Perfect Teeth

We signed the non-disclosure agreement in a smoothie shop. Casual, quick, and while my nerves hadn’t been for naught, it wasn’t nearly the anxiety-inducing tizzy that I’d been chalking it up to be.

They wanted us to meet at Modest on the Saturday that the pictures released and I told Harry that I would meet him there. He was adamant about wanting to pick me up, texting frantically and calling even though I pressed the ‘reject’ button multiple times. It was stupid for him to come all the way across town to the Daily Mix Studios pick me up just to drive back to where he was, when I could just take a car and meet him there in 20. And I needed the extra twenty minutes in the back of the car to pull myself together.

Now, sitting in the leather office chair next to him, at the long, expensive wooden table, I wished that I’d just decided to skip the car ride to central London altogether.

My hands were shaking, jittery and unsteady in my lap, so I tucked them underneath my thighs. My fingers wanted to grab onto Harry, only a few inches away from me, but it felt inappropriate to touch him in a room full of his employers and business associates. Even if he kept looking over at me every three seconds, eyes wide and searching, and then kept trying to scoot his chair closer and closer. As if being closer would project more of a unified front, even though this all felt very clearly me vs. them.

“Well,” One of the men from his legal team, wearing a button-down shirt, face kind but stern, started. “Had a bit of excitement, have we?”

A few people laughed awkwardly, if not politely.

I shifted in my seat and kept my mouth shut.

“What are we going to do?” Harry asked, voice hoarse and scratchy. I watched as his fingers twitched in his lap, twisting his phone underneath the table.

“That depends.” Kate from PR, looking as polished and pristine as she had the last time we met, said. “On what the two of you want to do, really. Obviously, we have our preferences, but it’s up to you.”

Harry looked over at me, searching, before clearing his throat. “Do we have options?”

Kate nodded and began to list. “We can deny it. We can play it off as just a friendly kiss. They probably won’t believe that, but we can say it. You’ll have to lay low for a bit, not be seen in public together for a while, but if you don’t want to go public with it, that’s an option. It’s a bit deceptive, but an option.”

I knew exactly where the entire meeting was headed by the way she said “deceptive”, like it was some taboo word that the entire company just couldn’t fathom. As if they’d never done a deceptive thing concerning the public image of One Direction at all, never swept anything under the rug. But that had been to cause less controversy, and now it would cause more.

“Or?” I prompted, voice scratchy from my labored breathing. Harry’s eyes cut to me again. I stared straight at Kate, gaze unwavering.

She held my gaze. “Or we go public. We make a statement, maybe a few tweets about it, deal with some necessary legalities, and that’s it. You can hold hands in public, talk about your relationship, and things go smoothly from there.”

She was trying to sell it to us, from the way her voice picked up, turning breezy and hopeful, to the smile that begun to spread across her face.

I knew it was the option they wanted when they called the meeting in the first place, but seeing the comforting nods and smiles on the faces of the other three team members in the room was just another sinking confirmation. They wanted to go public. And I wanted to hide, because everything was just going to get worse if we did that, and there was no way to get out of it without bruises and scratches.

Harry’s eyes were still trained on my face. I looked at him briefly, lips pursed in thought, before my gaze flickered back to Kate. “What are the necessary legalities?”

A different member of the legal team spoke up, already pulling out different sheets of paperwork. “Just standard things. Another NDA. A few PR briefings. Some social media management. Nothing too scary.”

And I knew that while maybe the circumstances hadn’t been anticipated, they’d were vying for us to go public for a while now. Legal paperwork wasn’t drawn up in an hour after pictures were leaked. This was premeditated.

The realization was sinking enough to make me feel dizzy. I looked at Harry again, searching for something in his face, some sense of guilt or dishonesty. He looked back at me earnestly, eyes anxious but hopeful.

“Okay.” I breathed out. “What does ‘social media management’ mean?”

“It’s just a safety precaution.” Kate said. “We’ll talk about a few different social media tactics, and then you’ll give us your usernames and passwords for your social media, just in case there’s ever a conflict or an incident in which we need to intervene. It’ll take five minutes.”

“So I would have to give you access to all of my social media accounts? Even if they’re not related with One Direction?”

“Publicly dating Harry means that everything you do will be related to One Direction. It would be different if you had private accounts or your own PR team, but because they’re so wildly public, we need to take the precaution. Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook, YouTube - just the basics. There’s a chance we’ll never even log on, but we need to have the information just in case.”

Publicly dating Harry means that everything you do will be related to One Direction.
Publicly dating Harry means that everything you do will be related to One Direction.

I’d heard variations of the same phrase different times, but never so bluntly, and it never hit me so hard. Sitting back in the chair, I floundered for what else to say, eventually stuttering out, “YouTube?”

I ignored Harry’s look of concern as Kate nodded. “Unless you have your own management team that handles things for you. Do you?”

“No, I do everything myself.” I’d been approached by different management companies and agents in the past, but it all felt too mechanical and big business. I was Ezra Callil, girl with a YouTube channel, not some corporate entity that employed others to reply to comments or organize flights and business trips for me. The work was occasionally overwhelming, but it was mine.

I had never given that power over to anyone, let alone a management team that wasn’t even actively representing me or looking out for my own best interests. My immediate reaction was no.

No. I didn’t want to give that up. Contracts, some stupid PR workshops, another NDA - okay. I would give that to Harry easily. But this was my job.

I opened my mouth and then shut it, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Because everything inside of me said no, but the way Harry was looking at me made me stop, backtrack, pause so I could reassess. What did saying no mean?

“I--”

“Can we have a few minutes?” Harry interjected, looking over at his legal team. “It’s a lot to think about and make a decision on right now. Can we have some time?”

Kate tapped her pen on the table and rose succinctly, smiling down at us. “Of course. We’ll leave you two alone to talk.”

They filed out of the room quickly, Harry rising from his chair to walk them out. He shut the door behind them and a shuddering breath ripped out of me before anything else, the anxiety no longer slowly crawling up my spine but hitting me full force. I stood up, feeling too full up of everything to sit.

He turned to me, eyes wide and nervous. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip before he opened his mouth.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I cut him off, words hanging in the air before he could say anything else.

