While she's filming her next video, Lizzie pokes fun at Jane for being so clearly infatuated with Bing Lee. This backfires quickly.
"I don't want to talk about that," Lizzie protests after Jane-as-Lizzie points out that she spent the entire evening talking to Darcy. Realizing that this probably sounds hugely hypocritical of her, she continues, "It was boring, trust me."
Jane bites her lip and sets down the prop notebook. "Okay," she says. "We don't have to talk about that." She's too nice to say it, but this statement comes with an implied but we're not talking about Bing, either. She takes off Lizzie's shirt and folds it neatly. "We can just leave it at… everyone had a really good time. Right?"
"Right," Lizzie agrees reluctantly, handing the headband back to her and shucking her sweater off. Jane smiles at her for a second, her gaze drifting upwards as she reflects on the wedding reception. She giggles, her nose scrunching up a little, and then shakes her head as if she's trying to wake herself up from a dream.
"Right," she echoes. "Bye, everyone," she remembers to say to the camera before she leaves.
Lizzie stares at the blinking red light on the camera for a long while after Jane goes. She figures she should probably soliloquize about Bing and Jane or offer some closure on the story she was telling at the very least, but she comes up empty. Instead of signing off, she purses her lips in a perturbed fashion as she switches the camera off.
"I'm not ready yet!" Lydia whines from her room. Lizzie wonders why she even bothered asking her to help out.
"Oh, come on."She goes over to Lydia's room, entering without knocking (because since when has Lydia knocked while barging into her room?). She finds Lydia perched at her vanity in a bra and black leggings, separating her eyelashes with a safety pin. There are about twenty shirts strewn across her bed and floor.
"Get your ass out here," she says. Lydia glares.
"I'm. Not. Ready," she reiterates, and goes back to her previous task of eyelash separation.
"It's not that high def," Lizzie says. Lydia puts the safety pin down.
"Gotta look my best for our viewers," she says. "Do you know how many people are watching your videos?" She knows exactly how many people are watching her videos. She checks the view counts every few hours. "Why so many people are interested in your life, I'll never know, but…" Lydia picks up a top and holds it up to her chest, contemplating it for a second before discarding it for another one.
"The camera is still recording so hurry up," Lizzie informs her. "Just wear whatever, it doesn't matter." Lizzie tosses one of Lydia's shirts at her. Lydia puts it on the discarded pile of shirts immediately without considering it.
"I know you don't care how you look on camera," Lydia says, holding up a hand to silence Lizzie when she inhales to respond. "But the internet never forgets, lame-o sister of mine."
Well. There's something to think about.
Lizzie's been thinking of the videos as a diary – clearly – but Lydia (surprisingly) has a really good point. Lots of people are watching her videos now. More than she ever thought would, anyway. She hasn't thought about having to pull them down before, but now she does, briefly. She wonders if anyone has downloaded them or backed them up somehow.
"Okay, ready," Lydia says, arranging the loose neckline of her pale pink shirt around her shoulders. She blows a kiss at herself in the mirror theatrically (Lizzie never though anything could make Lydia more theatrical, but mild internet fame has done the impossible) and then stands up. Lizzie follows her back to her room.
Once they're settled in front of the camera, Lizzie hands Lydia the stupid mother-of-the-bride hat she's been using as a Mom costume. Lydia scrunches her face up.
"Ew, I don't wanna be our mother," she complains. Lizzie thrusts the hat at her and picks up the clip-on earrings, leaning over to put them on Lydia, who is still making whiney noises.
"You have to be Mom," Lizzie says, counter-swatting Lydia when she swats at her. They get into a swat-fight, batting ineffectually at each other's hands. "Lydia!"
"But you're so good at it, Lizzie," she says, taking off the one clip-on earring Lizzie had gotten on her. It's not really a compliment, Lizzie knows. Not coming from Lydia. "Please please please please please please please don't make me be—"
"You have to be Mom, you haven't even ever talked to Darcy," Lizzie points out. Lydia's ears perk up immediately when she mentions Darcy.
"I could totes be Darcy!" Lydia flips her hair, looking directly at the camera as she gives her Darcy audition. She's pretty sure the sounds Lydia is making are supposed to be an imitation of the teacher from Charlie Brown, and if Lizzie's going to be completely honest, the way she deadpans you probs haven't heard of it at the end is pretty funny, but.
"No," Lizzie says firmly.
"Why nooooooooot?"
"Because," she splutters. "That's… not… be Mom or go away." Lydia stares at her intently for a second, trying to call her bluff, but Lizzie doesn't back down. She doesn't need Lydia's help to do this. Sure, editing together herself doing both halves of a conversation will be a pain in the ass without Charlotte's help, but she could do it if push came to shove…
She's more than a little relieved when Lydia says "Fine."
So Lydia gets into the costume and improvises her side of the conversation, and if the viewers thought Lizzie was over the top in portraying their mother, they'll reconsider after they see this. Even though a few Lydia-isms slip through, it's going pretty well, until –
"Ugh, he said that?" Lydia interrupts, nose crinkled in disgust. Lizzie's a little surprised Lydia hasn't heard this story from her mother two hundred times by now (but come to think of it, has she even mentioned Darcy since the wedding? She's been mercifully preoccupied with Jane and Bing).
"Stay in character," Lizzie gripes.
