, but I want you to use the rest for college, and you should have plenty left over for a down payment on a house, a car, all those grown-up things you never want to talk about.”

Aiden didn’t object. Though his mediocre grades didn’t match his intellect, she knew that he had always planned on going to college. The real battle would be convincing him to choose a major that could lead to employment, and she couldn’t see too many doors opening for him with a background in Medieval Studies or Japanese literature, areas in which he’d expressed interest. Ultimately, the clothes would be a battle Deborah wouldn’t choose, but she would put her foot down if he ordered a new sword. That, she’d always known, had been a mistake. 

Fate

Normally, any big couples Instagram announcement would include photos or videos with both parties involved, but Madison couldn’t bring herself to attach Aiden’s picture to her page, which created an entirely new problem: it would be totally weird and self absorbed to include only a picture of herself. This is the sort of thing that could turn strangers against you. Madison knew that--despite the opposite being true--an influencer should always appear genuine. Her interest in going to the dance with Aiden had everything to do with fame and nothing with Aiden, but she needed to project an image that suggested otherwise. Showing a picture of herself looking all cute would be too transparent. 

Her solution was to make a video addressed to Aiden. That way, she wouldn’t have to show his picture and the spotlight would remain on her. It would look sincere and sweet. Nobody would be home for two hours, so she had some time to prepare. Her hair looked a little flat, but she didn’t have time to shower. She put a little dry shampoo in it, totally unaware of how much Aiden loved this look. Next, she reapplied some makeup. This is where she had to be most careful. Too much makeup could backfire. It had to look effortless, just a little to liven up her eyes and even out her skin. 

Finally, wardrobe. Even though she had like a million things she wanted to show the world (halter tops, shoes, dresses, rompers, jumpsuits, jackets, shoes, boots) much of her favorite things would have revealed how hard she was trying. She had to ensure that her outfit would showcase her assets without exposing her flaws, and even though she was a nine (a ten to many)  in the Rockford North High School hallways, she figured she was probably closer to a six or seven on Instagram. Though most of the comments had been sweet--and even the gross ones were adoring--there were some that were plain mean, but even in their meanness, Madison often saw truth in them. Many of the cruel comments were flaws she’d already recognized in herself, but other comments brought new flaws to light. Among them:

Wide hips

Not enough Ass

Some freckles on her chest

Extra fat in her tricep area

A little bit of back fat exposed by certain bikini tops

Hair lacking volume

A little extra fat on her inner thigh

Eyebrows too thick

Eyebrows too thin

Weird knees

Not much volume in upper lip

Slight buck teeth (despite having had braces)

There were more, of course, but these were the flaws that Madison and many of her new followers noted the most, so these were the areas that she would have to cover. She first chose something long and flowing, but realized the shot needed to be taken at more than an arm’s length, otherwise she looked fat. She then tried a cute tank, but she couldn’t figure out a way to hide the excess skin on her arm. She finally settled on an Arizona State sweatshirt that she’d altered to expose her stomach, of which she was proud, even though some guy commented one time that she had “dude abs.” He did at least follow up his comment with, “would still fuck.” Madison finished the ensemble with some high waisted jeans and a crucifix necklace to show how grounded she was. 

She practiced a short speech a couple of times and then began filming. Each time, it came out as lifeless. She had to be more convincing, she knew that much. She had done the spring musical as a sophomore when she was injured and couldn’t play soccer, and she realized that she was quite good. She channeled all of her dramatic skills to create an excited, down-to-earth message for her followers. In three more takes, she’d nailed it. “Hey everybody,” she began, “I just wanted to share something I’m really excited about. As most of you know, I received the sweetest proposal to go to the homecoming dance with Aiden Morrow. I’ve got to say, I was really blown away, and I haven’t really known how to react to all of the attention. But I’m happy to tell you all that I’ve accepted his invitation. I’m just so dang lucky, y’all. You’re a real special guy Aiden. I can’t wait!”

Right away, she called Nate. She wanted to talk to him before he’d see the video. She hadn’t consulted with him before because she didn’t want him talking her out of it. “Hey babe,” he answered, “what’s up?”

“Oh, you know,” she said. 

“You sound weird.”

“Ok, don’t be mad, but like we talked about, I’m going to go to the dance with Aiden and I made a video accepting the proposal so people don’t think I’m some kind of bitch for breaking his heart. You get it right?”

“Yeah, ok. Weird, but whatever.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Just kinda strange to have a girlfriend but keep it secret so she can pretend to go with some needle dick for Insta fame.”

“I know, I know, but come on, you’re coming out on top, don’t you think?”

“I see myself coming with you on top.”

“Huh? Oh my god stop it.” His crude jokes still nauseated her a bit, but at the same time loved feeling so wanted.

“But I do have one issue with the dance. If you and me can’t go together, I don’t know what to do. You know, it’s the last homecoming, and people who go stag senior year are fucking losers.” She could see exactly where he was going, but let him explain. He said that in Psych, Nora joked that they should go to Homecoming since neither one of them had a date and they were going to be in the same friend group anyway. And even though he like really, really didn’t want to do that, he didn’t want to have to show his kids pictures from homecoming where their dad stood alone like some kind of loser. 

Madison understood to an extent, but couldn’t get over the Nora part. “Isn’t there somebody else you could ask?”

“Not really, babe. With Nora, we’d just be going as friends, so like, I wouldn’t have to dance with her and shit. She’d get it.”

Madison knew this game. Nora always played the part of the down-ass chick, the one that could mix it in with the guys. The one your guy told you not to worry about, but who would give him head almost immediately after you decided to take a break. And guys pretended not to know that last part, as if the rest of the girls were stupid. It was the worst kept secret at school. “But really? Nora? She’s beyond into you. Can’t you go with somebody else?”

“You think she’s into me?” Nate never thought it was out of the realm of possibility that any girl might want him, but was always titillated hearing it.

“Oh, does that excite you? Right, right. I’m sure your boys have all told you that it doesn’t take much with her either.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, now you’re taking this too far. I’m not the one who insists on going with somebody else. If I had the choice, I’d go with you. And if you get to go with him, then you shouldn’t say who I go with. If you don’t trust me enough to let me be a token date for two hours, then why are we even doing this?”