Harry’s eyes widened a little more, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “What?”

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the pulsing and pounding of my heart as the thoughts ran rampant. Following one train of thought was nearly impossible, but they were all heading in the same direction. The anxiety manifested in the knot at the base of my spine, the tension strung between my shoulders, the shaking of my hands as my fingers moved antsily.

"I don't think - I can't do that.” My head shook frantically, the realization of everything that’d been said in the board room now sinking in. It was all a jumble in my head - contracts and passwords and public relations, and now it was starting to straighten out, and the thoughts hurt. “I can't."

"It won't be that bad," Harry tried to console, his tone an attempt at breezy, but it did a shit job veiling his nerves. His voice, usually deep and hoarse and soothing, sounded strained and gritty. "Only for the first few weeks, but this is how we fix it. This is how I can fix it."

He made it sound so simple. Like we were just gonna pull out some duct tape, maybe a tube of superglue, and if we applied enough pressure, held it together just long enough, the adhesive would stay. But I was going to crack. “It’s my job, Harry," I said, and it was both an excuse and a plea. “Some of it doesn’t sound awful - but the passwords? Access to that? This is my job.”

Harry blew a breath of air through his pursed lips, before taking a step towards me, hand reaching for my hip, settling in the same curve that it always did. “It’s just a safety thing,” he continued trying to convince and console. “They probably won’t even use them. It’s just a precaution--”

He sounded so blasé about it all, as if his management team just occasionally logging on to change a tweet or a post wasn’t a big deal. Just a safety precaution - but what classified as problematic material for them? Was I going to be consulted first? Was it just going to be the beginning of a series of events that I would blindly follow along, having no control?

The look Harry was giving to me was beginning to irritate - the lowered brows, the soft eyes, like I was an unpleasant and fussy toddler who he was trying to cajole into submission. I didn’t want to be convinced. I knew my reaction the second it was brought up - I was wholeheartedly adverse, I didn’t want this, I couldn’t do this.

I stepped out of Harry’s reach, his fingers trying to grasp onto my hip, but I jolted to the left and started to protest. “That's not what I want. I don't want to be like - like their puppet or something. If it was just me, maybe, but this is my job. I can’t give them that.”

Harry took another step towards me, but stopped when I took an equal step back. I needed distance between us to think straight, to not be persuaded by the sad gleam of his eyes or the pouting comfort of his mouth, which twisted and turned as I spoke. He let out an aggravated sigh, the frustration settling in across his face as he ran a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “This is what we have to do.” He repeated, and there was an edge. “To make things better.”

“No, it isn’t,” I protested, words just as sharp. “We could--”

“We could what, Ezra?” Harry interrupted, and I’d only heard him sound so forceful once, and that was on the phone with management, when that first video leaked, and he was determined to do everything in his power to have it taken down. “This is - this is how I can fix it. We just need to be honest. Straight with them. Things will blow over.”

I couldn’t control my snort of disbelief. “And then what? I give everything I've worked for over to Modest Management? Let them control me? I can't - I don't want that.”

Harry winced, but then the frustration was just as apparent and crawling back up his face. “What else do you want me to do?” He implored, in the same steely voice. “This is what I can do. These are our options.”

“I’m not their puppet.” I repeated again, because I was starting to feel like a marionette who was conscious of what was going on, but completely out of control. Like someone was pulling my strings, guiding everything for me, but I had no say. I wanted my independence back. “I don’t - I don’t want to be controlled by them. We start with passwords and then what? When does it stop?”

YouTube was my thing - it’d been my defining characteristic since I was sixteen, the only thing in my entire life that I’d ever built and cultivated from scratch. I wasn’t willing to hand that power over to someone else, not to a company. Not even for Harry, the beautiful, funny boy who I’d spent the last few months completely enamored with. But how much more could I give him?

By the look on Harry’s face, the resolved set of his jaw and the clench of his teeth, it was exactly the wrong thing to say, because he wasn’t understanding my point. “I’m not their puppet either.” He finally managed out.

“I’m not saying that –” I paused, took in a much needed breath of air, scrambled for what to say. “I didn’t mean that you were -it’s just that I - I can’t make this decision. Not right now.”

“Then when?” He asked, and Harry was the kind of slow, lilted talker that I thought could never really hold the type of acerbic venom that was there. “We can’t just do this when it’s convenient for you--”

“Convenient?” I practically cried out, because the world convenient, the idea that this was all one easy ride from the beginning, made me snap. “Oh my God, what parts of this have been convenient? People following me around? The entire Internet attacking me? What? God, I’ve dealt with all of that fucking fine but – not my job. I don’t want this to affect my job.”

“This is my job too and I’m trying to do what’s best.” He snapped back, before continuing on dryly, shaking his head as his voice grew louder.“You only want it to affect your job when you’re up a million viewers, right? When there are more people watching your videos than ever before? When it works out for you?”

He could’ve said anything else. He could’ve called me insensitive, selfish, irrational. He could’ve called out my hypocrisy, urged me to compromise. He could’ve yelled, screamed, walked away and left me reeling. He could’ve done anything – anything else but accuse me of using him, of being the type of person that would blatantly invest in a person just to better my career – and I would’ve forgiven him instantly. Tried to insist that we both take some time, walk away, talk this out, figure out how to make this work. I would’ve folded in minutes, because with Harry, I always seemed to fold in minutes.

He couldn’t said anything else, but he didn’t.

He said what he did and I felt like I was choking, like all of the air had dropped right out of me and there was a blockage to my lungs. Or maybe like I was drowning, filling with something that was going to kill me slowly. I made a sound, something between a stuttered breath and a gasp and stepped away from him, my hand going to press softly against my abdomen. I could feel my chest contracting, knew logically that I was breathing, but I felt suddenly like I was going to pass out.

I shook my head at him and I could feel the moisture already, the overwhelmed tears started to fill behind my eyes, and the prickling matched the one in my head and my chest. Because sometimes people say things and they mess you up so bad that you feel like your entire body’s actually been hurt, that you’ve been ran over by a tank or put in a wind tunnel and then brutally spat out again. And it hurts more than anything else you’ve ever experienced, because you gave them the power to do that to you. I gave Harry the power to do this to me. And I wanted it back.

