“If you’re willing to evolve, cut your losses when it comes to print, keep things fresh, it’s a launchpad for whatever you want it to be.”
“Is that why you came here?” I ask. “The launchpad?”
“That’s part of it.” Alex nods. “But also, I just… burned out eventually, I guess. I needed to come home.” He drops his eyes to the table and picks up his slice of pizza. “Sorry, Saanvi, that was probably too personal.”
“We can cut it if you want,” she says. “But to be honest, our subscribers tend to find the personal lives of on-camera talent just as entertaining.”
Alex nods while I do a mental checklist of every personal detail I’ve absorbed about all my favorite entertainers. I hope Amy from @unironicliterarybitch got an A on her senior thesis. And that @gypseaswholesomelife figures out if she’s gluten intolerant.
Speaking of personal lives—
“What did you study?” I ask Alex. “That’s a good question, right, Saanvi? What majors got us here?”
“Sure,” she says.
“I double majored in entrepreneurship and digital media,” Alex says.
Which means: All along, even back in college, he wanted this. The whole time, he was figuring out how to be good at it.
Something cracks open inside me, and air rushes in. Iamstarting to know him, and it feels like…relief.Like an inevitability I wasn’t ever going to be able to stop from happening.
“Let me guess.” Alex laces his fingers together, pinning me with a knowing look. “Finance?”
“What gave me away.”
“The necklace you’re wearing is engraved with ‘It’s Accrual World.’”
My hand flutters to my neck, and I fiddle with the gag gift Miriam gave me for my last birthday. Alex’s gaze drops to my neck, too. He frowns and looks away, twirling his Topo Chico bottle.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask, nodding at his pizza. He’s eaten only three-quarters of one slice compared to my two and a half.
He shrugs. “Adderall screws with my appetite.” Glancing at the crew, he adds, “Can I say that on camera, Saanvi?”
“That’s PG compared to what’s ingested on Wall Street,” she mutters, more focused on Eric’s video frame than the Real Us. “Especially if it’s prescribed.”
“It’s prescribed.”
“Guys, don’t say anything useful right now, something’s wrong with Eric’s camera.”
“ADHD?” I ask Alex, ignoring Saanvi.
“Yes.” He shakes his head, smirking. “Don’t say it.”
“Don’t say what?”
“That finding that out makes perfect sense for me.”
I bite my bottom lip. “You were right.”
“Yeah?” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest. “Regarding?”
“I didn’t know anything about you.”
Alex’s smile drops. After a beat, he says, “You’re starting to.” His eyes catch and hold on to mine, and it feels like he’s withholding my oxygen. “Here. I’ll give you one more thing. I’m an Enneagram seven.”
“Okay.” I tilt my head, appreciative but confused. “Sorry, I don’t know my number.”
“Should we do Enneagram tests during our next seminar?” His eyes brighten. “And then, as a follow-up, we could get a comedy contributor to write a spread on how to work with each Enneagram type—but make it snappier and funnier than what’s on the internet now.”