This was a disaster. This was supposed to be Madison’s night. Her senior homecoming. She used to imagine it as a grade school kid. The school would be announcing homecoming court in a few weeks and she knew--especially given how kind and selfless she’d been with the Aiden thing--that she was a lock, but nothing else was going right. She feared that putting her foot down would drive Nate away, but after publicly accepting Aiden’s invitation, she could not go back on her promise. And if she let Nate go with Nora, that could be even worse. Madison worried about what Nora would try. She worried about how experienced Nora was, and couldn’t be sure that it didn’t matter to Nate. She would have to be proactive, she decided.

Over the past week, Brock had been celebrated and then reviled on Twitter, first the hero to the bullying victim, later an icon of consent ignorance. With no current project and nothing to promote, he threw himself back into the gym. He felt safe in the gym, focused only on a simple transaction. His trainer gave him tasks; he completed them.

Working out was also the only activity that kept him away from the internet, where he increasingly saw his name mentioned alongside actual Hollywood predators. The #shecansayno hashtag started as a subdivision of #metoo, but had become its own movement, shedding light on the ways in which women can be assaulted before physical or verbal sexual harassment occured. Their thesis essentially posited that the question itself was a form of assault, depending on context. Brock read the testimonials on Twitter and Instagram, and he agreed that many of these women were victims: a woman whose superior propositioned her on a business trip; a college student asked on a date by her professor. These were clear abuses of power dynamics that left women demeaned and fearful. Others didn’t seem as problematic to Brock. There were stories of women who likened “can I buy you a drink?” to assault. On one hand, Brock understood that this could make a woman uncomfortable; there were no shortage of creeps looking to slip things in women’s drinks, but on the other hand, how was a guy supposed to approach a woman?

Brock hadn’t had any trouble meeting women who were--at a minimum--willing to talk to him, and women often made moves on him. After a short phase where he relished the attention, it became a turn off. He’d realized that the most aggressive women were those who cared most about his stardom, and soon began to seek out women who’d not seen his movies, which had become more difficult. And even if they hadn’t seen them, it wasn’t long before they found out who he was, and it changed something in them.

A year ago and a half ago, while shooting a commercial in Georgia, he met a woman who’d never seen D’s Get Degrees! Or Squad Goals, the one where he played the cop who could never close out a footrace. She hadn’t seen any of his movies at all, for that matter. He first noticed her at the small bar in his hotel which was surrounded by some of the most popular night clubs in Atlanta. He generally avoided clubs when outside of L.A., as the crowds were not accustomed to movie stars. Just having a beer could be exhausting and tedious, and on this night the last thing he wanted was to take five selfies with strangers between each sip. Hotel bars like this one were quiet and boring and perfect.

There were a few lone travelers at various tables, mostly business travelers, but nobody was sitting at the bar, which only had four seats. He took one of the two middle seats to reduce the chance that people would sit next to him. The bartender, like hotel employees often did, called him Mr. Bramwell, attempting to hide any fandom that may exist. Brock always appreciated this, because like most stars, though he hated being bothered by fans, he still wanted people to know who he was.

Brock perused the drink list, which featured mostly uninspired cocktails with mid-tier spirits presented as signature drinks. Though he’d been a millionaire for nearly a decade, the midwesterner in him still balked at the audacity of charging seventeen dollars for a martini with Absolut Vodka. He ordered one regardless. The bartender, a man in his early thirties, carefully prepared the simple drink, and delivered it without comment, which disappointed Brock.

A woman approached the bar and sat in the chair at the end of the narrow bar. Dressed in a white blouse with a black skirt, she immediately ordered a gin and tonic with a confidence and directness that Brock had grown to admire in a woman. In his years of fame, he’d long been surrounded by women too eager to please. He glanced over at her and nodded with a smile. She smiled back briefly, then returned her attention to her phone; she did not know who he was. Perfect. She possessed a slow-burn beauty that had to be absorbed and contemplated, and it was only after he regarded her a second time that he noticed it. Feeling the unfamiliar pang of uncertainty, he considered a multitude of approaches. Buying her drink would be too smarmy and obvious, but he wanted to cultivate interest and prove to himself that he had value to a woman independent of his celebrity. 

“Here on business?” he finally asked.

“Huh? Oh, yes. Another day, another hotel bar,” she replied, almost startled.

“Well, you’re gonna love it here in Dallas.”

A brief look of shock came over her face before she processed the joke “Very funny. Seriously though, I can hardly keep it straight anymore, especially since I stopped leaving the hotel on these trips. I used to check out the nightlife on these trips. Eventually I got tired of getting hit on by assholes… not that you’re… I didn’t mean…”

“No, I get it.”

He thought he’d lost her, and then, “What about you?”

“Oh, the assholes don’t buy me drinks anymore. I think I’ve lost my touch.” 

She laughed. “I mean are you here on business too?”

“You could say that. I’m here for some advertising work.”

He felt bad obscuring the truth, but wanted to see where the conversation would go. The woman, Sarah, explained that she was a corporate trainer, a job that found her. They joked about the idiosyncrasies of hotels and airports and their common understanding of such made them comfortable with one another. An elderly couple approached the bar to order a drink. “Brock here can slide over if you wanted to sit at the bar,” Sarah said. The couple declined, but Brock took the invitation.

They ordered another round at the bar and the conversation progressed well. There is an implicit understanding among traveling singles, and Sarah’s gradually rotating barstool was all the invitation Brock needed. He felt confident and worthy and, best of all, normal. But just when he’d felt like he’d attracted a woman on his own merit, he noticed a pair of servers in the corridor behind the bar snapping video of him on their phone. The bartender noticed as well, and waived them off. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Bramwell,” he said. I’ll make sure they delete their photos and management will deal with thiem.”

“No, no, no. I don’t want them to get in trouble. It comes with the territory,” Brock said, knowing his cover was blown.

“Then please let me comp your drinks” the bartender said, “I know you have to put up with this all the time, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it here.”

“Seriously, it’s ok.”

Sarah, taking it all in, said, “You said you were in advertising?”

Defeated, Brock admitted, “I’m shooting a commercial. I’m an actor. Brock Bramwell.”