“Is that what you-- fuck." That word was a battle wound, an explosion, a grating of harsh sounds and teeth and thoughts. "That's what you think." I shook my head, voice low, and I willed it to even out, but the words were cracking and I was crying and trying desperately not to.

I couldn’t even keep my eyes trained on his face, looking at the wall to my left. And it felt like that Saturday morning again, listening in on the conversation in the kitchen, realizing that people were making assumptions and filling in blanks that I hadn’t realized were an option. And it was one thing for Nick, or Alexa or Pixie or Hadley, or even the rest of the world, to assume, but Harry? Harry who slept next to me at night, who sometimes woke up in the middle of the night to pull me closer, who bought groceries for my flat and knew what I wanted when we ordered in Indian food. Harry, who laughed at my jokes and made stupid ones of his own, just to make me giggle, but who was also one of the cleverest people I’d ever met. Harry, who I was in love with.

Harry, who apparently didn’t value me at all like I valued him.

"Nick said he wouldn't - but I should've figured it was going to boil down to this.” I wanted to sound strong, defiant and sarcastic and like none of this was bothering me at all, but I didn’t. My voice was small and weak and it hurt. “I am so stupid. So fucking stupid. I'm spending all of my time trying to make this work - thinking, ‘it's all gonna be fine eventually’. That all of the shit is worth it, right, because you. You. And us. And I'm sitting here, half the time trying to figure out how to tell you that I've been in love with you for probably months, and you can't even figure out if I'm using you or not."

Harry’s face dropped and I only felt a second of satisfaction from that, because then everything I’d just said actually registered and I was trying to hold it together, to keep myself afloat, trying so hard, but it hurt, it hurt, it hurt, to watch him stare at me like I was some strange, foreign girl he couldn’t figure out.

And to know that I was never gonna feel the way I felt with him again, because there was no way to undo the past five minutes. Life wasn’t full of rewind buttons to take me back.

“Nick?” He asked, confused. And then, “You’re in - in love with me?”

He said the words with the type of hopefulness that I’d always wanted out of a boy.

Except not then.

Harry’s shoulders dropped, tense jaw unclenching as he blinked at me. The release was like a hiss. “You’re in love with me?” He repeated, voice breathy and hopeful and desperate, everything he’d been for the entire day.

And I couldn’t be here anymore. Not when he was staring at me like that, eyes wide and regretful and remorseful.

Get out. Just get out. Hold it together and just get out.

“I mean,” I struggled the words out over a cough, glancing at the door behind his head. “I thought I was. But maybe I’m just fucking crazy, because you apparently think that I--”

“Ezra, no,” Harry looked frantic now, shaking his head as he stepped in front of me. “I don’t - fuck, I don’t. I’m just - I’m trying. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it alright again, but this is the option we have. I want this. I want this so fucking bad - because I’m--”

“No.” I cut him off, and I was done. He wasn’t allowed to say something like that and then try and tell me that he - not in the same space of breath, not in the same few minutes.

I didn’t want to be there anymore. I was going to lose it, I was going to lose it so fast, and I didn’t want to do that in front of Harry. I’d given enough of myself to him. He didn’t deserve anymore. Not when he thought - that I could ever - even heading towards that trail of thought had another hiccup of a sob building in the back of my throat. I tried to step around him, but he stepped in front of me, hands stretched out like he was going to touch me.

“Stop - Ez. Don’t. What does Nick have to do with anything? What do you mean? Don’t run. Stay here and talk to me--”

“Fuck off, Harry.” I cracked, and the word cracked, right in the middle of his name, and I knew Harry heard it, because he stepped towards me again, a sound of discontent escaping from his mouth, and his hands went for my shoulders and I flinched so hard he recoiled, the hurt flashing across his face. “What more do you want from me? Because if I give you much more I’m not going to have anything left. I get it, okay? I’m just some stupid girl who is apparently vindictive enough to use you for some shoddy attempt at fame. And I fell and you didn’t and I get it, so just let me leave and fall apart in peace!”

I took another step towards the door. It was one door, and then a hallway, and then an elevator, and 17 flights, and then a lobby, and another door, and then I could find a taxi or a corner or a bathroom or something, and cry. I just had to make it that far, and then I could cry, because I could feel it all stacking up inside of me, the hurt, and the sadness, and the unthinkable thought that this was it.

This was all I was going to get. We would end this thing exactly how it began - unexpectedly, in the heat of a moment, in a rush of hasty and probably bad decisions.

“No. No, that’s not true - where are you going?” Harry scrambled. “Don’t – you can’t go out that way, they’ll see you—“

“Why does it matter?” My voice was so tight it didn’t even sound like my own. “I mean, fuck, by now isn’t it obvious that I’m just loving the attention anyway?”

I watched him wince. “Ezra, no --” And then he reached forward, both hands searching for my waist, maybe to pull me to him in some act of reassurance or comfort, but it was too much. It was all too much.

“God, stop!” I cried, ripping away from him. “Milkshake, okay? Just fucking - milkshake! Let me leave!”

Maybe it was shock, maybe it was hurt, maybe it was resigned defeat on his face - maybe it was nothing at all, because this had apparently all been a sham - but I didn’t bother looking back at Harry’s face as he stepped to the side and let me get through the door.

I passed an entire hoard of Modest Management employees, a slew of professionally dressed people in suits standing in front of the elevator, before I decided to take the stairs. And I made it down all 17 flights of them, and through the lobby, and into the bitter cold and snow that was London in January, before my phone was buzzing in my hands.

I looked down at it briefly, already expecting it to be Harry, ready to turn it off, but the text was from ZZ.

I’m so sorry. I had no idea that they were going to do that. Do you need anything?

I was calling her before I knew what else I was doing.



I didn’t cry - I’d been preparing myself to cry, to completely lose it in the back of a taxi heading home, but the conversation with ZZ - the jumbled, confusing conversation with ZZ that eventually had me just begging her to please come to my flat, please bring all of the beauty resources that she could for tonight, please explain whatever she had to to me then - had been enough of a distraction that I felt the sobs slowly fade away, the tears dulling into an ache behind my eyes. Which was good for the taxi driver’s sake, at least.

