Sidequest for Love by L.H. Cosway

I glanced down to read her message.

Afric: How’s everything going over in the Big Apple?

Neil: I’m a bit jet-lagged but getting by. I’m in Central Park atm. The cast is shooting.

Afric: OMG, that sounds fun! Send me a pic.

I hesitated. She wanted a picture? I rarely took selfies, and more often than not, I was the one behind the camera. I glanced around. Everybody was busy working, not paying me any attention. Navigating to the camera app, I put it in selfie mode and lifted the phone. I made sure to get some trees and greenery in the background, as well as the buildings beyond, and attempted a smile. The first few shots weren’t great. My smile was wooden. But after a few more tries, I loosened up and managed to take a reasonably good selfie. I went back and forth over whether to send it, then, feeling impulsive, I hit ‘send’.

Instead of a text response, my phone lit up with a call. “Hello?” I answered.

Afric was already chuckling. “My goodness, you’re too cute. I meant a picture of the cast filming, not a selfie of you, ya big eejit.”

I stiffened, slamming my palm into my forehead as I held the phone to my ear with my other hand. “Oh, right. Sorry, I thought—”

“Don’t apologise. You look lovely, Neil. Thank you for gracing my phone with your heavenly visage.”

“Okay, there’s no need to make fun. I thought young people sent each other pictures of themselves all the time. Isn’t that what people your age do? They send selfies drinking coffee, or selfies with ice-creams, or other mundane things that certainly don’t require documenting.”

“First of all, you just called me basic, which I’m prepared to overlook because I’m not. And second of all, you’re not that much older than me, Neil. I’m twenty-five. You’re thirty. We’re hardly a Boomer and a Gen Z. Pretty sure we’re both Millennials, so …”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. You’re the one who called me up, laughing your arse off at my selfie, which, might I add, I happen to think I look well in. At the very least, it was the best of a bad bunch—”

“Hold up, how many pictures did you take?” Afric asked, her voice full of amusement.

“A few,” I admitted grudgingly. “But that’s neither here nor there.”

“Oh, my God. I’m going to die,” she chuckled. “I would’ve loved to see you standing there taking selfies when you’re supposed to be working.”

“Well, enjoy the visual because I won’t be sending you any more photos of my time in New York.”

“Wait, no fair! I want more pictures. That way, I can live vicariously through you. In fact, I think you should send me a selfie every day to show me what you’re up to. No, I demand it. I am, after all, stuck in my bedroom in Brixton live streaming video games to teenage boys while wearing gigantic hoodies to give them as little as possible to wank over.”

“Okay, I’m not sure where to start because there’s a lot to unpack there. Besides, it’s not all teenage boys who watch you. My sister, Rosie, watches your stream all the time.”

“That’s good to know. Tell her I said hi. Also, speaking of your sister, did she like the autograph?”

I smiled, thinking of how excited Rosie was when I gave it to her. “Yes, actually, she was made up about it. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“No problem. But back to the daily selfies. I seriously think you should consider it. Think of it as a confidence-boosting exercise. You clearly have some self-esteem issues—”

“I do not have self-esteem issues,” I protested weakly before amending. “Well, okay, I may have some, but it’s not a huge deal.”

“You’re pretending to be someone else online to a girl you’re infatuated with,” Afric said, and I deflated.

“Fair point.”

“So, here’s my suggestion. You take a picture of yourself once a day in front of some cool landmark or other. You’re in New York, so it won’t be difficult. Taking selfies can be kind of awkward, especially when some passing stranger looks at you and rolls their eyes all, God, they’re taking a selfie, how embarrassing, how vain …”

“Well, now I really want to do it,” I deadpanned.

“No, hear me out. It’s a good thing. You have to not give a shit what strangers think of you. The most confident people don’t care what anyone thinks of them. I remember walking through Trafalgar Square one time, and there was this lady in a ballgown having a photoshoot, but it wasn’t a modelling shoot. It was like she’d paid someone to take pictures of her just for her own personal photo album. I remember thinking to myself, wow, that woman does not give a single shit, and I am here for it. That’s who you need to be, Neil. You need to be the lady in the ballgown in Trafalgar Square.”

“I’m not putting on a ballgown, let alone in Trafalgar Square of all places.”

“I’m not asking you to, though if you did, you’d look amazing, but that’s beside the point. Selfie taking in public requires confidence and a zero-shits-given attitude. And both of those are things you could do with having more of, especially if you want to impress Annabelle.”

At the mention of Annabelle, I stiffened, spotting James, Michaela, and Callum walking towards me. “Listen, I’ll think about it, but I’m making no promises. I have to go now.”