Against her better judgment, Polly grabbed her coat and headed to the address she recognized from the reflection: P.S. 94, a decommissioned elementary school now used for storage.
“You came,” Mia said, not looking up. “Sit. Front row.”
Tonight, Polly was spiraling. Her latest video—"Victorian sanitation reforms (and why you should care)"—had flopped. The comments were brutal: “Boring.” “Stick to baking.” “Mia Mi would’ve made this spicy.”
Polly stared at Mia’s profile. A new post: a fifteen-second clip of Mia in a library, leaning over a rare first edition, whispering, “Let me teach you something forbidden.” It already had two million views. OnlyTarts - Polly Yangs- Mia Mi - Home Schoolin...
Jealousy tasted like burnt toast.
By the time the guard reached the classroom, Mia was gone. Only Polly remained, holding a folder and a dusty eraser, the faint scent of old school chalk clinging to her fingers.
And in the quiet of that abandoned classroom, Polly Yangs finally understood the secret syllabus. Against her better judgment, Polly grabbed her coat
Polly flipped through. It wasn’t about history or economics. It was about loneliness. Mia’s data showed that 70% of their subscribers weren’t there for the lessons. They were there for a voice that made them feel less alone in the dark.
The door was unlocked. Inside, the air smelled of must and old chalk. A single classroom glowed at the end of the hall.
She pulled out her phone. Deleted her scheduled video. Opened a blank draft. “Sit
Outside, a security flashlight swept past the windows. Mia stood up, tucked a chalkboard eraser into Polly’s coat pocket.
Mia was the platform’s queen. Where Polly was warm, Mia was ice. Her “Home Schoolin’” segments were ruthless breakdowns of economic inequality, delivered in a latex blazer while she sharpened a knife (a prop, she assured everyone). Her catchphrase: “Daddy’s trust fund won’t save you from the proletariat, darling.” She had 1.2 million followers. Polly had 90,000.
Mia Mi sat at a teacher’s desk, grading papers that were blank.
“You’ve been teaching facts,” Mia said. “I’ve been teaching belonging. But I got lost in the character. The latex. The knife.” She smiled thinly. “You’re still real, Polly. That’s your edge.”
Polly blinked. “You’re the top earner.”