I turned off my phone the second I hung up with ZZ, the temptation to check my messages, to load an app, to even stare at the lockscreen, which was (stupidly) a photo of Harry and Winston the pug, were all too much, and then when I made it inside of my flat, I unplugged the WiFi router from the wall.

It was just past two in the afternoon and the magazine release party was supposed to start at seven, but I’d been advised to get there at just past six for a special cake and wine thing with the magazine staff, a more informal gathering before all of the press and media started. And I needed to focus on making it through that, on actually appreciating and enjoying the biggest thing to happen in my career to date, rather than fall apart at the thought of the downfall of my relationship with Harry.

I’d been planning on bringing Harry as my date, to both the informal gathering and the party, but he was no longer an option.

When ZZ knocked, I’d been staring at the wall in front of me, trying to sort through my feelings, but feeling a bit of nothing and a bit of everything all at once. I needed to focus, to get through everything today as it came, and then, when it was over, I could take the three days before school started up again to figure out what the hell was going on with the rest of my life. Or maybe I would take the three days and ignore everything completely.

I opened the door to ZZ’s apologetic face and a stuffed tote bag slung over her shoulder. She kept apologizing over the phone, repeatedly saying something, but I’d ignored most of it in order to plead my case and hope that she would not only help me prepare for tonight, but actually accompany me to the event. The thought of going alone, of being the center of attention at a party where there was no one to actually anchor me there, was terrifying.

“Hi, come in, sorry it’s messy.” There was clothing strung along near the bed, a spare pair of boots sitting by the couch, the bed hadn’t been made, and there were dishes in the sink, but I couldn’t actually bring myself to care all of that much. Looking at it all started the heavy breathing and pounding heart again.

ZZ was dropping her bag on the couch and looking at me with the same, apologetic doe eyes that Harry had.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and her voice was soft and sincere and I wondered if this was going to be another conversation that had my heart feeling like it was ready to drop out of my chest. “I had no idea they would do that. It’s awful.”

“What are you apologizing for?” I asked her, bringing a hand up to rub at my temple, bangs matted to my forehead from the snow that had melted. “What’s going on?”

“Oh my god, you don’t know.” She breathed out, and then her face flashed from concern to hesitation in an instant. “How can you not know?”

“Don’t know what?” I was wary. “Is this - is this going to kill me? Because today’s sucked already. Majorly sucked. Is this about the pictures? Because I know that they’re out.”

ZZ looked completely mystified at my ignorance. “Alfie had a whole big to-do about it and I thought it was because he talked to you.” She murmured. “Do you - do you know who took the pictures?”

“No.” I realized, and it wasn’t even something that I’d fully thought about. The entire day had been a whirlwind. The pictures were out - that had been my worry, not who. I’d been so caught up in the shock and anxiety and fear when I saw them on my phone that I hadn’t even thought about who. Seeing myself together with Harry, stretched up to kiss him, his hands pressed against the small of my back, had been surreal. Knowing that the rest of the world was seeing the same thing I was did my head in. “No, I don’t.”

ZZ swallowed, pastel hair bobbing as she shook her head sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Ezra,” she repeated.

A quick thought had me wondering if the sympathy was rooted in guilt and my eyes widened, “Wait. What. Did you--?”

“No! No. God no. I would never - I’m not--”

“No, I know, I’m sorry. You wouldn’t. But you know who--?”

“It was Damien.” She named one of the primary producers at Tongue and Cheek with a wince. My facial expression followed suit, a wince that fell quickly. Damien was my boss - one of the people who reached out to me about collaborating with Tongue in Cheek back when I was still in the US and finding more of my YouTube footing. He’d been thrilled about all of the comments regarding Harry, ZZ had at least told me that much, but I never assumed that privacy was a problem. Just like I’d never assumed that respect for privacy was a problem, but if today was showing me anything, it was that everything I’d assumed to be true was most likely not. “I only found out this morning, when I came in for a segment and Alfie was throwing an absolute fit.”

“Alfie threw a fit? Over it? Why? And why would I know? I haven’t - I haven’t been in since yesterday.”

“I thought he would’ve told you - I know you’re not close--” I snorted at that, but ZZ kept on. “--but by the way he was talking, I assumed he told you. He kept going on and on about ‘integrity’ and ‘respect’ and he just, he flipped. Stormed out and said he was done and wouldn’t work with them ever again. I guess he heard Damien talking to one of the filming crew about it, about how the channel was spiking already. I’m so sorry, Ezra.”

ZZ placed a hand on my arm, thumb rubbing sincerely as she watched me take it all in.

It was another punch, another thing to knock me down. “My - fuck. Is nowhere sacred? What else is going to happen today?” The words came out in a dry chuckle, because laughing about it was the only thing that was going to keep me from crying about it.

“What else is going on?” She asked, concern blanketing all over her face. “How’re things with Harry?

Hearing his name made me wince. “What isn’t going on?” I wanted to sound ambivalent, stoic even, but it just came out sad.

“Have you talked about the pictures? What are you guys going to do? With his management?”

“I don’t-- Can we not talk about Harry?” I asked weakly, voice shutting down to just above a murmur. “I-I have this magazine release party today. Would you - would you help me get ready? And I was kind of wondering if you’d want to go with me?”

“The release party is tonight?” ZZ’s expression finally started to match the way I felt. Shocked. And so unbelievably unready. “After all of this?”

I nodded, bringing a hand up to rub some of the unease from my eyes, but the tension wasn’t budging. “I know I’m a shitty friend. And I know I’m awful at telling people things and I’ve - I’ve been so wrapped up in all of this that I’ve forgotten maybe what a world outside of it looks like - but will you please help me?”

“You’re kind of a shitty friend,” ZZ agreed, but she was gentle, and she lifted a hand up to pat me delicately on the cheek. “But if there’s anyone who deserves some help right now, it’s you. Now, do you have a dress?”



I didn’t have a dress - not the kind that ZZ would’ve wanted, but she pulled a recent purchase from the closet, a white shift dress with a floral watercolor print, and decided that with ‘suitable’ accessories, it would make do. She shoved me into a pair of tights, made me switch into the tall, chunky black boots she was currently wearing, and then wrangled me into a chair to line my eyes with her scary, inky eyeliner pen. All without bringing up Harry once.

