Page 2 of Falling Off Script

“Hey queens,” I say to the camera, mimicking his slow, deliberate tone. “Today we’re going to talk about the fascinating species known as the Zeta male. Not to be confused with the Alpha, Beta, Sigma, or whatever Greek letter is trending this week.”

I pull up a screenshot of Adrian’s latest video thumbnail—him standing with arms crossed, surrounded by adoring women who are clearly paid models.

“What separates our Zeta specimen from the rest of the pack? Alphas chase. Sigmas retreat. Zetas sell retreats about NOT chasing.”

I pull out Zayne’s latest book,The A-Z Strategy: Attraction Isn’t Random, which I found in the self-delusion section of the bookstore. I flip through the pages dramatically.

“Chapter One: How to Turn Your Fear of Intimacy into a Business Model. Chapter Two: Advanced Smirking Techniques. Chapter Three: Why Everything is Women’s Fault, Including Global Warming.”

The snark is flowing now. If he can monetize toxic masculinity, I can certainly monetize calling it out. Maybe I need my own sound effect. A kazoo, perhaps? Nothing says “I see through your nonsense” like a well-timed kazoo.

“Or a sad trombone,” Jessie says from the couch, perched sideways with my laptop balanced on her knees. She’s cutting the reel with the precision of a surgeon and the posture of someone who’s just bombed a second-round interview. “You want me to slow-zoom on his smirk or cut to the blinking montage?”

I look over her shoulder. “Can we do both? Smirk, then blink-blink-blink. Like his brain’s buffering.”

She taps the keys, already anticipating my sarcasm structure. “Love that. Also, I added a flash of red every time he says ‘frame.’ Like he’s triggering the algorithm.”

“You’re a genius.”

Jessie shrugs like it’s no big deal, but her cheeks get pink. “Hey, do you think—just floating the idea—do you think your podcast needs, like, a full-time editor?”

I pause. I really, really want to say yes. But I can’t. Instead, I give her the soft-landing version. “Jess, you know where I am. The podcast basically funds itself if I pretend my time is worthzero and my editing software doesn’t mysteriously renew at full price every December.”

“Oh.” She tries to cover the flash of disappointment with a sip of oat milk that is, let the record show, mine. I know she’s been applying to jobs all week. I also know she hasn’t gotten a callback since the one where they asked if she was comfortable “moderating masculine spaces.” Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

I watch her for a second. “I mean... I still have coaching clients. Usually someone’s ex-wife or their cousin who saw that interview where I said ‘stop dating men you wouldn’t hire.’ But that’s all old connections.”

Jessie gives a half-nod, eyes still on the mug.

“I thought the podcast could bring in more,” I add. “But so far it’s just brought me trolls.”

That earns a quiet, understanding snort.

“It’s not exactly a business yet,” I say gently. “Not the kind I can build payroll off of. Yet.”

She presses her lips together. “Right. Totally get it.”

I nudge her foot with mine. “You’ve already been doing more than half the work here. I just wish I could pay you in something other than hummus and bad feelings.”

“Honestly,” she says, setting the mug down, “I’ll take the hummus. For now.”

She doesn’t smile. Just lifts the corner of her mouth—like she’s trying to meet me halfway from wherever disappointment’s left her.

“You want to hit post?”

She glances at the screen. The freeze-frame of Adrian’s smug little grin. The caption:When a Zeta calls himself an alpha.

Jessie clicks. “Uploaded.”

We watch the views tick up in silence.

Jessie tilts her head. “Do you think Adrian Zayne is his real name?”

I scoff. “No one that smug is born with a last name that cool. It’s definitely rebranded.”

“Yeah,” she says. “He probably used to be, like... Andrew Zuckerstein. You know. Equal parts tech bro and Frankenstein.”

I snort. “Then one day he bought a microphone and black t-shirts in bulk.”

---