“No fucking way,” she said, “I thought you looked familiar, but…”

“Right. I lost the weight. It was for a role.”

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you should stick with it. You look great.”

“Thanks.” From there, the conversation turned. This professional, confident woman melted into a fan, peppering him with questions about other celebrities, then backing away shyly as if she were asking too much. Though it didn’t kill his interest in her, he was disappointed. Still, he didn’t want the night to end. 

“Another round?” he asked.

“Sure. Let’s have them sent to my room.” Brock didn’t object, and eventually the night led the two to the most predictable end. 

Brock woke up the next morning and Sarah was already dressed. She had a flight to catch, which disappointed Brock, who still had another night at the hotel. As he took the cue and got himself dressed, he said, “I really had a great night.”

“Me too,” she responded without looking up.

“Maybe if business takes you out west I can show you around. I’d love to see you again.”

“Yeah right. You’ve got your pick of the litter out there. I can’t hold a candle to the girls out there.”

“I mean it. Here’s my number.” Brock scribbled onto a piece of hotel stationary.

She took the number and looked at it with a conflicted smile. “Brock, you’re sweet. And last night was… last night was amazing. But the thing is… Oh God, you’re gonna think I’m terrible… I kinda have somebody back home. I know how horrible it is. I do. I’m a terrible person. I just… you know this doesn’t happen every day, you know?” He did, and it stung, but not as much as what she said next: “I just got caught up in the excitement. You have to believe me when I say I wouldn’t have done something like that if you, you know.”

“If I wasn’t famous?” Brock finished, simultaneously knowing what she would say but wondering why she would think that would make him look at her differently.

“Oh, that sounds terrible, but you know how it is. It’s just different. Couples always have those bucket list hookups.”

“And I was on yours?” 

“Um, not really. If I’m being honest, I haven’t seen any of your movies. But the hall pass sort of extends to any famous person, don’t you think?”

“I suppose. Well look, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble with your… boyfriend?”

“No, not at all. And it's not like it’s totally serious. So who knows? Maybe if things don’t work out with him and I’m in your neck of the woods, we can get together.”

“Of course. I guess I’ll get going then.” He kissed her on the cheek and left the room. He hoped she wouldn’t be calling. 

Adorned in an array of black leather, Aiden thanked his mother for the ride. She said a small prayer that the kids would be kind, and if they weren’t kind, that Aiden wouldn’t notice.

He exited her car, then struggled to get his backpack to hang on his shoulder. The leather trenchcoat restricted his movement to the point that he could not get both arms through the straps, and the slick finish made it slide off his shoulder when he went to the single-strap approach. He then set it on the ground, so that he could put on his sunglasses and carried it with one hand, torking his body to the side. As Deborah watched she couldn’t help but think of how hopelessly stupid he looked, but to her surprise, she didn’t see any of the other students making fun of him. He’d certainly caught their attention, but his fellow students appeared too confused to jeer.

What she didn’t know was that rumors had circulated that Aiden may use some of his fortune on the dance. There were whispers that Aiden would cover the costs for the dance to be moved off-campus to somewhere adult and sophisticated, the type of homecoming dance you’d see in high school movies about kids who lived in California. Some were even convinced that Dua Lipa was set to make a surprise appearance. 

In reality, Aiden had not become popular; he’d only become somebody that you didn’t fuck with. And the way he showed up to school on this day with his new look, he made it very difficult for the kids at Rockford North, especially Madison.

Still, there was a small group of students who held a perverse admiration for him and the way he walked, head held high, strutting down the halls, crooked from lugging his backpack in hand. To everybody at Rockford North, he looked like a clown, but he owned it, and to some on the outer rim of the social universe, that was somehow cool.

In consumer ed, Mr. Randall had the students create a budget with what they currently earned. None of the students had the income to actually support themselves, which Mr. Randall knew. That was the point. Teachers always liked backhanded ways of showing students how ill-prepared they were for the real world. “Ok, people,” he began, “You’re going to first calculate how much money you make in a month. Then, you’ll want to include what you have in savings, should you have an emergency car repair or medical bill. When you’ve done that, put your pencils down and look up at me so that I’ll know when you’re ready for the fun part: bills.”

The desks were arranged in pairs. Aiden had been seated next to Katie Flemming, a popular girl and, more importantly, friend of Madison. Aiden did not have a job, but calculated his twenty dollar allowance. Then, under savings, he wrote the six-figure number that represented the remainder of the fundraiser money. Katie, initially looking at his work to see where she should write her numbers since she hadn’t listened to directions, gasped when she saw this number. Though she’d known--everybody knew--about the money, it was an entirely different thing to see the number in person. There were a handful of kids at school that most would consider rich, but none of them actually had their own money, not like Aiden. She couldn’t help but comment.

“Wow,” she said, “that’s like a shit ton of money.”

“Yes,” Aiden replied, “The gods have smiled upon me.”

“Uh-huh. Um, listen, my parents are out of town this weekend and I’m sort of having a party. You should like, come, maybe. I’m gonna have Drew bring his sound system and a guy at my job said he’d get us some alcohol…” she stopped, and realized that this probably wasn’t a selling point for a guy like Aiden but also thought he might hook it up.

“And Madison will be there, I presume?”

“Oh yeah, totally. If you want, I can have my guy pick up whatever you and Madison want to drink and you can give me money to give him.”

“I see. And Madison imbibes? I hadn’t known that.”

“Im-what?”

“Consumes spirits.”

“Like witchcraft?”

“For the love of god. I’m asking if Madison drinks alcohol.”

“Oh, well, duh. Doesn’t everybody?” This was a challenge to what Aiden had believed about Madison’s purity, but he realized that a woman so sophisticated would likely engage in adult behavior, so it ultimately did not phase him. He continued to rationalize it by reminding himself that in medieval times, even children drank a mash with a small amount of alcohol. 

“Ok, then. What does Madison drink?”

Katie knew that she liked White Claws, but obscured this fact in hopes he’d cover the rest. “She really likes beer, so we’re going to get a keg, and she also like White Claws.” 