She was really good at small talk.

“So how was the end of term?” She’d ask, and then when I’d answer, she’d bring up an anecdote about how she’d tried uni, hated it miserably, spent all of her time going to parties and drooling over cute boys, and then decided to intern at a hair and makeup company before deciding that was it for her.

I didn’t have to talk, not about anything substantial, but she spoke just enough that I could listen without my thoughts drifting off.

By the time I was showered, dressed, hair and makeup done, it was a quarter to five o’clock. My phone was still off, stowed into the depths of my bag, where I never wanted to see it again, and ZZ was flicking through my closet for something suitable for her to wear to this party. I’d only had to ask once, and then she was wiggling her hips into a pair of cigarette pants, keeping on her long-sleeved crop-top, and deciding to brave a London in pair of heels that exposed the tops of her feet.

I’d never appreciated someone more.

“Thank you,” I told her sincerely, after she’d ordered an Uber on her phone and finished mussing up her hair. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“Ezra.” She levelled me with a knowing look. “This is what friendship is. And I don’t know what kind of shit you’ve been getting, but this is what friends do. They’re there for you.”

“Even when I don’t deserve it?”

“Especially when you don’t deserve it.” She replied. “Because that’s when you most need it. Now let’s go get some free drinks and celebrate you.”



She made walking into the Company party easier, because I had a plus one. And she made mingling easier, because ZZ was the kind of person people wanted to talk to, especially at fashionable places like magazine events. Probably, it was the hair, the attitude she exuded, or the perfectly dazzling smile, but people noticed her first in a room, even with my face on the cover of the magazine. And I was totally okay with that.

I’d transferred my phone from one bag to another, switching it on only long enough to set it into Airplane mode, ignoring the texts that tried to load on the screen. Not then. Not tonight. Not when there were too many people vying for my attention and looking for me to smile and wave and chat.

Because really, the magazine release party wasn’t that bad. After cake and champagne with the staff, in which they all congratulated themselves for getting another issue out, especially after the new year, we moved to an open art space in central London.

ZZ hovered by my side the entire time, smiling graciously, and she distracted me from the fact that fifteen minutes into the actual release party, I was only two glasses of champagne in, and three people had been surprised by my choice of date.

And I knew that they all expected Harry, from the way their eyes searched around the room and then landed back to me, confused. One of them even had the audacity to inquire about my lack of date, but ZZ had saved the day before I could stammer something out.

“I think I’m quite a fabulous date,” she’d said, smile wide but threatening, and she kept the same protective look in her eyes until they all scurried away.

“You look so...smiley.” ZZ observed, but she wasn’t staring at my actual face, but rather the face that was on the cover of the magazine, blown up to proportion and clipped onto one of the primary art gallery walls.

“It was a good day,” I remembered, because the photoshoot back in November had been on an unusually warm day, and things had been good. Solid. I remembered laughing and smiling with the staff, feeling completely overwhelmed and elated on the fact that I was going to be on a magazine cover. I’d had features before, little blurbs about YouTube, but a cover? It was almost unheard of, and it was so exciting.

And now I looked at my face and that smile and I wondered what happened to it.

“Have you read the article? There are copies all around here. I flipped through to look at the pictures. They didn’t do as much with your face as I would’ve, but they’re good.” She nodded towards the stack of magazines all along the walls, zigzagged spines that showed different covered portions of the same face.

“Not yet.” I inhaled. “I’m a little scared, to be honest. But I figure I’ll take one home with me and read it then.”

“Good plan, good plan.” She approved. “I’ve already rolled one up and tucked it in my bag. Expect to sign it later.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“You’re famous now.” She teased. “And I dunno, in case I ever need some extra cash, I can sell it on eBay or something.”

“I’ll give you one of Harry’s shirts. You’ll make at least a grand.” The joke slipped out before I actually thought much about it, his name coming out naturally, and then I winced, and ZZ winced, and then we were both sharing a moment of awkward silence, before we moved on.

And we kept up through the entirety of the party like that, surface level mingling with everyone, sipping on glasses of champagne and listening to people congratulate me on my success and the cover.

We were half way through the entire thing and I was just started to relax, some of the unease slipping away as I laughed at something ZZ said, when another person slipped in to congratulate me on the cover and the story.

“It’s such a great story,” the woman said, her dark berry lipstick catching under the reflection of one of the lights. “But no Harry tonight?”

I took a deep breath in. “He’s busy tonight.” I said, and I wasn’t even sure if it was a lie. Maybe he was busy tonight. Maybe he rebounded easily. Maybe he was out with Nick or Pixie of fucking Hadley, for all I knew, not giving a care in the world while I felt myself crumble a little more every time someone said his name.

“That’s a shame.” The woman smiled, and I almost thought it was friendly, but then she said, “Especially considering how much influence he has on your career and his feature in the article. I’m sure I’ll see you all around at another event. Congratulations, once again.” And then she sauntered off and I was left reeling.

“What?” I asked dumbly, turning towards ZZ for answers. “What did she she say?”

“Um.” ZZ stalled, blanking for something to fill the silence with, and I was turning away from her and snatching one of the magazines off the tables quickly, flipping through it until I found the article.

ZZ’s read the article over my shoulder. I could feel her eyes against the side of my face when she was done, gaze anxious and anticipatory, and when I finished scanning the article, she actually flinched.

She opened her mouth, but I shook my head.

I kept rereading the same paragraph, the statistics running through my head, and I tried to remember the numbers, off the top of my head, but it’d been three days since I’d last logged onto YouTube at all, and I hadn’t been progressively trolling my statistics.

I’d never been watching them rise, conscious of every single subscriber in the past four months of my involvement with Harry, but did that even matter?

The embarrassed flush was rising on my cheeks quickly. “Oh my god,” I breathed out, word cracked and jagged.

Because everyone on the staff – everyone in the room, maybe – had read this article. Had OK’ed this article. Had read the quotes along with the stats, had read the things that I’d said along with the things that I actually hadn’t, and made the same assumptions that I was currently making.

