a rock music magazine should have been the most thrilling and intimidating part of my day. I was a self-taught programmer, hired to propose new functionality for others to code, and I worried the legit geeks would ferret out all my technical blind spots.
But my awe at meeting Josie overshadowed the excitement of a new job, and since it soon became apparent that I didn’t have enough knowledge yet to follow along, I began to daydream about the pending dinner with Jo. Would we gossip about the workplace? Would she share secrets about Micah?
Before long, Byron asked if anyone had anything else, then dismissed us with a last request to Ajit to show me how to set up my workspace. An hour later, I had my laptop, some basic software, and a connection to the Internet.
Ajit said, “Don’t worry. It always takes time to ramp up. We’ll have you walking through code in no time.”
A frisson of joy passed through me, and I didn’t bother to correct his assumption that I’d been hired as a developer.
I itched to jump on the forum to share my incredible morning. The fans were the only people on earth who would understand how mind-blowing all this was, but I couldn’t yet. Not only would that be unethical and hypocritical, I wasn’t ready to deal with the curiosity such a confession would invite.
Still I wondered if I could at least text Ash and squeal with her.
As if she’d read my mind, my phone rang out a riff of Walking Disaster’s “Expulsion”—Ash’s text message ringtone. Since I had no other pressing tasks, I slid it open.
Help! There’s a revolt on the board. They’ve decided to stage some kind of search and destroy mission against that reviewer. I’ve tried to intervene, but they’re ignoring me
Shit.
My fingers flew. Just lock the thread. Or delete it.
The phone rang out again. Layla, please. Just pop in?
I gritted my teeth. I’d put her in charge because she promised she could handle any drama in my absence.
Glancing around to make sure nobody could spy on my laptop screen, I opened the fan site and logged in, smiling at the rotating banner up top. A picture of Adam from the early days loaded, giving me a twinge of nostalgia for the rush I’d felt building my community alongside the rocketing success of the band.
I quickly found the thread in question since it now had a fire icon to the side, indicating it was literally a “hot topic.” I clicked on the last page to jump right into the fray. The last message, written only a minute earlier, told me all I needed to know.
Di$a$ter, who had no life off the boards, had written: All right. I’ve set up a fake email account so I could register. Let’s all go and let Gabriel Sanchez know he can’t mess with WD.
I rolled my eyes at how childish these people could be and at myself for letting this still be such a huge part of my life, but I began composing my trademark level-headed response to the incredibly short-sighted attempts to salvage the already solid reputation of the band from one bad review.
Guys, are you shitting me? You do realize that this is one review among dozens. The reviewer has a right to his opinion, and you only give the fan base a terrible reputation by flooding the comment sections. It won’t change the mind of the reviewer. It may in fact cement it. I’m going to lock this thread now.
If I come back and find you’re continuing this nonsense, I’ll have to start banning accounts. I don’t want to do that. I know you mean well, but please knock it off, you knuckleheads.
This was my life. My weird alternative life.
The fan reaction didn’t surprise me. Fans assume the world revolves around all the arcane knowledge they’ve collected over the years. After a while, a fan community is nothing but inside jokes, memes, and long-held grievances. The name Gabriel Sanchez would be added to the ever-expanding list of people who were dead to us.
Of course, I didn’t reveal that I currently sat at the very magazine they were battling. Hopefully Gabriel Sanchez wouldn’t know I had anything to do with the fans. If I ever crossed paths with him.
The reality of that possibility hit me.
I stood and scoped out the other cubes wondering if Gabriel might appear in the flesh. It would have been funny to tell him to his face what my posters wanted to