“Perfect. Put us down for both. And I would like mead,” Aiden had never drank, himself, but would use gold coins to purchase mead for his characters in Stone Scrolls. a favorite game of his. Mead boosted their courage meter at the cost of their intellect meter. He had intellect to spare, he figured.

“Mead? Oh, I don’t know if they’ll have that.”

“Then if not, put me down for a barrel of the finest ale. How much will this cost?”

“Um, maybe a hundred for the barrel?”

This was far more than he’d expected to hear, given that he could buy nearly twenty cases of Mountain Dew for that price, but it was for Madison, and since he’d caught Katie ogling his fortune, he could not pretend that he didn’t have the money. “Very well. I’ll give you two hundred.”

“Oh my god. You’re amazing.”

“I do hope you’ll relay this to Madison.”

“Totally.”

“You what? You fucking bitch!” Madison couldn’t believe what Katie was telling her.

“What? This party is going to be so lit now,” Katie didn’t know what the big deal was. After all, she was letting Aiden into her house. Madison didn’t have to hang out with him or anything.

“Easy for you to say. Did you see him today? What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know, it’s kinda ballsy coming to school looking like that, don’t you think? You’re going to think I’m crazy, but in a weird way, it’s almost hot.”

“Fucking ew.”

“No, not the outfit, just that he’s all like, fuck it, I’m wearing this shit.”

“Whatever. Then can you do me a favor and show him your boobs or something so he’ll fall in love with you?”

“Oh my God, Madi, you’re terrible.” The girls both laughed, but Madison couldn’t help but feel a little disgusted by Katie and how blatantly she’d manipulated him to get what she wanted. This thought morphed into guilt of her own, how she’d gone along with his homecoming plan for her own personal gain.

Chapter 2: Negging

People are quick to call men simple creatures, but that’s not how I like to think of it. I think of it like this: men were wired correctly. So am I saying women weren’t wired right? You got it. Men are honest with themselves. They see a hot woman, and the blood flows downstairs. That’s all it takes, because that’s how nature intended it. We were made to pass our seed to the most impressive physical specimen. Women are different. Looks help, but ultimately, they need to be told whether to value a man. Trust me, I’ve worked with men with movie star looks and chiseled bodies. And why do they come to me? Because they can’t get laid to save their lives. They’re passive, waiting for her to state her desire, and what happens is that the woman thinks, “why isn’t this guy confident? There must be something wrong.” These guys devalue themselves and the woman no longer considers them worthy mates. 

But if you are confident? If you show her that your value exceeds hers? Then she wants you. It’s fucked up, I know, but like I said. Women weren’t wired right. The question is, then, how do you do this? The answer is simple: Negging.

If you followed my instructions on how to present yourself, you’re already a step ahead. She’s already seen you as somebody that has value and isn’t afraid to show it. Now you just have to drive it home. This is the point where so many men fail. They meet a girl and they want to make her feel good about herself, which is counterproductive to the objective here, because if you’re boosting her value, before you know it, you’re at a deficit. If you make a woman feel like she’s too good for you, she’ll think the same. But if you go the opposite direction and make her feel like shit, she might be too proud to continue talking to you.

Instead, you must strike a balance, and you do so by negging. Negging is the art of the innocuous insult. You want to show interest, but as you’re doing so, you need to subtly insult her, but wrap that insult in a compliment. Here are some of my favorites:

I like your hair. Is it real?

I’m enjoying talking to you; there are some really hot girls here, but you’re interesting

How short are you?

Do you always talk this much?

A lot of my students have a hard time with this step. I get it. You’ve been conditioned to be nice, the good guy. But I’m telling you, women don’t want that. Look around you. Go to a club. The nice guys are the ones going home alone, being nice gives her the power and makes her think that you need her. You need to make her think that she needs you. 

I know many of you bought this book for The One. I’ve got my own ideas of monogamy and love, but this book isn’t about that. If love is what you’re after, I want you to have it. I want you to get what you deserve, and if you think you’ve found the one, I know you’re thinking, “Why would I do this to somebody I love?” You’ll need to get past that, but just temporarily. This is how you need to make her fall in love with you, and it will work. And when it does, my friend, then you have a lifetime to build her back up. But if you let some asshole take her, you’ll never get that chance. And guess what: that asshole isn’t going to build her back up. He’s going to keep bringing her down. Is that what you want? No. So follow my lead. 

Aiden bid farewell to his mother. He’d told her he was off to play Magic: The Gathering with some real people, but in reality a 42 year-old named Chris was picking him up to take him to the party. Chris worked as a cook at the pizzeria where Katie worked. He was a creep, but like most creeps, he had no scruples about buying teenagers alcohol. Katie had told Aiden that he was older, but Aiden was surprised and slightly disturbed when he looked out the window. Not wanting his mother to look too closely, he called upstairs that he was leaving and got into the front seat of a Pontiac Grand Prix.

“Chris, I presume?” Aiden said.

“Damn, buddy, you just watch the Crow or something?” Chris said, poking the leather, and Aiden didn’t get the reference. “Naw, but you’re Aiden, right? Cool. So we gotta stop and pick up the booze, then we’ll be off to the party. Katie said you had some cash.” Aiden handed him a wad of ten twenty-dollar bills. “Shit dude, how much do you think a keg of Natty costs?”

“I instructed Katie to have you procure a barrel of the finest ale, some mead, and a drink called White Claw for my friend.” Aiden said.

“Ah, so you want a keg of some good shit? No prob. Don’t think they’ll have mead though. I’ll get some fireball. Girls love that shit. Tell you what, quickest way to get a bunch of girls to show you their titties is to get a bunch of Fireball in ‘em.”

Aiden turned to the window, visibly disgusted. Chris couldn’t tell what his deal was, but thought the kid might be gay, and didn’t want to think about what Fireball could do for him. The two remained silent. 

When they arrived at Katie’s house, a secluded two-story on a wooded lot, Aiden helped with the barrell. Gripping his end of the barrel’s rim, holding on for dear life, he couldn’t understand how a barrel could be so heavy. This was not an ideal way to enter a party, he thought. They’d been instructed to take the keg around to the back yard, underneath the deck, where the trees offered additional protection. As they approached the backyard, Aiden could hear the murmur of voices. His beating heart began to make itself known and his breathing became rapid.