Because even if it wasn’t intentional, I was using him.

And fuck if that wasn’t the most devastating thing I’d ever heard.

Ezra Callil, The Internet’s Next Golden Girl?

One quick Google search of Ezra Callil brings forth a lot of results - a humorous Twitter account, a budding Wikipedia profile, an ever-growing YouTube channel, and a variety of news articles all centered around who she may or may not be dating. A quick scroll through her recent tweets has you chuckling instantly, and it’s no surprise that she’s quickly becoming one of the most viewed female channels in YouTube history, because if there’s one thing Ezra Callil is, it’s funny. And charismatic. With her signature messy fringe, small stature, and unique gap-toothed smile, she’s the kind of girl that makes you want to pay attention to her.

When we meet on a particularly nice day in November, she is wearing - what seems to be, from every picture one can find online - her uniform of extremely tight skinnies, scuffed black Chelsea boots, and a striped black and white top. She is almost glowing when we duck inside of a nearby cafe to chat over beverages (a green tea for me, a chai for her), checking her phone only once, laughing into it as we sit down.

Born in Connecticut, the only child of two upper-middle class parents, Callil started making YouTube videos out of a desire to get over how much she hated her teeth. “I was self conscious, and sick of it, so I decided that, naturally, the only way to get over that was to record myself talking and post it on the Internet.” She speaks in the same dry, sarcastic tone one might be familiar with from her videos, but there’s still something genuine in her voice. “Obviously, something worked. I mean, I smile now.” To make her point, she flashes me a bright, shiny smile, all teeth and cheeks and confidence. One video turned into many, and now Ezra’s made a full-time career out of YouTube. Among other things, of course.

“I’m a student too - I’m taking classes at UCL, and then I’m a content contributor to two independent media companies, as well as my own channel.” There isn’t a sense of bragging to her tone. She is frank. Ezra Callil does a lot. But how? “It’s time management. When you’re busy, you kind of have to make time for things. You learn that you don’t waste a spare fifteen minutes.”

School, a full time YouTube channel, two primary social media sites (her Twitter updates an average of 5-10 times a day, her Tumblr a little less frequently, but still active), two contributing channels, and on top of that, a social life? Does she have a Time Turner? Some magical powers we can get our hands on? “I really like this app,” she offers, when I ask her to tell me her secrets. She pulls out her phone - a sleek, gold iPhone 5s, for anyone really that curious - and slides it open, double tapping to open an app. “It’s called ‘Clear’, and you can make lists and prioritize them, and it’s color coded. I use that a lot.” As she’s showing me this, a message pops up across her screen - the contact screen says BEETHOVEN, accompanied by a series of emojis - and while she glances at it, she doesn’t open the message, only smiles.

When I comment on her budding London social life, she laughs. “Not really,” she shrugs, almost self consciously. “It’s hard, because of everything, but I try and make time for friends. It’s easier when they’re busy too, because then they get it.”

It doesn’t take a many leaps to guess who she might be talking about. When doing a quick Internet search of Ezra, one other name pops up as well – British boyband sensation Harry Styles. Since September, when Ezra interviewed Styles and the rest of One Direction for one of her contributing channels, Tongue and Cheek, the rest of the world has speculated about their seemingly tangible spark. The two have been spotted hanging out together several times, including leaving clubs together in the wee hours of the morning, and they’ve engaged each other in flirty banter on social media. No confirmation has been made on whether or not the two are dating, but most seem to accept that something could, potentially, be there. Callil is unlike those publicly known to have dated Styles, notably neither tall nor blonde, but she’s seen spikes in interest just as the others have. In December, three months after rumors have began about Ezra and Harry’s supposed interest, and a month after our chat took place, Ezra’s YouTube channel and online interest has sparked exponentially.

The basic numbers: in the beginning of September, 2013, she had 2.8 million subscribers. Right before this has gone to print, in mid December, she has 3.9 million subscribers. A jump of over a million subscribers in the span of a few months is a huge increase, and it’s even more intense on Twitter. While she doesn’t rival her rumoured-love interest’s own amount of followers (Styles has a comfortable 19 million people hanging off his every Tweet), Ezra’s has gone from 1.2 million followers to 5 million. Yes, five million. In three months, four million people have followed her on Twitter. Our bets are that most of them are Directioners. Either way, her increase in fame is impressive.

“Sometimes the numbers astound me,” Ezra admits, almost abashedly, and when I ask her for the number of subscribers on her channel, she humbly admits to not knowing the exact amount. “I think it’s close to 3 million now. Which is like, a shitton of people – oops, sorry, sorry – a boat load of people. Like I can’t even imagine 3 million people. I try to and it makes my head want to explode. It’s amazing.”
Of course, just because three million people are subscribed to her, doesn’t mean more aren’t watching. Her most watched video to date, which is a questions and answers video concerning Harry Styles himself, has almost 5 million views. A brief scan of the comments reveals that yes, most of the people watching are fans of One Direction and no, they’re not always nice.

“Some people are assholes.” She says blatantly. “The power of anonymity on the internet can make people nasty. But mostly I’ve gotten to the point where I can recognize that the root of the problem for a lot of these people comes from them, not me. Doesn’t mean that sometimes a particular comment won’t sting, or suck, but I’m getting better with it. They’re not super awful all the time, though. I don’t know if anyone could handle constant negativity.”

How has she handled the newfound fame and rise to success? Any celebrations? “I bought myself a nice bag,” she nods over to her leather totebag, which she reveals is Madewell, and cost her only a little over 150 pounds. That was her big splurge? “Not much has changed, really.” She admits. “Yes, more people are watching. And that’s amazing. But I’m mostly still doing the same stuff, producing the same content.”

Her plans for what’s coming up next are a little wary, no where near concrete, but she has goals. “I have things I want to do, interests I want to combine. I’m interested in like, film, and feminism, and stuff like that. I’d like to learn more and create stuff a little more serious sometimes, pertaining to that. Smoothie challenges are fun and all, and I think I’ll always be doing things like that, y’know, but I’d also just to go a little more old school YouTube. Just sitting down with my camera and talking. I miss that intimacy.”

