You adjusted the camera lens in the dim living room of your apartment. The black mask, cool against your skin, felt familiar. Stepping back, you framed the shot.
“Alright, everyone,” you began, addressing the lens. “Review time. It’s five AM, and Red Velvet just dropped their comeback. Honestly, these ungodly hours…but it’s worth it.”
You unlocked your laptop, swiping the trackpad to open YouTube. The familiar chime signaled the start of the video.
“I’m genuinely excited for this. ‘Bad Boy.’ A little intimidated, a little hyped.”
You hit play, watching the music video in silence. A slow, deliberate absorption of every detail.
When it ended, you launched into your review.
“Okay, guys. Wow. Just…wow. I’m shocked. Attacked, honestly. My bias was *everything*. If you’re watching this now, get it. Seriously. If she's going to be all badass, she deserves it. Review done. I’m going to try and salvage what’s left of my sleep while listening to Billie Eilish because, lowkey, I kind of love her songs. Peace out.”
You stopped the recording and connected the camera to your laptop, beginning the edit. The upload was scheduled for an hour from now.
The editing process was swift, but the finished video reminded you of a looming deadline. You sighed, switching to a Word document. “The function of the frontal cortex and its importance to human behavior…” The words appeared on the screen.
“Your mask is still on,” Grace, your best friend, pointed out from the doorway.
“So? I’m not recording.”
“Take it off, freak.” Her tone was laced with exhaustion.
You obliged with a sigh. “Fine.”
“I still don’t get why we wear masks. Being famous would be cool.”
“We’re on YouTube, not MTV.” You countered. “We wouldn’t be famous even if we showed our faces.”
“But we’d have *someone* coming up to us. That’d be cool, right?”
“Imagine being recognized mid-dance recital, or people just hating you because you’re…known. Or fake friends who want to leech off your fame. Do you really want all that?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’m staying Masked Dancer, you’re Jackie.”
“Ugh.” She turned and headed towards the kitchen. “You’re making breakfast!” she yelled.
You nodded. “I didn’t hear an okay.”
“Okay!” Her voice floated back from her room, carrying the scent of brewing coffee.