“Halt,” he said, and the two set down the barrel.

“You alright, bud?” Chris asked.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“Shit, Man, it’s probably ‘cause of all that shit you’re wearing. Like a fuckin’ coat of armor, am I right?”

“Thank you, but my problem is not of a physical nature. I’ve never been to a gathering like this, and the thought of socializing is causing me great distress.”

“This your first party? Truth be told, I’m not surprised.”

Aiden ignored what this comment implied, then continued, “It’s a woman. Suddenly, so outside of my habitat, I fear I will not be able to speak to her.”

Chris looked at the kid who remained down on one knee, panting. Chris had always known why Katie flirted with him at the pizzeria, why she’d always lean over his station for extra condiments, just long enough for him to get a good look at the outer edge of her areola. He knew she needed an alcohol hookup, and if not for that, she wouldn’t come within ten feet of him. There were some people for whom this would be a sad realization, but Chris wasn’t one of them. He knew the score and didn’t give a fuck. But this kid? The second this kid, money in hand, came out looking like Fat Camp Cris Angel, he put it together. The kid didn’t belong here, but he bought his way in. And now that he’d paid his cover, he was going to be a party favor. 

“You wanna go, man?” Chris had planned to stay. As long as he smoked the kids up, nobody objected to him sticking around. And he wanted to stay. Every now and then you’d see some shit at these parties, and even though he could use some excitement, he was worried about what would happen to this strange kid huffing and puffing on the ground. “I know a titty bar that might let you in without and ID,” he said.

“No. I must stay. My one true love is in there. This is a test of my mettlle, and I must have the courage to go on.” As he said this he rose to his feet. His coat swung open, and for a moment, Chris could have sworn that he saw a sword.

“Alright man. Well listen. You don’t need to be afraid. I remember when I was your age. Couldn’t talk to a girl to save my life. When I got older and could start going to bars, that shit changed. And you know why?” Aiden shook his head. “Booze, my dude. They don’t call it liquid courage for nothing. Once I get a few drinks in me, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll chat up the hottest bitch in the bar. You just gotta be careful. A little too much hooch, and you start saying some stupid shit. Here, man. Take a few pulls of this.” 

He opened a bottle of Fireball and handed it to Aiden. Aiden inspected the bottle, then smelled it. The vapors made his nostrils tingle, but it smelled like the cinnamon candles his mom liked to burn around Christmas. He put the bottle to his lips and filled his mouth with far too much of the liquor. He nearly spit it out but didn’t want to stain his trenchcoat. He swallowed it in two gulps, then coughed violently. His throat burned in a way he’d never felt. After a few gags, he settled.

Chris laughed initially, but then composed himself. “Yeah, shit’s pretty strong. You’ll get used to it. Just take a little more. Trust me.” Aiden waved him off, but Chris insisted, “come on, man, trust me. You wanna kill the nerves so you can talk to your girl, you gotta have a little more, take the edge off.” Aiden relented and took a smaller sip. Again it burned, and again he gagged. 

The offensive cinnamon flavor lingered, “Did we, by chance, get any soda that could rid my palette of this horrid flavor?”

“Um, sure. Hold up.” Chris ran back to the car and came back with the Case of White Claw. “Here, try this,” he said. Aiden took the can and chugged it. He did not enjoy this drink either--it tasted like the sparkling water his mother drank--but it washed away some of the burn. Chris admired how quickly he took it down, even if it was a bitch drink. “Ok, bud,” he said, “I think you’re ready for the ball. You’re gonna feel real good in a minute. You smoke?”

“I plan to take up pipe tobacco when I am of age,” he said.

“No, man, I mean… Nevermind. You’re one interesting motherfucker, you know that?”

“Thank you. Shall we continue on?” At that, Chris set the case of White Claw on the keg and they carried it in. When they turned the corner, Aiden looked into the backyard and saw an orange glow over a crowd of what he could only assume were his classmates. When the light from the bonfire illuminated Chris, Aiden, and the barrel, the modest crowd cheered. A silhouette came running towards them. As it came closer, Aiden realized it was Katie. 

“You guys are fucking amazing,” she said. Already buzzed from the liquor she’d taken from her parents’ cabinet, she hugged Aiden fiercely. He’d never felt a girl like this and had hardly imagined the touch of anybody other than Madison in as long as he could remember. He was surprised at how much he enjoyed the touch of one other than beloved. She smelled good, and he could feel the pressure of her breasts against his chest. In that moment, he wished he hadn’t worn his thick leather trench coat, which obscured the feeling, but soon became grateful that it so effectively hid his erection. 

“It was my pleasure. And let me express the deepest gratitude for your hosting such a fine event,” he said. 

“So I don’t know how you want to do this. I have all the cups over there, so if you want to collect money for cups, you can keep it, you know, since you paid for it.”

“I would never think to profit off of this celebration.”

“Are you serious? That’s so fucking cool,” she said, and hugged him again. Aiden leaned forward to give his posterior some distance, just to be safe. Katie then stood up on a patio chair and addressed the crowd. “You guys! Listen up!” The crowd silenced, some fearing cops had already arrived. We’ll have the keg tapped in a minute. And put your money away. Aiden said he’s covering the whole thing. How badass is that?” Everybody cheered. It was the first time anybody cheered for Aiden, the first time he could ever think of another real human attaching words like cool or badass to anything he’d ever done. He stepped forward and bowed, just as he had on Andrea Live. As he rose, he scanned the crowd--which had now gathered around the keg--but did not see Madison.

In this moment, it didn’t matter. An inner warmth moved Aiden, who, not never having known the feeling of imnebriation, attributed it to his moment of glory. He felt a connection to these people to whom he had previously had no connection and for the first time, he wanted to share drinks with them at this symposium.

