Love, Comment, Subscribe by Cathy Yardley

CHAPTER 4

Tobin groaned as he saw yet another notification from his agents, Bastian and Jeffrey. The video had gone up on Tuesday night, and now on Friday it had passed the five-million-views mark. It was easily one of his fastest-climbing and most popular videos, and of course his agents were going to want to capitalize on it, even if they hadn’t interacted much with him since signing.

It was so weird, the idea that he had even one agent, much less two.

Now, they were requesting a Zoom meeting for that morning. He’d agreed, even though he didn’t particularly like meetings, and he hated ones on Zoom. With any luck, they’d congratulate him, ask a few questions, and then he could get on with his workout.

It was probably not going to work out that way, especially knowing Jeffrey. Still, a guy could dream.

Bastian was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. He wore suits that made him look stylish and sophisticated, emphasizing his slim figure and darker complexion. The guy looked like a GQ model. Which made it all the funnier, considering Tobin knew for a fact that Bastian played the newest Assassin’s Creed releases like someone was paying him, cursing like a sailor the entire time. They’d met playing Fortnite, actually, and then Among Us. They even teamed up on Bed Wars on a Minecraft server just for laughs. Bastian was a gamer, and he . . . well, he got it.

That’s why Bastian had signed him in the first place. Since then, Bastian had managed to sign several bigger names: actors, influencers, the works. He was smart, savvy, and driven, but still approachable. His career was skyrocketing.

So to help lighten the load, they’d assigned Tobin . . . Jeffrey.

Jeffrey was in his twenties and eager to make his mark. He wore suits, too, although he didn’t rock them like Bastian did. He wore a pair of glasses that just had plain glass in them, fashion rather than prescription. The sides of his hair were trimmed short, with longer locks on the top that started to flop toward his eyes. He wore fashionable clothes and judged people who didn’t, based on some comments he’d made about Tobin’s nonfilming attire when they’d met in LA. Basically, Jeffrey was a poser, and that drove Tobin bugshit.

Alas, while Tobin was a pretty-good-size fish in the YouTube pond, he wasn’t bringing in the endorsements and other media that Bastian’s other clients were raking in. Tobin took the addition of Jeffrey in stride and just gritted his teeth, trying to keep his focus on Bastian when he could whenever they had meetings.

He clicked “join,” and after a second, Jeffrey’s face filled his screen.

“Congrats on the video, buddy!” Jeffrey shouted, leaning forward, his face getting even larger. “Over five million views and growing! Even got picked up and shared by Good Morning America—holy shit, am I right?”

“Thanks.” Tobin surreptitiously turned down the volume. Jeffrey had some loudness issues, particularly when excited. Of course, considering a lot of Tobin’s reactions were yelling, he guessed he couldn’t really throw stones. “Where’s Bastian?”

“Oh, he’s working on a deal with one of his new clients. An actress who started on TikTok, doing microsketch comedy. They’re working on a series, little episodes on a new streaming service,” Jeffrey said. “It’s just going to be you and me today.”

Oh, goody. Tobin saw himself in the camera, displaying the slightest wince. Thankfully, Jeffrey didn’t seem to notice.

“So . . . what’s next?” Jeffrey pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got an audience. We need a follow-up.”

Tobin shrugged, glancing at the large whiteboard out of sight of the camera. “Um . . . let’s see. I could do a few playthroughs. There are some great games coming out.”

Jeffrey frowned.

“And I had some skits planned with Skeptic Sketcher,” Tobin said, feeling strangely unsettled at Jeffrey’s scrutiny, “but we’ll need to coordinate that.”

“The skits.” Jeffrey immediately latched on to that. “Anything funny? Things that could go viral?”

“It’s impossible to tell what’ll go viral,” Tobin protested. “You have to know that.”

“Well, are they really funny?” Jeffrey pressed. “Because funny sells. That’s the content people want.”

Tobin felt his jaw clench. Funny, huh? God knows he needed some funny right now, to defuse some of the anger he felt bubbling up at Jeffrey’s obtuse suggestions.

He decided to mix things up. Clicking over to his filters, he tapped a few keys.

He then grinned as he saw his own camera’s view in the corner. His head was now a large doughnut, complete with pink frosting and sprinkles, his mouth forming the hole. “How about this?” Tobin said innocently. “That’s funny, right?”

Jeffrey’s smile was as fake as his glasses. “Yeah! That’s funny. Maybe something with chat filters?”

Tobin sighed. He’d done a video where he and Skeptic had acted out dramatic scenes from popular movies in Snapchat filters. He’d actually done the president’s speech from Independence Day while looking like a potato with a mouth. They called it Tater Theater. It had done okay, stats-wise.

But Jeffrey apparently didn’t know that.

He shifted the filter to Pingu, the Claymation penguin. “Noot noot!” Tobin hooted, doing his best Pingu impression.

He could see Jeffrey’s smile strain. “Yeah, that’s funny too. So about your next video . . .”

Tobin knew he was probably being an asshole by this point, but he found it hard to care. He shifted to Disco Avocado. “It took six months to set up the Beacons video,” he said as his avocado avatar boogied along to his words. “I’m not going to be able to just pull another big-budget, elaborate video out of my ass by next week, Jeffrey.”

“Maybe your next one doesn’t have to be quite that long and elaborate,” Jeffrey clarified, in a way that clearly said, I have no idea what the big deal is here. “But I’m sure you can do something that’ll capitalize on all this attention. Just do what you’ve been doing. Only, you know”—Jeffrey made a vague gesture with his hands—“more.”