It’s easy to see how Callil could be considered an inspiration to not only the youth of the world right now, but also others her age. At just 19, she’s got a wildly successful YouTube channel, an estimated yearly income that’s definitely in the six figure range, social media accounts that are followed by some of the greats, including Ellen Degeneres and Barack Obama, and potentially a love interest with, arguably, one of the hottest men on the planet right now. And her influence is only growing. A career in media isn’t the most permanent or stable, but Ezra’s career and success only seems to be growing, helped largely by her involvement with Styles. Is she gonna use any of this newfound success and power for anything crazy? Any dreams she’d finally like to accomplish?

“Dude, I don’t even know,” she shakes her head, looking overwhelmed by the question. “I don’t really think of it in terms of like – wow, success. It’s not a quantifiable thing. I’m just, y’know, growing. Expanding. And I’m doing it on the Internet, which is an amazing place, and I’m doing it in media, where half the time it seems like people – and yes, especially women – aren’t allowed to take up space. I think I want to use that influence – or success, whatever – to talk about stuff like that. But crazy dreams? Not really. I’ll probably just buy a lot of pizza. And, oh! A pug. I really want a pug.”



“Ez—“ ZZ started, plucking the magazine right out of my hands and closing it. She stopped when I looked up at her, at a loss for something to say.

I was the last person to know. Always the last person to know. About Harry’s management wanting us to go public, about the severity in numbers my entire online presence had gained lately.

I’d ran. I’d ran so hard from all of it because I didn’t want to compromise my job, so dead set against putting those two things together and potentially ruining one, but I’d been doing it unintentionally for months.

“Am I using him?” I swallowed heavily, barely able to brave looking up at the crowd around me, the sections of people mingling around, drinking from plastic flutes of champagne and looking hip and stylish. “Am I--?”

“No.” ZZ shook her head resolutely. “You aren’t. It’s a circumstances thing. But you can’t control what other people do—“

“Oh my god I am.” The acknowledgement came out in a gust. “I’m – fuck. Fuck. I can’t be here right now.”

It was my second frantic exit of the night, jolting out of whatever strange reverie I’d been in to realize that this was not where I wanted to be. I’d gotten an hour and a half into the party and I felt like an idiot, because everything here was probably thinking I was some stupid little girl, who was gaining all of her success over some boy she might be seeing, and I didn’t want that. It’d never been about any of those things attached with Harry for me. I got over him being Harry Styles early on, content with the comfort and laughs that came from just Harry, but none of that mattered to anyone else.

“Do you want to go?” ZZ pulled out her phone. “I can order a car.”

“I’m not waiting for an Uber.” I shook my head, already turning and heading towards the coat check, reaching into my bra for the little ticket that they’d given me earlier. “I just – I need to go.”

And maybe they weren’t, but it suddenly felt like everyone was staring at me, judging me for being The Girl Who Made it Because of Harry Styles. I never wanted that title.

“Ezra, it’s not true.” ZZ insisted. “You work so hard. It’s not all because of him.”

“Maybe not all of it. But some of it. I just – fuck, I feel so stupid. I kept saying that it was different. Work and Harry. They were so different. But are they?” I was asking her questions that I already knew the answers to, already resolutely believed. They weren’t different. I hadn’t made enough of an effort for them to be different.

“Yes. Yes they are!” She followed behind me as the attendant handed me my coat and my clutch, quickly asking for her own and running after me as I shrugged the garment on.”You don’t rub it in people’s faces – you could be making videos with him constantly, getting everything you can. You don’t do that. That’s not you.”

“I’m rubbing it in their faces anyway —because all of them – they’re not doing this for me. This isn’t about me. It’s about Harry.” The main entrance to the building was crowded with people and I dodged the throngs of chattering media types as I made my to the door, not even bothering to duck my head or look like I wasn’t skipping out on my own event.

It wasn’t about me. It stopped being about me the second everyone else decided that Harry was more important. That I was a contingency in his life, someone to follow and have an interest in only because of our association.

“Some of them are there for you.” ZZ tried to convince, voice hushed as she followed me to the main doors.

“I just – I’m gonna-“ I jerked my head towards the exit. “I need air. Or something.”

“Do you want me to come with you? We can get some food, or—“

“Not right now.” I shook my head, and then, because ZZ was the closest thing to a saving grace I had and I didn’t want to take advantage of that, I grabbed her wrist and squeezed it as a sign of thanks. “Thank you. You are – I appreciate you so much. Find a boy. Fuck him over. Do whatever. I’m just gonna go back to my flat and pretend the rest of the world no longer exists.”

“Ez-“

“Be safe.”

I was clutching my coat around my frame and ducking out of the party before anything else, hand instinctively digging in the bag for my phone, clicking it to check the time.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock at night yet. I’d been up for a little over twelve hours and somehow, in twelve hours, everything had gone to shit.

My phone was still in airplane mode, and I was too scared to change it, anxious for the notifications or the reminders of the real world. I hadn’t spoken to Harry in eight hours. The last time I hadn’t spoken to Harry in eight hours, he’d been on a plane.

I had no idea where I was going – home was too daunting, too much of a reminder – and London night life was bustling enough, but I didn’t feel like being around people.

The answer came in a bus.

I was swiping my Oyster card and heading towards an empty seat in the back before anything else, wobbling in the heels, tucking my head down until I made it to a window seat in the back, elevated section. It was busy enough for a bus at nine on a Saturday night, the humming chatter on the bus a nice lulling background noise.

I stared out into London, and I thought, and it hurt, and I ached.

Because I didn’t want to think about it, but I couldn’t do anything but think about it. Think about the conversation I’d had with Harry’s management this morning, the argument with Harry. The look on his face when I’d told him that I – that I’m in love with him. Or I have been in love with him. Or I might be in love with him. Tenses and situations I was unsure of.

Because maybe he thought I was using him. And this morning, the idea had seemed absurd, so far out of anything I could ever imagine Harry thinking of me. It hurt, the notion that he thought so low, but now, really, was the idea so far off?

There were so many words flashing in my brain. Management. Harry. The magazine article. My success was from him. Everything the past three months – the spike in viewers, followers, subscribers, interest – was because of Harry.