Chris made quick work of the tap, and the party officially began. The crowd around the barrel formed a line and Chris began filling cups. Aiden, following the others, took a plastic cup from the stack. When he reached the front, Chris held the nozzle over his cup and released the golden liquid which formed a white foam head that spilled over the rim. Aiden first thought it looked like the foam atop a root beer float, and then his imagination transformed his plastic cup to a chalice adorned in jewels, one fit for nobility. He brought the cups to his lips, and though the aroma was initially unexplainably pleasant, the bitter taste made him gag. With most of the crowd still gathered around the keg he poured the beer into the grass, then opened a can of Watermelon White Claw and poured it into his cup. Drink in hand, he again looked for Madison. She was not lined up, waiting for her drink. Though it was dark, the fire and the flood lights above the deck allowed him to see the crowd, and Madison was nowhere to be found. He wandered into the basement, exposed and open to the back yard through a sliding door. There were a few people arguing over control of the stereo system, but again, no Madison. This was fine, he thought, it would give him time to rehearse the negs from his book.

Madison was at the party, technically. She hadn’t yet gotten out of Nate’s car. They were fighting about Nora. Madison had noticed that she’d been liking every post on Instagram, and that when he posted a photo on Facebook of himself working out, shirtless, Nora not only liked the photo, she loved it. For nearly twenty minutes, they had  argued in the car. “Tell me how it’s any different than you and Aiden,” he said.

“Um, hello? It’s literally the opposite situation.” She said.

“Not at all. This is fucking stupid.”

“Oh, so I’m fucking stupid.”

“No, this argument.”

But it wasn’t, not to Madison. The difference was that she had absolutely no interest in Aiden. Nate didn’t have to worry about what would happen between them. But Madison had always known that there was something lurking between Nate and Nora. Even their names sounded good together. They went back and forth like this for what seemed like forever, getting nowhere. Finally, she just asked the question directly, “Do you think Nora’s hot?”

“Hot? Like... Well, not really. What do you mean by hot?” Nate failed her purity test. Guys were never honest in questions like this, but if the best he could do was “not really,” that basically confirmed what she had feared. 

“I knew it,” she said.

“Knew what? I didn’t say she was hot.”

“Right… So then, if we weren’t together and she came in here and wanted to blow you, you’d just tell her to get out of the car.” 

“Ok, that’s different.”

“Nate! Seriously? You are such an asshole. You know what? Why don’t you just go to the dance with her. I hope she gives you amazing head and I hope you catch whatever she got from any of the other dicks she’s had in her mouth.”

“What the fuck are you on right now? Fuck!  Maybe I will. At least I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

Madison opened the door and got out. Even though she didn’t want to see Nate for the rest of the night, she hoped he would get out of the car and follow her, maybe even shout for her to come back. Instead, he reversed the car. Without a ride home, Madison texted her mom that she would be sleeping at Katie’s. 

The sign on the garage door directed everybody to the back yard, but Madison had front door privileges. She texted Katie to come upstairs.

“Oh, sweety, what happened?” Katie asked, and Madison collapsed into her arms, crying. Madison told her everything, which wasn’t really much to tell. Katie understood and agreed that Nate was an asshole, and that Madison could do so much better. Katie’s response was what every friend says to any heartbroken woman, but to Madison, in her moment of vulnerability, Katie’s words were true and wise. 

“So when do I call him?” she asked.

“Did you not hear me at all? You can do better. Don’t even think about touching your phone.”

“But if I do nothing, he’s gonna hook up with Nora.”

“And if he does, you’ll know how much of a loser he is and you can thank him for sparing you herpes. Let’s get you cleaned up and do some shots, you’ll forget all about him.” The girls went into the bathroom and when Madison composed herself, she reapplied her eye makeup, ready to go downstairs. “You look gorg,” Katie said, “oh, and your prince is downstairs.”

“You’re kidding. This night keeps getting worse.”

“Be nice. He paid for like everything. And you’ll have to get used to him at least a little bit, right?”

“I guess. I’m going to need to drink, though.” The girls took a few shots of Southern Comfort and Lime, a drink Katie’s sister insisted was the shot of choice for mature college women. Katie filled their glasses, and on the count of three, they plugged their noses and tilted their heads back, downing the shots. “I feel better already,” Madison said. “Can’t keep my prince waiting forever.”

The girls went down the stairs into Katie’s finished basement. To Katie’s chagrin, most of the party had moved inside. Though prepared for this, she’d still hoped to keep people around the fire to minimize the inevitable damage that comes with a high school kegger. Madison saw that nearly her entire friend group was in attendance, which comforted her. She saw Aiden, too. He was impossible to miss. Still wearing that stupid trenchcoat and combat boots, he was chatting up some sophmore whom Madison didn’t recognize, and Madison was happy to let her take one for the team.

Aiden didn’t see Madison. He had been too busy practicing his technique on this girl whom he found to be appealing in the most primal sense. He’d not known of this girl, but noticed her from across the room. She looked out of place, dressed comfortably in denim and flannel, not shoddily replicating social media trends like most girls at school. Her long blonde hair glistened with a perfect sheen, which presented a certain purity to Aiden. And though her flannel shirt was not form fitting, Aiden thought he could detect fairly large breasts, which he’d always loved, though his love of the full breast was purely for their true function, he’d always said, despite insisting he would never bring children into such a broken world. Her beauty was hidden, and Aiden--like so many young inexperienced men--felt a sense of nobility in identifying and admiring such hidden beauty, and in doing so felt more deserving of it. 

He walked around the couch, where she sat on the far end. For a moment, he paused, unsure of whether he should address her while standing or sit on the couch with her, and when he decided to sit with her, he struggled to adjust his sword holster and leather. The leather of the couch created friction with the leather of his coat and pants, producing a comical horn sound. The sound startled Clarissa, a junior at Rockford North, who nearly spilled her drink. Though he sat on the other end of the couch, leaving enough space for at least two other people between them, he faced her, looking eager--but hesitant--to engage. 

“Good evening,” he said to her.

“Hi,” She said, smiling into her beer. 

“You know,”  he began, “centuries ago, a woman consuming alcohol without the company of a gentleman would be considered a harlot.”

She looked at him sideways, surprised by his diction but not confused. “So have men evolved, or are you making a business offer?”

Aiden wasn’t sure what kind of response to expect, but it wasn’t this. “My dear lady, forgive me, I am not actually suggesting…”

“That I’m a whore?”

“Heavens, no!”

“Don’t worry, dude, I’m fucking with you. You’re the guy who paid for the booze. That’s pretty rad.”

