In between classes and at lunch, younger students wait on the edges, getting close but not too close, and when I get home, I still have absolutely no idea who is watching this.

We get my ratings on Tuesdays, so soon I’ll find out if this was a huge waste of time.

I worry that only four people watched long enough for it to count—Emily, Hanna, Dad, and Nan—then double it because Lucas, Ella, Sonia, and Ryan must have. But eight viewers doesn’t justify anything.

If it’s not a lot higher than that, I’ll be ditched in less than a month.

Chapter 25

I have dinner alone while Dad sits in the other room.

Michael focuses his camera on random objects while I eat, the empty can of soup on the counter, the overflowing trash can, the sad man in the living room.

Dad tries hard, but sometimes his efforts get lost in the storm. He has bad days and better days, and he finds it easier to pretend when there are fewer people watching.

When it’s just the two of us, if we’re lucky, the grief loses its grip. Those moments are rare, but with the world watching, it won’t happen tonight.

Dad may not realize it yet, but he is going to be a star too. If star is the right word.

I’ve already seen Danny watching him, knowing he can get two for the price of one, the dead mom’s daughter and the dead wife’s husband. I don’t blame him. It certainly makes for a better show than me eating a bowl of soup.

I haven’t spoken directly to the camera since this morning. I don’t want to overdo it. And I haven’t checked my phone, scared that my social media feeds will kill my hopes of a good opening episode before the ratings have even come through. I wonder if the producers have been searching my notifications all day, choosing the best ones to put on screen.

After dinner, I lie on my bed, listening to Twenty One Pilots, and it’s surprisingly easy to forget the camera is even there.

Danny and Michael have left. They sign off at six, leaving the tiny cameras in the corners of every room to do their job for them.

If I do go out, the contract says I have to wear two body cams they gave me. One is a head cam that films what I can see, and the other ties around my chest and points back at me like a selfie stick.

I watch the camera watching me. At least on TV shows, there are people to talk to. At least vloggers fill every second with noise. If I want to go viral, I need to keep talking and hope something clicks.

“Are you watching?” I ask. “Of course you’re not.”