What had I been working towards in the first place?

I lasted three stops on the line before I was digging my phone out of my bag, shaky fingers unlocking it and going into the settings. I stared at the setting for a moment, before, in a movement of both bravery and stupidity, I switched the airplane mode off. It took a few seconds before the text messages and notifications started coming in, flashing across the top of my screen, one by one, but I kept my eyes focused on the app I was opening, taping on the memorable red play button and waiting for it to open.

Comments on FILM FRIDAY: CLUELESS uploaded by Ezra Callil on 1/2/14

R u and harry dating?

Booooring now tell me the inside details abt u and harry

Did u guys really get a pug

he could do soooo much better

seriously no one finds you funny STOP

thumbs up if you’re only here because of harry

like anyone would actually willingly listen to you talk for 7 minutes

why did u stop vlogging is it bc u think ur too good or what

stuck up bitch

sluuuuuuuuuut

Are you dating Harry? Just curious!

Man I miss the days when I was watching the videos for you but now you don’t even feel like you anymore

I was closing out of one app and switching to another quickly.

www.tumblr.com/search/ezra+callil

ezra callil is literally the most annoying human being in the existence of the world like jfc shut up already no one thinks you’re funny

how did someone that janky looking manage to fuck harry styles did she drug him or something???

do people even watch her videos anymore other than to judge the girl harry is “dating” or…?

legit since she started hanging around harry, her subscribers just keep going up and up but her videos are becoming less and less and they’re just so shitty now

i didn’t know it was possibly to hate someone as much as i hate e*ra but maaaaan i hate that bitch

what has she done to deserve this much hate? i’m confused? like receipts? what’s she done?

she’s USING HIM that’s SHITTY but tbh i don’t have to have a reason for not liking her i just fucking don’t

prayer circle for the return of single harry and the banishing of ezra somewhere where no one talks about her again

I didn’t think that she was that bad but like everyone here hates her so I guess she’s gotta have some problems or smth…

There were pages upon pages of the same thing - text posts, ranging from passive aggressive to straight up aggressive, sprinkled among a tag where every picture had Harry attached to it. Sometimes, in the early hours in the morning, when I couldn’t sleep, and Harry was out cold, and I had that itching feeling of curiosity deep in my stomach, I would check the tag. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes I couldn’t stop myself.

The results were never great - usually pictures and quotes and videos dispersed with people cruel enough to actually tag their hate, or posts that had my name in it that the tumblr search tool was kind enough to dig up. I would end those mornings by shoving my phone away and forcing Harry’s limbs the ways I wanted them until I could successfully burrow into his chest, hiding underneath the comfort of his arms and torso and warmth.

Tonight was different.

I closed the app slowly, eyes falling shut on their own volition, as it all crawled up and settled in my stomach and chest.

My hands trembled and my eyes hurt and I knew that I needed to cry. I needed to cry after this morning and I needed to cry after the magazine article, but now the feeling was almost overwhelming.

I didn’t want to be That Person, hysterically crying on public transport and causing a shock to the passengers around me, so I pulled the line at the next stop, hurrying out the back doors and onto a busy street next to a pub.

I knew what I wanted - I wanted to call Harry, to actually look at the text messages on my phone, the notifications telling me that I had a missed call - and I wanted to go to him, and I wanted to cry.

I wanted him to hold me.

It was the realization that I probably wasn’t going to get that again that made the tears start.

It started slowly - a small hiccup in my throat as I stumbled onto the sidewalk next to the pub, past closed shop fronts and towards a small bagel shop - and then it was everything else. My face crumpled. My breathing quickened. I was pressing my side against the brick wall of the closed deli and feeling every ounce of strength begin to deconstruct, resolve disappearing.

Because Harry maybe thought that I was the type of person to use him, to benefit from his fame, and I’d been so adamant that I was no where near that person, but apparently I was.

The only thing I’d ever fought for in my entire life was my YouTube career. I’d fought to keep it afloat, to push through despite the exhaustion that was finishing high school and college. I’d fought to move to London by myself, to establish that independence along with my career.

And in the matter of three months, I’d lost it all. Because none of them cared anymore - not about what type of content I was creating, or the filming or the quality or anything I was saying. It was all about Harry. I’d lost that, somehow, without even knowing that it was an option.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, curling against the wall to hide my face from anyone who might’ve walked by, and I cried so hard it hurt. My shoulders shook with the force of it, sobs wanting desperately to break free from my throat, and I cried long enough for the December chill to make it’s way under my coat and slightly numb out the harsh beating of anger and sadness across my skin.

I calmed down just enough to know that I needed something for comfort, something to distract myself.

And I was Ezra Callil, nineteen and “successful” in London, but all of that success felt like shit now, so I did the only thing I really knew that I could.

I called my mom.

I counted the time difference on my fingers as it rang, the five hours making it almost four in the afternoon for her, her usual time at work, but she answered anyway.

“Ezra?” Her voice was full of concern immediately, because she knew what today was, and even all the way over there, I was sure she knew what happened. "What's wrong?"

It was the concern in her voice - the deep set, comforting concern - that made the tears set again. Because she was comfort and she was home, and she was thousands of miles away, and the closest source I had of that here stopped being available to me a little over eight hours ago.

“M-mom.” I hiccuped, voice cracking. “I messed up so bad. I don’t - I don’t even know who I am anymore.”



I’m sorry

I’m sorry

will you please just answer the phone when I call please

I’m such shit and I’m so sorry I freaked out and I didn’t mean to everything just happened and I was frustrated and I know that’s no excuse but I didn’t mean it. I know that you would never use me you’re not that person at all and I’m sorry. I just need to talk to you.

You told me you’re in love with me and then you left and I need to talk to you.

Or you told me that you’ve been in love with me.

Does that mean you were or you are?

Are you?

I have so much I want to say to you but you won’t answer.

And I know that you’re probably home by now and I still have the key to your flat but I know that that would be such a dick thing to do so I won’t but Ezra please

I can see that you’re reading these.

I’m in love with you.

Not have been.

Not could be.

Now.

I’m in love with you right now. Present tense.

Please let me say that to your face.

Ezra.

Baby please