Page 60 of Baby Girl
Does that say thirty-eight?
Holy shitballs.
The content of the feed changes and comments start showing up.
HappyD51:Please don’t go, tell us about your day.
ConstructionDaddy:You’re okay, baby, take a deep breath.
Xoxo66:There is nothing to apologize for. Just getting to have your pretty face on my screen has brightened up my day. X
It takes effort, but I manage to keep my face neutral as even more comments come in, the view count rising. My palms feel way too sweaty to be holding my phone, so I reach for two of my teddies and try to arrange them in a way that they hold it up.
My first try ends up with the phone flopping forward, face-first into my duvet. “Shit.”
I quickly pick it back up and readjust things, getting it right this time.
“Sorry about that,” I start as I stare at myself on the screen. And then, before I can control my brain to mouth filter… “Fuck, this is weird, talking to myself like this. Oh, shit, wait, I probably shouldn’t have cursed. Sorry.”
Am I blushing? I touch my cheeks with my fingertips and yep, definitely warm. Dammit.
I glance back at the chat, and it’s lit up with concern about my wrist. Frowning, I look at the little black dot where my camera belongs. “You want to know about my brace?” I hold it up and receive a lot of replies that amount to a yes.
“Ah, okay, last week when I was walking back to my dorm, I was rushing, missed the step, and landed on my hand. No broken bones, just a ligament that isn’t happy with me.”
There is a flurry of comments, but I’m totally distracted as a new thing catches my eye. Gifts. I’m being sent gifts. Virtual bouquets, kisses, little boxes that look like presents, hearts.
Is that…is that money? Holy shit, itismoney.
Why? Because I hurt my arm?
“Ah, please, no, don’t send me gifts. This live was an accident. My wrist is fine. You know what? I’m going to end it here. Thank you!”
I notice a cross in the top right-hand corner, but just before I end the live, I glance at the comments and see one that catches my eye.
EyesOnYou:Does that mean you’re a college student? If you live in the dorms?
“Yeah, I am,” I reply, tucking some hair behind my ear. “A college student.”
EyesOnYou:Let them gift you. College students are notoriously low on cash. Sit here and study, I’m sure they would all love to fund your education for you.
That seems wrong, especially because I’m not low on cash. I’m exceptionally deep in the pocket for a college student. The otherviewers start commenting similar things, but I wait for the next message from EyesOnYou; something about the way they are talking is making me want to pay attention to them.
It’s almost like they are giving me an order I need to follow, even though it’s definitely just a suggestion. And as I have recently discovered, I don’t exactly mind being given orders.
EyesOnYou:I’d love to sit here watching you while I reply to a few emails.
I sneak a look at my laptop on my desk, then eye the camera again. I had been planning to study now, anyway, so why not do it while strangers watch? They can send gifts or not. EyesOnYou said they had a few emails to reply to, so what, like thirty minutes of watching me?
EyesOnYou:Grab your laptop, open it up to whichever assignment is due next, and start working on it. If you get an A on it, I’ll purchase three things from your wish list.
“I don’t have a wish list,” I respond without thinking it through.
EyesOnYou:Make one after this live and send me the link. But for now, grab that laptop and start working.
I blink several times, then do as I’m told. I have to readjust everything so that I can lie on my stomach, with the camera kind of off to the side so the top half of my body is visible, as well as my laptop.
Then I open the assignment for Hudson’s class and take a look at the drafted outline I left for myself, thankful that past-Emery did present-Emery a solid by leaving a few references in place of paragraphs.
