“Please. You don’t owe us anything. I saw your page. It’s very impressive.” He jerks his chin at the boxes. “How’d you even get into all of this?”
“Well.” I set the mug down on the bedside table. “I’ve always been interested in fashion. Since I was a kid, it was all I ever really cared about. I used to be…very adventurous with my clothes.” As a child, I’d put together the wildest outfits. I’d happily wander around in a tutu, jelly shoes, and beret I bedazzled with a glue stick. I wasn’t much better as I got older. It was not odd for me to attend a uni class in a corset I’d boned myself and sparkly cowboy boots. Sure, everyone looked at me like I was a bit odd, but I was a fashion student, so I got away with it. And experimenting with clothes made me so happy.
It used to anyway.
Fraser smiles. “Aw. Tiny Summer wanted to be an influencer?”
“A fashion designer,” I correct. “I always wanted to create my own label. I even went to fashion school for a bit, but…” I pause, my stomach sinking at the memory. “It didn’t work out.”
Fraser makes a curious noise. I elect to ignore it.
“Anyway, I didn’t have much money. The only way I could get cute outfits was by buying secondhand stuff at charity shops and altering them. Turn scarves into skirts, bedsheets into tops, that sort of thing. I’m good at sewing.” I fiddle with my bracelets. “A few years ago, I started posting videos about what I made online, and one of them just…blew up.”
It wasn’t even a particularly cute outfit. An old nightdress that I’d turned into a Gucci dupe dress. But for whatever reason, it took off.
I still remember the mixture of excitement and shock overtaking me as I lay on my broken bed and refreshed and refreshed the app, watching the number of views jump by thousands every time. Reading the comments that were flooding in.
Wait this issocute!
You’re so talented!
I love this!!
It seemed impossible that this many peoplelikedme. That they thought I wasgoodat something. It was addictive.
“After that, my videos kept going viral. My followers kept going up. I started getting sponsorship offers from brands. After a while, I stopped altering clothes and starting just modelling for brands, since those posts did way better. And now here I am.” I shrug. “It all happenedreallyfast.”
Fraser’s eyes are soft on my face. “You’re amazing,” he says frankly.
“I got lucky,” I say. “Ridiculously lucky.”
Fraser picks up another biscuit. “Oh aye. Very lucky,” he mutters. “You’re only getting bullied by half the internet.” He feeds me the shortbread. “So what happens now? You hide up here until all this rubbish blows over?”
“Yep,” I say. “I’ll keep posting, and hopefully, things will just…go back to normal.”
“You should take a break for a bit. Make a wee holiday of it.”
My eyes widen. “Oh no. I need to keep up momentum, or the algorithms will stop showing people my content.” His face scrunches, and I suddenly feel defensive. “I know it might seem silly that I care so much about my Picturegram, but I’m not just posting pictures of myself for fun—it’s literally my job. My business. I built it from nothing. It’s the most important thing in my life. I’ve put thousands of hours into it; I’ve worked weekends and holidays and nights on it. I know it’s not a big multi-generational operation like Alec owning the farm, but it’s still the biggest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Aye, right,” he says reluctantly. “I get that, I guess.”
“Besides.” I pluck at the quilt. “I can’t take a break. I’m almost at five million followers.”
He arches an eyebrow. “And what happens at five million? Letter from the king?”
I kick him. “I get better brand deals. I have one lined up with Icons Only. Have you heard of it?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“They’re a fashion brand that does collaboration lines with influencers. If I get this deal, I’ll be able to design my own dresses. People will be wearing clothesI’vedesigned.” Excitement squirms in my stomach. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Fraser is unenthused. “Can’t you do that without them though? Sounds like they just want the credit for your work.”
“It’s so hard to start your own clothing business,” I argue. “I couldn’t do it alone. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “I just worry about you, is all.”
I’m taken aback. “You’re worried?” No one ever worries about me. My life is a dream. I take pictures of myself in nice clothes for a living, for God’s sake.
