48: Open Exposure

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Half-dressed for Prom, I couldn't stop grinning at my phone

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Half-dressed for Prom, I couldn't stop grinning at my phone. With over two million views and three hundred thousand likes, we won. No way we couldn't have won.

With my croaky voice, I sounded like a tool, but the message hit hard from the first laugh Paige released in the beach video. She sat with her legs extended into the water, the spots on her knees visible, and her hand lifted to block my filming.

"This is my girlfriend, Paige. A few people have commented to ask about her skin condition. We haven't talked about it to respect her privacy, but Paige has agreed to open up about her psoriasis. She was born with it, and it's an autoimmune issue, not a skin condition."

"When I transferred to Scotts Valley, everyone wanted my attention because I'm good at football. No one wanted to be my friend for me except for Paige."

"A person's skin doesn't define them, but she's bullied at school. For something that isn't her fault. For something she couldn't control. I was lucky enough to become her friend and learn how amazing she is. She's kind and caring. Inside and out, to me, she's beautiful. She'll always be beautiful."

The video clips were unlike any of the previous ones I'd posted. I spoke off-script, and the words flowed out of me. Most of the football footage was old, taken at the beginning of my season, but Vi added one clip of Paige watching me at a baseball game. Paige and I weren't always holding hands, but the videos showed other people reacting around us–stares at the beach, whispers, and looks at school.

Vi's choice of a sad, sappy background song was the icing on the sympathy cake. Reactions exploded within the first hour, then again after my brother shared it to his followers.

After the initial, 'OMG, poor Paige,' 'Where can I find a Brody?' and 'I knew it!' comments, my DMs were flooded with genuine reactions.

People our age. Younger people. Older people, adults even.
People who felt like Paige.
Who shared their stories and experiences.
Who felt seen.
Who thanked us for sharing so they didn't feel alone.
Who were like her.

I couldn't wait to show her. She'd be so—

"Brody!" Mom pounded loud thumps on my door. "You'd better not be doing anything other than getting your butt dressed in there!"

I grunted at her impatient voice, tucked in my shirt, and buttoned my pants. Already sweating, I pushed my hands through my suit sleeves—the same black suit I wore to Homecoming. Unlike the black shirt I wore then, I was fumbling with the buttons on the white version when Mom burst in.

"Let me." She set down the white box she carried on my bed and buttoned my sleeves faster than I could've done. Her fussy fingers didn't stop, pulling my tie tight enough to choke me.

"Easy, Ma." I pulled my head back. "I can manage a tie."

"So, manage it." Her eyes filled with tears, turning them into shimmering ocean-blue blurs. "Brody, your video."

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