“It was my pleasure. Hello, I am Aiden.”

“I know. I’m Clarissa.” She scooted toward him, an act more aggressive than he knew what to do with. “So what brings you my way, Aiden?”

Aiden began to sweat on top of his initial layer of sweat. He’d not expected so forward a girl. From a distance she looked slight and unassuming, but her confidence scared him. He had no idea how to answer her question, so he reverted to the methods which he’d studied. “Despite the fact that your hips would hardly allow you to survive the birth of a child, I find you intoxicating,” he said, wondering if he was doing it right.

She nearly spit out her beer. “Dude, that’s gotta be the weirdest shit anybody’s ever said to me. Bravo.” 

Aiden smiled nervously, not sure of how to proceed. He had only read the first couple of chapters, which covered little more than the approach. “I’m sorry, that may have been too harsh. I am sure that your hips could survive many births with little trauma.” 

Clarissa laughed again, nearly choking. “Dude, you gotta stop. I’m gonna shoot beer out my nose.” Aiden laughed along with her, pretending he’d meant for it to be taken as a joke. “So, Aiden, can I ask you a question?” She scooted towards him, which both aroused and terrified Aiden.

“Please.”

“What’s with all of this?” She reached toward his thigh and squeezed his trench coat that draped over it. “I’d say you’re trying too hard, but I can’t figure out what the fuck you’re going for.”

Offended, Aiden said, “Due to the act of philanthropy of a Hollywood actor, I finally have the means to present my true self.”

“Which is what?”

“I’m far darker and more complicated than you might think.”

Clarissa laughed again. “Dark? I don’t know about that. Complicated? Maybe. Like, I can’t figure out what the fuck you’re doing with Madison. I get it, she’s hot and all, and you’re a dude, but man, that chick sucks. This whole group of people sucks.”

“Madison? How could you possibly say that?” 

“Oh, right. You’re in love. I saw you on Andrea. I’m sorry to tell you this, but she’s shallow. She’s one of those people that’s lived her life as if it’s being filmed. On the outside, she’s perfect. She gets good grades, she’s beautiful, she says all the right things, but it’s all just for show. Scratch beneath the surface and you have somebody who’s terrified of not being seen. I just don’t have any time for that. I mean, why are you all about her? She’s like the most conventional bitch ever.”

“She’s just… perfect. Never have I seen a more graceful creature. The way she can light up a room. There is a quality in her that I can’t articulate, and I don’t feel I need to.”

“Hey, you do you, I guess. But I’d steer clear of that one. I’d steer clear of most of the people here.”

“May I ask why you’re here?”

“You may. My friend, Lexi. She’s going out with Katie’s brother, and I’m tagging along for support. I think they might have already found their way into a bedroom. So now it’s just yours truly, biding time with these assholes.” 

Aiden sat up straight. He started to feel irritated by this girl’s attitude and her suggestion that these people, people who only moments ago had applauded his generosity, could be assholes. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. These kind people have been very welcoming to me, an outsider.”

“Oh Aiden, you’re so pure. And a lost cause.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

“Don’t let them exploit you.... Oh, hey, there’s your girl. Guess that’s my cue. Good talking to you, B.” With that, she got up and walked out the sliding door toward the bonfire. Aiden turned to where she had pointed, and saw Madison, who looked radiant in a pair of high waisted jeans and top. She hadn’t seen him, which was good. He wasn’t ready for his approach; negging Clarissa was far lighter a task then doing the same to Madison. How does one critique one with no flaws? To buy himself some time, he had to remove himself from the basement. Holding the false belief that his face was currently his most distinguishing quality, he flipped his collar up to hide his face and slid out the door.

Madison noticed. What the fuck is he doing? She’d been hyper-aware of his every movement and was surprised to see him with Lexi’s sister, though not surprised that Clarissa would choose to talk to him, out of all the guys at the party. They were different kinds of weird, but weird is weird. Madison always thought it was a shame, too, because Clarissa could do a lot better for herself if she actually tried, instead of believing she invented being different. She might not have been Madison Beer or anything, but she was cute and had a pretty killer body. Madison couldn’t comprehend how somebody could willingly avoid a gift like popularity when so many people--like herself--had worked so hard for it. Just the thought of it offended her deeply, an affront to her values. Yet despite turning up her nose at the cool crowd, wallowing away in the drama club, she still came here. Who did she think she was anyway? What a little bitch. 

Initially, Madison was grateful for somebody to occupy Aiden, but then she remembered Nate. She came into this night having the love of two men, half of which she lost in the driveway. And with Clarissa committing the unthinkable act of talking to Aiden, she could lose the other, and while she never wanted Aiden’s admiration, its recent perks were undeniable. Madison, so repulsed by Aiden, could not imagine how any girl would choose to be in his presence and knew that Clarissa had ulterior motives. The way she scooted in towards him, the way she tilted her head back while she laughed. The way she folded her arms, pushing her boobs up. Madison knew all of these tricks, and watched in disgust as Clarissa took things to another level by touching his leg. What a slut. 

“Katie, get me a shot,” she said. Resolute, she turned toward the couch where Aiden and Clarissa had sat, but Clarissa was gone, and Aiden shielded himself with his coat and walked out the door. She downed one more half shot and followed. Outside, under the deck, the party was still congregating around the keg, but Aiden was nowhere in sight. She noticed some people standing around the fire, and she went for a closer look. Sure enough, Aiden stood, alone, gazing into the flames. She walked up to him, standing beside him, but did not know how to approach him. Finally, he turned to her. 

“You seem to have dressed down for the occasion, but even in your tattered attire, your beauty cannot be hidden,” he said, without looking. Madison had not expected this, but she never really knew what kind of weird shit would come out of his mouth. She’d expected nothing short of a confidence boost from him, and though his opinion of her did not matter, his comment disappointed her. She thought she looked super cute.

“Um, excuse me?” she said.

Aiden felt he’d made a fatal mistake, and immediately backtreaded. “I speak only in jest. You look like a goddess. Here.” He handed her a can of White Claw, “I procured these especially for you.” Madison felt relieved and oddly safe. She had never wanted his adoration, but for some inexplicable reason, it felt good to be able to depend on it.

