Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“It’s fun to pretend to be a bitch. Do it with me.”
The blonde giggled a little, but I was totally serious.
“Come on, Jilly. Let’s do this together. On three, scream ‘Fuck brogrammers.’ You can do it. It’ll feel good.”
My buddy rolled her eyes again, but then took a deep breath in preparation.
“One. Two. Three….”
“FUCK BROGRAMMERS!”
And with that, we collapsed laughing, our arms around each other. Because until then, I hadn't realized the need to let it all out, but once done, damn, it felt good, like a huge pressure off my chest.
So now, staring at Jill in Wheeler Hall, I had no idea what she was talking about. That had been a fun day and the photo was just of me goofing off. Okay, I’d been screaming profanities to the skies, but still. What was the big deal?
My buddy waved her phone in my face. “You aren't on Pictogram so you probably don't know.”
“Know what?” I demanded.
Jilly shoved her cell in my face. Okay, there was her Pictogram account with my sassy face caught mid-laugh.
But then I gasped.
Because the photo had 1,213,462 likes. Jill had posted the hashtags: #howIFeelAboutBrogrammers, #FuckBrogrammers, #WomenWhoCode and #GirlPower.
Holy shit.
My jaw dropped open.
1.2 million likes?
Only Kim Kardashian got stats like that.
How was it possible?
Sneering, Roger sat behind us and dropped a poster on my desk. And another gasp escaped my lips.
Because it was the same photo on Jill's Pictogram account, except the image had been commercialized. There I was, doing my half-laugh, half-taunt, but plastered beneath my image was the trademark logo for Marc Janow, a young, hip fashion designer.
#GIRLPOWER, the ad read. #LADIESROCK.
Holy shit.
They’d taken my photo and made me into their emissary.
For an expensive, downtown-cool clothing line too.
What in the world?
But it was too much. What I’d thought was private, was now out in the world for everyone to see.
My saucy expression. My creamy cleavage, visible in the lacy black bra. And worst of all, that middle finger, making like I was a bad girl.
Oh god. It felt like the entire lecture hall was staring at us. Grabbing my backpack, I stood up with shaky legs.
“Mia, you look so pretty. You really do!” Jill exclaimed, grabbing my arm. “Don’t go!”
She tried to make a bad situation better. Jilly would say anything to boost my spirits.
Roger piped up then, that asshole.
“Pretty? Not just pretty. Fuckin’ hot.” He made a hissing sizzling sound with his teeth like some disgusting frat boy.
Oh my god, I was going to be sick.
Because Roger was oozing sarcasm, for sure. Even if other students nodded and agreed, it was all fake. I’m not pretty. I’m chubby and round, the type that no one ever notices.
So face burning with humiliation, I rushed out of the lecture hall feeling dozens of my classmates’ eyes boring right through me. Bed sounded good. That, with the comforter pulled over my head, just like when I was a little girl.
Because how could this have happened?
But my nightmare only got worse because on Bancroft Avenue, at the 51 bus stop, I saw it.
Oh god.
It was a huge billboard of me in just my bra.
Holy cow! Might as well erect a billboard of me in Times Square next.
Tucking my head down and pulling the hood of my sweatshirt up, I walked briskly the rest of the way to my dorm.
Back in the privacy of my room, I navigated to the Pictogram website. How did my photo become an ad? How was this possible?
And what I found shocked me. Any user who signed up for a Pictogram account gave up all rights to their uploaded photos. Pictogram had the right to sell my photo to any advertiser for what I could only imagine would be an arm and a leg. Marc Janow was a major fashion designer. He undoubtedly had the money to spare.
Taking slow deep breaths, I tried to calm myself down, but I couldn’t. How could this popular app abuse its users like this?
Livid, my fingers punched the keyboard, googling Pictogram’s CEO, Theo White. The first link that popped up was a tabloid story of him, shirtless, with a supermodel on his yacht. Although not an actual user of Pictogram, I’d still heard of Theo White. He graduated from Berkeley. In fact, he’d built the beginnings of Pictogram in his dorm room.
What I didn’t know was how ridiculously hot he was. Like a groupie, I searched for more photos of him. With his penetrating blue eyes and chiseled jaw, the man was devastatingly gorgeous. Shirtless, he had a six pack and thick muscular arms. I found a shot of him in tight jeans and nearly died. He had a fantastic ass, too. The photos of him in a full suit were what made me almost fall out of my chair. He had a sexy arrogant smile that made him look handsome, debonair, and unabashedly cocky.