Page 5 of Disharmony

Have you heard the thing people say about how nothing can truly disappear from the internet? Yeah, well that’s exactly what happened…

Brick deleting the video made no difference. Copies had already been made, and the video keeps appearing on every feed. Wherever I look on social media, I see my face and the views keep soaring. Reporting them makes no difference. As soon as one is taken down, another appears, so I’ve given up trying.

Three days of eyeballs raking over me has left me feeling violated. Commenters want to know who I am and where I’m from. A few stupid bitches from high school were dumb enough to give out my name without thinking of the consequences. Tracking down an Ashley Cooper from Meadow Springs isn’t a difficult task.

Now thousands of strangers have sent me friend requests on social media, which I hardly use and forgot I had in the first place. The harassment isn’t only online. Yesterday, a local journalist called wanting to write a story about my “tragic past” and how it helped turn me into an “instant online star.” I hung up. That is why I wanted the video taken down.

Brick may have been right about me wanting to have an audience to hear my work, but this isn’t how I imagined it would happen. It’s not even my music. It’s a shit cover featuring me breaking down in tears halfway through. My tribute to my mom is being aired all over the globe, and I have zero control or ability to stop it.

Brick keeps calling and stopping by to try to apologize. Whenever he comes around, I’ve made my dad send him away. He never meant for this to happen, but it has… and he can’t take it back.

This mess isn’t just affecting me. Dad had to take a few days off work after he read a nasty comment online. He’s worried about leaving me home alone at night, like one of these internet trolls will break into the house. He doesn’t understand that trolling is pretty much a given.

Being internet famous has also brought the added joy of attention-seekers crawling out of the woodwork. My viral video has been the most exciting thing to happen in town for years. People who have hardly acknowledged my existence are suddenly sending me direct messages with invitations to meet up like we’re besties. Those same people couldn’t even look in my direction when my mom died.

“Ash?” Dad shuffles into my room where I’m cocooned in a blanket with one hand buried in a bag of chips. “There’s someone on the phone for you.”

“If it’s that woman from the paper again, tell her I’m not interested,” I reply with my mouth full, spraying crumbs everywhere. “I already told you, I don’t want to speak to anyone.”

“I think you’ll want to hear this one out,” he says, then covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “It’s someone from Camp Harmony.”

I sit up and send chips flying everywhere. “What do they want?”

“To talk,” he mimes, handing me the phone.

“Go.” I shoo him away and try to compose myself. They can’t see me in my slouchy hoodie and track pants, but I feel like I should have made more of an effort. I take a deep breath and answer, “Hello?”

“Hi, Ashley!” An unusually high-spirited woman gushes down the line. I imagine she has flawless skin, a high ponytail, and spends her free time doing Pilates. You know the type. “This is Amber calling from Camp Harmony. It seems that there was an error with your application.”

“An error?” I repeat.

“Your application has been reconsidered,” Amber continues, her voice becoming increasingly more animated with excitement. “We’ve seen your video online, and the judges didn’t realize you had such vocal range. Your previous application didn’t fully showcase your talent, but your new material is something we could really work with. I’m calling to offer you a place in our program.”

“A place?” My heart is pounding so hard I’m not sure whether I want to throw up or dance. “Really?”

“Sorry, how silly of me. Hold on one moment.” Her tinkling laugh floats down the line, followed by the sound of shuffling papers. Of course, this would be it. This is when she realizes she’s speaking to the wrong person. That, or worse, the call is a massive prank by an internet troll. “By place, I mean a full scholarship.”

“A scholarship?” I stammer.

I intended to use my college fund to put myself through the program, if I ever got in. The fees for three months at Camp Harmony cost more than a full year at an Ivy League college. It’s expensive, but it’s a small price to pay for setting up your career and forging connections that could secure a future record deal. From my research, I know they’ve only offered one scholarship before. Surely, this has to be a hoax.

“You have the raw talent we are looking for, and your story has really resonated with the public,” Amber continues as her nails clack over a keyboard. “I’ll email you your official offer letter now, so you can review all the details and sign our contract. All the documents are already in the mail and should be with you tomorrow. Camp starts next week. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“N-n-no,” I stutter. Everything is happening so fast. I’ve forgotten to breathe, let alone process what the hell is going on. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Perfect,” Amber croons. “We’ll see you then, Ashley. We’re all looking forward to meeting you.”

She hangs up, and I race to my computer to check my emails. There it is. One unread message. This is no joke. I open it and see an official offer from Camp Harmony. My letter.

The attached contract is over twenty-pages long. I skim through them quickly. Their terms seem too good to be true: a full-ride scholarship, access to instruments, training materials, food and board included… This is better than anything I could have hoped for.

As I reach the final page, a clause about Artist Development draws my attention. It discusses the commitments expected of each applicant, blah blah… blah… then… well, shit…

Ashley has an impressive range… focus on development of a new style… pop…

My excitement drops to the pit of my stomach. The incredible high suddenly feels like a knife twisting in my core. An amazing offer wouldn’t come without a catch. They aren’t offering me a place. Camp Harmony has already rejected Ash—the girl who lives and breathes heavy metal. Instead, they want the girl in the video. They want Ashley—a more commercially viable product. A person who doesn’t exist.

The question is, am I willing to go?

---