The next gust of wind whipped at my cheeks. Macey chewed at her bottom lip and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re the one who treats me like trash, Monroe.” I stepped close enough so that I could tower over her and smell the sunscreen on her cheeks. Coconut. “Every time I see you, you look at me like you wish an anvil would fall on my head.”
“And ruin your perfect, Botox-sculpted influencer face?” She lifted a hand to her cheek in mock surprise. “I’d never.”
I’d never used Botox. Every part of me was natural.
“Is that what it comes down to?” My voice lost the playfulness from earlier. The girl in front of me was suddenly a lot more serious than the one who showed up to a 5k dressed like a whale. “You think you’re better than me because you’re some corporate writer and I’m an influencer.”
There was a gasp from somewhere in the crowd. I hadn’t noticed until now, but a circle had formed around us. People finding entertainment in our argument. This scene would send my manager into a panic, but it was too late to simmer down now.
To people not in the industry, writers and influencers were very similar. We both got invited to the same events. We both got paid to promote brands and people.
The difference never seemed clearer to me. Writers liked to hide behind the screen and show specific, perfected pieces of themselves. Influencers put it all out there—we weren’t allowed the space to cower.
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she gritted through her teeth.
Macey was the perfect example of someone who showedlimited parts of herself. She was a talented writer and photographer who polished her favorite words and hid behind the ones that didn’t fit.
“Does it make you upset that influencers like me can be successful?” I felt like I was poking a bear in a cage now, waiting for it to snap its jaws at me. “You ever think about why you’re not successful, Monroe? It’s because you don’t put any personality into your writing.”
Locals and travelers encroached on us, eager to hear more. Let them listen. At this point, I didn’t care.
She poked me in my chest, then pushed. Actually pushed. I glued my feet to the ground so I didn’t stumble. “Oh, and should I be like you, then? Constantly sharing shirtless selfies and basking in the likes?”
“I know you’velikedsome of those photos.” Yeah, I didn’t miss the like she just gave to my photo from last year. The pretty pink flush crawled from her neck to her cheeks. “Maybe you should work on being more genuine in the words you write and say.”
Macey scoffed. “Excuse me if I don’t want to take advice on being genuine from someone who makes a living off posting photos with their five-hundred-dollar designer jacket and jeans with rips in places physics doesn’t support.”
“At least I have a brand,” I said. “I’ve learned more about you in one picture than I have through reading a year of your articles. Anyone can see you’re beautiful, but no one would know you have wit and humor. Put it out there!”
What was I saying? Was I giving her advice? Insulting her? I wasn’t sure anymore.
Macey didn’t let my words faze her, jumping immediately into a rant. “It must be so easy to be you. An all-expense paid trip in LA? Guess I can do the bare minimum at the festival butnot bother to show up to the final event. My pretty face and hot body will make up for it!”
My hands clenched into fists as frustration pounded at my head. But she wasn’t done yet.
“Some of us actually have to work hard. We research, we write, we edit, and we take our own photos. Some of us haven’t had easy lives and aren’t used to getting whatever we want with a snap of our fingers.”
I laughed, but there was nothing funny about this. Her baseless assumptions were a joke. If she had an inkling of what I’d been through, she’d never kid about it again.
We were chest to chest now. I could easily lift a finger and trace the lumps in the braid she wore. “You think I’ve had an easy life? You don’t know the first thing about me. And I guarantee I’ve worked harder than you.”
“Yes.” She nodded frantically, like she was eager to show she agreed. “Those one million followers didn’t come without a lot of pushups and green juice.”
“Well.” I pinched her cheek and she slapped my hand away. “Those one million followers are better than ten readers.”
When she stepped back, she almost slipped on an uneven rock. “I have more than—Oh, you are such an asshole.”
“And you’re a judgmental princess.”
“Ken doll.”
“Corporate spawn.”
I didn’t even realize we had moved to the front of the taxi line. Macey pushed her way in front of me and flagged down the yellow taxi by the curb. We sent each other one last glare before she shoved her suitcase in the trunk. Whatever. She could have the taxi if it meant I didn’t have to see her again. I was committed to putting Macey’s face out of my head.
Which lasted about a day, until I saw our faces screaming at each other in a TikTok video with over two million likes.
