coming soon
What would you give up to have it all?
I’m Emma Blanton. Yeah, that girl. The one with forty-two million social media followers. The one who climbed the internet’s ladder of fame on the back of a dead guy and a million dollars. The one who everyone hates, but no one really knows. The one who goes to bed insecure and alone.
He’s Cash Mitchell. The guy with the stupid name and the gorgeous face, and this sexy bad-boy vibe thing that has somehow made him America’s favorite crush. He’s kissing puppies and signing boobs and rocking towards a hundred million followers as if it’s easy.
We were this decade’s rockstars and MTV saw it and wanted it, which is how six of us ended up living in this mansion, a camera always on, the public always watching. Two months and twenty-three carefully scripted episodes that would get each of us more of the three F’s that we were desperately chasing. Fame. Fortune. Followers.
I knew my role. I was the unlikeable one. The dark villain with the devious smile. The package of dynamite that would blow up any chance of peaceful living and harmony.
Cash knew his role. He was the good guy. The golden one. The one that everyone, even the worst cast member of all, would fall in love with.
They were just roles, but somewhere in the script, I forgot the game and gave him my unlikeable heart.
excerpt:
“Of course I wanted to be famous. Everyone, whether they will admit it or not, wants people to know who they are. Even if they hate who you are. It just the act of being seen. Followed. It gives a life validity. It gives me purpose.” Emma Blanton
“I sort of fell into this. The fans, the camera crews… it’s like I woke up one day and they were all here. Eighty million people, staring at me. Expecting something from me. I’m still figuring out what to give them. Because Cash Mitchell… he’s just a normal guy. But hey—maybe that’s what they relate to.” Cash Mitchell
Ugh. A normal guy? Are you kidding me? Cash Mitchell came out of Joany Mitchell’s vagina. His baby pictures were sold to People Magazine. He wasn’t normal—has never been normal. And he knew it. That whole, tilt his head to the side and grin bashfully at the camera bit—it’s a bit. Just like all of it. Just like my shorts, which were chosen because you’re guaranteed a repost by Hollister if you tag them in a post. Just like the fact that when I walked out of this restaurant, some guy that Derek paid was going to scream at me for wearing fur and throw his coffee at me, while the paps, who were tipped off to be here, capture it all. It’s all fucking bits - only Cash Mitchell was better at it than all of us, because he was born and bred for this shit. Literally. I bet you a hundred bucks his mother had him strictly for the page six mention and the photo opps.
God, I loved his mother. Do you remember Beverly Hills? I watched that show every single day after school. Joany Mitchell played Mrs. Manyard and she was so glamorous. So gorgeous. She could say anything—anything, and it just reeked of class. And that was his mother. So no, Cash Mitchell had absolutely no idea of what it’s like to be normal. He was just good, really really good, at pretending he did.