"Not sorry," Lydia says. "This guy sounds like a total d-bag."
"He's not," Lizzie says, taking the stupid Newsies hat off and running a hand through her hair.
"All evidence to the contrary?"
"You know, I've been thinking about it, and I don't think he was even thinking about Jane at all." Lydia gives her a look that is simultaneously bored and mildly repulsed. "He was just making a comment on Bing's—"
"Yeah, whatever, we get it, you like him," Lydia says. Lizzie says nothing. "That doesn't change the fact that he was kinda rude and intensely weird."
"He's just quiet and awkward," Lizzie says. Lydia's not having it, so she adds, "And, okay, sort of weird. But have you met our mother?"
"IDK," Lydia says. Like, she actually spells the acronym out loud. "I guess you'd know best since you spent like a ton of one-on-one time with him. What were you doing, anyway?"
"Talking," Lizzie says. "Well, I was talking. He was mostly listening and occasionally making attempts at talking."
"Boring." Lydia tugs her shirt back up onto her shoulder. "You were alone for like what, over two hours? Normal people would've gotten to like at least third base."
"Oh my god, first of all, no, and secondly, what do you think third base is?"
"I am so not explaining sex metaphors to my nerdy older sister," Lydia says. She blows two kisses at the camera. "Peace out!"
Lizzie thinks about going after her and making her finish the costume theater reenactment, but this video has become enough of an incoherent, mangled mess already.
She avoids talking to Charlotte, which isn't hard at first because her friend is preoccupied with family stuff. It's a plan that's doomed to fail in the long run, though, because they carpool to school on Tuesday through Thursdays. Their Tuesday schedule is the worst, because they have to get to campus by 8:30 in the morning and it's an hour long commute in traffic.
After stopping for Starbucks like they always do, they climb into Charlotte's car. Lizzie sits quietly in the passenger seat, nursing her hazelnut mocha to her chest as she listens to Charlotte talk about how she missed the best story about the wedding (which is apparently that Jane caught the bouquet and had to dance with Andy Pratt while Bing Lee watched from the sidelines doing an impression of a forlorn puppy).
"Maybe we should stop," Lizzie says, interrupting Charlotte's story.
"What?" Charlotte asks, checking her dashboard panel.
"No, the videos," Lizzie says, putting her feet up on the dash so she can curl up a little.
"Why? We can't do that," Charlotte says. "We're going to use that for school, and if our viewership keeps growing like it is right now, we might even be able to make a profit – or some industry contacts, which would be—"
"Yeah, I know," Lizzie says quietly. They've been over all this before. In the wouldn't it be cool if way before they started the project and in the oh my god people like us way afterwards. Neither of them thought this would actually be their big break, and it is so counterintuitive to Lizzie to just throw that away. "But we're like one Google search away from becoming one of those cringe comedy sitcoms where you're so embarrassed for the characters you have to watch through your fingers." She lets that sink for a second. "Only even more awkward."
They stare at the road in front of them for a long moment.
"I mean," Charlotte says. "What have we really even said, that's embarrassing?"
Charlotte clearly has not seen the video with Lydia yet.
"Well, for one, I basically admitted that my mom was stalking Bing Lee before we met him," Lizzie says. "That's not going to look good from an outside perspective."
"Since when do you care what Bing Lee thinks?" Charlotte points out. Lizzie scoffs.
"Jane cares, so I care."
"Oh? What happened to calling it an arranged marriage?"
Lizzie grits her teeth. "Look, I would prefer it if Jane liked someone my mom hadn't handpicked to be her superhot status symbol husband, but I'm not going to actively sabotage her relationship or anything." She puts her coffee cup down in the cup holder. "Geez," she snaps. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the passenger window.
"Okay, okay," Charlotte says in a clear bid to calm her down.
They spend the rest of the car ride in silence. After they find parking and get their things out of the trunk, when they're heading to class, Charlotte starts the conversation up again.
"Isn't that a little bit of a double standard on your part?" she asks. Lizzie has no idea what she's talking about (really) and she tells her as much. Charlotte clucks her tongue. "I mean, Jane likes Bing and she's conforming to your mother's standards, but you liking Darcy is okay because…?" She pauses, waiting for Lizzie to respond. Lizzie doesn't, because she is so not going to take that bait. "Because your mom doesn't like the guy, personally? It's still the same thing."
"It is not," Lizzie says. "And I don't… like him like that. I've talked to the guy once."
"For hours," Charlotte says.
"I've still only met him once. Just like Jane's only met Bing once. And as you will notice, I am reacting like a normal person. Jane's reacting like…"
"Like someone who's not emotionally stunted?"
"Hey," Lizzie complains.
"You have this really blatant kneejerk reaction to romantic emotions, Lizzie," Charlotte says as they reach their building. They hang around the doors, killing the time left before their class starts.
"I don't want to talk about this," she says.
"Uh huh," Charlotte says.
"You know I don't like talking about this," she adds more quietly.
"All I'm saying is, if you can be friends with Darcy you can maybe get used to the idea of Jane and Bing being something at least semi-permanent."
Lizzie grits her teeth, because Jane has met Bing one time, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't say anything because she knows Charlotte will press it if she does. She won't bring it up again, but she does spend her entire three-hour class period mentally compiling a list of reasons why her talking to Darcy all evening was different than Jane dancing with Bing all evening.