“Thanks,” she said, and she opened the can. They stood together in silence, and she thought of how beautiful older women could find a way to be happy with repulsive men who adored them. She sometimes considered such a fate for herself, and how it must be so freeing to spend your life with a man who would always know that his wife was far more desirable. But even in these moments, she never expected to have to settle this young. The weirdness of men peaks in the teen years, but by their thirties, it levels out. She’d considered this, and wondered if everybody else just gets weirder or the weird boys just become a little more normal. Yet even in this context, she could not escape how awkward he was, and how his modest amount of fame and fortune had only amplified it. Still, knowing how much he adored her comforted her. “Thanks for getting this for me,” she finally said, “Katie told me you covered all of this.”

“It was my pleasure. And if you’d like, I can get some more for the dance. I’d often thought of alcohol as something only consumed by Philistines, but the warmth in me has opened my eyes to its wonders,” he said, opening another can for himself. “And if I may say so, despite my misguided slight on your appearance, you look ravishing.” Madison smiled, thinking that things could be much worse. Aiden had become the hero of the night, and the only thing he cared about was her. She began to imagine ways that she could mold him into something more suitable for the social landscape of highschool. He would never be hot, but maybe if she could help him be a little more normal, homecoming wouldn’t be a disaster. 

The two stood in silence, sipping their watermelon seltzers until they were interrupted by the muffled thump of the stereo speakers from the basement. The crowd around the keg filtered into the house, and soon those around the fire followed suit. Not wanting to be alone with Aiden, Madison suggested they join the party. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s go in.”

The invitation made Aiden’s heart leap, but before he had time to craft an eloquent acceptance to her invitation, she ran toward the house, and he followed. They walked into the basement, and the crowd again whooped for Aiden, still not having forgotten his generosity. Madison, impressed by his clout, led him into the center of the impromptu dance floor. “Lose the coat,” she said, and she slid it off his shoulders, revealing a black tank top, which may have been worse. Bottles passed through the small group of dancers indiscriminately and both Aiden and Madison soon forgot why they would ever be uncomfortable with where they found themselves. Aiden, never having danced, tried to remember the foot patterns from the advanced levels in Dance Dance Revolution, while Madison imitated the dancing styles that she’d only seen on YouTube, putting her hands to her head, lifting her hair in bunch, then letting it drop as she swayed her hips to the music. As she became more entranced by the music, more empowered by the Fireball, her moves turned provocative, though still in jest. She turned her back to Aiden, moving her hips against him, then dropping to the floor. Those not locked into their own similar routine began to cheer for them. The cheers gave Madison the confidence and affirmation she needed, while Aiden became aroused. He was grateful that the tightness of his leather pants prevented his erection from making the upward turn, but it became painful. Regardless, he would not remove himself. This was all he’d ever hoped for all those nights toggling through the photos in Vaycay 2019!!!, to have her body press up against his. 

The small crowd began to devour the spectacle with their phones, each of them capturing the most unlikely couple grinding on the dancefloor. Aiden, knees bent, feet shoulder-width apart, bounced up and down as though he were a robot being programmed to dance, while Madison put on a display that conflicted with the never-gonna-give-it-up persona she’d cultivated in four years at Rockford North. Knowing they were witnessing something so hilariously perverse, several of the surrounding gawkers began to up the ante, shouting, “Get it boy!” and “Goddamn, girl! Work that ass!” Aiden and Madison were too intoxicated to understand their own exploitation, and were fueled earnestly by the cheers. 

Somebody suggested bodyshots, and Katie,too drunk herself to save her friend, procured a collection of souvenir glasses her parents had collected on vacation. Glasses were passed around, and Madison got one that read, “Gettin’ Loco in Coco Beach.” In this moment, there was no reason for Madison to think twice about what she was about to do; the girls, as if rehearsed, all filled their glasses and then nestled them between their breasts. Those participating were paired off, some couples, others just couples for the night. The alcohol had made Aiden tolerable and she enjoyed feeling so wanted. He was the hero of the party and king of the night and everything that once made her shudder at his mere presence lost its effect. And most of all, there was no better way to stick it to Nate than to make him watch every Snapchat story of what she was about to do.

So she took the glass of Fireball in her hand, pulled her shirt down, and nestled it between her breasts. She looked at Aiden, who seemed to have difficulty processing the moment, and with her hand on the back of his head, she forced his face into her cleavage. He took the glass into his mouth, as if by instinct. He kept his head in her chest just a beat too long, but the cheers brought Madison out of her potential moment of  realization. She put her fist to the air, tilted her head back and her mouth appeared to say, “Yeah!” though she made no sound. Aiden finally released, finished the shot, and stood there, dazed. 

They’d bypassed many steps of courtship, and in doing so, Aiden himself felt empowered in a way he never had. Ignorant to the subtext of all of it, he leaned in and kissed her. She kissed back for a second or two before pulling away. Somehow, this--not having his face in her tits--brought her to her senses, and she ran to the bathroom, which then snapped Aiden back to his own version of reality. Katie, ever the dutiful friend, followed Madison.

“Oh my god. Oh my fucking god,” Madison said, “what did I just do?”

“Honey, you’re enjoying yourself,” Katie said.

“But Aiden? What was I thinking? How could you let me do that?”

“Do what? It’s a party. Live a little. It’s not like you sucked his dick.”

“I have to transfer schools. Seriously.”

“Madi, you’re overreacting. You think that’s bad, remember when I sucked Charlie Stenstrom’s dick junior year?”

“Ew.”

“Bitch.”

“I’m sorry.” Madison wasn’t really sorry. Katie had always been the type of friend whose questionable decisions made Madison feel better about herself. For every shameful act Madison had committed, Katie had one to top it. Some people make the mistake of aspiring to a more perfect circle of friends, but Madison always understood the importance of having somebody accept your flaws because their own were more pronounced. But no matter how objectively she tried to assess the situation, she could not shake the fact that she’d rather have had Charlie’s dick in her mouth than Aiden’s tongue, and the only thing that would make her feel better would be to drink more. She’d heard about people drinking to the point of blackout, and wondered it it was possible to retroactively drink memories away. “Ok,” she finally said, “let’s get blotto.”