“This is pretty much how I work. A few big set pieces a year, unless I get inspired, or . . . I don’t know, I get a collab opportunity that I want to pursue. But otherwise, I’ve got the usual playthroughs and sketches, and weaponized silliness. That’s what Bastian signed me for.”

“Our job is to get you to the biggest opportunities possible,” Jeffrey pointed out. “There is more to life than YouTube, you know.”

Tobin gasped. Then he shifted the filter over to Cosmic Cat, lasers shooting out of his eyes as the jaguar head snarled. “There is not more to life than YouTube. How dare you.”

“That’s really distracting,” Jeffrey carped, then sighed. “Listen, I get it. It’s not the usual media: you’re not doing the same old crap. You’re fresh, you’re different. Hey, I’m young too.” He grinned. “Actually, I’m younger than you.”

If Tobin were editing this video, he would’ve added himself looking into another camera, like Jim from The Office. If you had to tell people that you were young and therefore hip and that you “got” it . . . sorry, my dude. I really think you don’t.

“What I’m saying,” Jeffrey continued, “is that if you want to be a voice actor, which you totally could do, or . . . hell, if you wanted to be a real actor, or a stand-up comedian, or go on SNL, or have your own series, or be in a movie, then we could make that happen! But not if you don’t take this seriously!”

Tobin sat silent for a second.

Then, without warning, he changed his avatar again.

“What makes you think I’m not taking this seriously?” the eggplant on the screen asked, jiggling ominously.

“Jesus.”Jeffrey grimaced. “Can’t you turn that thing off?”

“That’s just it: I can’t just turn this shit on and off,” Tobin said, his somber tone at odds with the ridiculous avatar. “I’m either feeling creative, or I’m not.”

And lately, it’d been more off than on. But he wasn’t going to tell fucking Jeffrey that.

“Let me ask this, then,” Jeffrey pushed. “Are you interested in succeeding in this business? Because it’s like being a shark. If you don’t keep swimming forward, you drown. There are no barriers to entry, and the next GoofyBui is building his audience right now. So I repeat: Are you going to take this seriously?”

Tobin winced. It was too much like a conversation he’d had with his parents.

When are you going to grow up, Tobin?

He sighed. “What do you need from me, Jeffrey?” he asked. Even the eggplant looked somewhat chastened.

“Bastian wants a meeting,” Jeffrey said. “Come have lunch with us next Wednesday, here by the offices. We’ll talk strategy.”

“I have to drive to LA?” Tobin yelped.

“Yeah, well, apparently Zoom meetings aren’t a great idea.” Jeffrey gestured to the screen.

Okay. So Tobin had screwed himself on that one. Damn his compulsion to annoy.

Unbidden, he pictured Lily Wang—somebody he hadn’t really thought of in years. But when he thought “annoy,” she was naturally the first person to come to mind.

“Bastian’s going to actually be at this meeting, right?” Tobin said, still leaving the eggplant in place.

“Yes.” Jeffrey looked irritated. “Bring some ideas for content. Then we’ll talk.”

Jeffrey closed the meeting, and the screen went blank. Tobin sighed, then went out to his living room, heading for the treadmill. He needed to run off this bad mood, and he knew from experience that if he didn’t exercise, he’d spiral into a downward turn of unproductivity and bad moods.

He hated talking strategy. Maybe it was his ADHD, but when there were too many plans, too many constraints, he quickly lost interest in projects. He’d perfected how he worked in the past twelve years or so he’d started messing around with his videos, back when he was in college watching Markiplier and JackSepticEye and all those other gamers. At least, he’d perfected how it worked for him. If Jeffrey thought he was somehow going to make Tobin more efficient, to be creative on demand and viral by design . . . well. The guy had another think coming.

His phone rang. It was Asad. He slowed down the treadmill and answered, only slightly out of breath. “What’s up?”

“Dude! We’re celebrating your accomplishment over at the Belly Up tonight,” Asad said, referring to a popular bar in a beach town farther south from Ponto. “How do you feel about taking an Uber down and getting hammered? First three shots are on me and Freddie.”

Ordinarily, Tobin drank in moderation, if at all. But he did want to celebrate, dammit. Here he was, hitting a really big milestone—over five million views!—and it was as “meh” as eating a frozen pizza. That was messed up. Besides, after his talk with Jeffrey, he wouldn’t mind “altering his state” a little. The guy put him on edge.

“Fine,” Tobin said. “What time?”

“Yaaaassss,” Asad cheered. “Nine o’clock! I’m inviting some of the Herd. It’ll be epic!”

“No shit? Cool,” Tobin said, then hung up after ironing out details. The Nerd Herd, he thought with a grin, starting to run again. Or at least the townies—the ones who’d stayed in Ponto Beach, when so many of their peers had gone off to parts unknown. They’d all been honors students, back in high school, often on “most likely to succeed” lists or the academic team. They hadn’t been particularly popular, or socially adroit. That said, they’d had each other, and that had mattered more.

Even now, the townies still had each other, and Tobin was grateful.

He again thought, briefly, about Lily Wang. She’d been one of the Herd once upon a time too. Whether she liked it or not—and she’d made it pretty clear: she did not like it.

He grinned. He hadn’t thought of her in years.

I wonder what she’s up to?