The next morning after the show, Mia woke up smiling from ear-to-ear. The sun was coming through a crack in the curtains when her cellphone rang.
“Hello?” she said with a gravelly voice.
She squinted, using her hands to block the sun rays from her eyes.
“Mia! You’re late! Girl, wake up! Your first client is here waiting for you. Do you want me to get her shampooed and ready for you?” Her salon assistant, Alex asked.
Mia jumped up from the bed in a panic. Rushing to throw on clothes, she pulled her hair into a ponytail.
“I’m on my way. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Yes… get them ready. Crap. I’m so sorry.”
Mia ran to the salon around the corner, still on cloud nine over the Cyrus comment. Even being late for work was worth the perma-grin on her face that day.
Later at the salon, Mia was finishing up her client’s hair color to prepare them to process. She cleaned up her station and flopped into the chair while her client was under the color processing lamp. Mia sat down reading a fashion magazine when her phone pinged. Picking it up, she saw it was a Twitter message.
Cyrus_2.0: Hello beautiful. I just wanted to say hi. I was having lunch with my cousin Isis and Gage Stone. We were just talking about fans and I thought of you. I thought I would send a message to my number one fan. #yourdreamguy
She clicked to see that the profile had just a few followers.
“Fake profile freaks,” she thought.
MissMia: Wow. Nice of you to message me. So you have a friend called Gage married to a girl named Isis too? That’s nice since your profile is fake. It’s cool, though. I’ll follow you, anyway. I like fan pages. Really, though? Dude. Not cool pretending to be Cyrus.
Mia sent the message a little annoyed at the nerve of this person. She hated fake profiles but thought creating a fan page was a nice tribute. Pretending to be someone you’re not was just lame. Going back to work, she ignored the next few dings of her phone. She had a full client day with a photo shoot with a local magazine later that evening and didn’t have time for this foolishness.
***
After a long high-pressure day, she grabbed a burger and headed back to her one-room apartment. In the downtown area around the town square, she made her way up the stairs leading to her cozy home. It was a modern loft, big enough for entertaining a small group. Brick walls and shiny cement floor set the stage for the old historical building, giving it an industrial feel. She decorated it with the art she had painted all around the room. The open-concept space was just enough for a single career woman.
Mia headed to the restroom, the only space in her apartment that was closed off from the rest of the space. She showered and got into her pajamas, ready to unwind. She went and sat on her contemporary white couch with fuzzy lime green and black throw pillows next to the large windows that looked over the small town. Her apartment was more like something you would see in a big city, not a little country town. Where everything around her was Indiana cornfields and riverbank locals. She was a modern girl stuck in mediocrity.
Clicking on the TV, she started watching reruns of “The Simpsons”. While eating her dinner, Mia picked up her phone, thumbing through emails and messages.
She soon saw the fake Cyrus account had messaged her back.
FakeCyrus: So, beautiful. How do you know it’s not the real Cyrus Evans? I could have made this profile to talk to you. I don’t want interns and PR people in my business. They use my profile sometimes to post for me at work. I got you to follow me. I guess that’s something.
MissMia: Well. I doubt Cyrus needs a fake profile, but whatever floats your boat, weirdo. You changed it to Fake Cyrus. Lol. That speaks volumes.
She continued eating, thinking, “I might as well mess with the guy a while. It could be fun.”
About thirty minutes later, another Twitter notification came on her phone. Picking it up, she saw it was Fake Cyrus again.
FakeCyrus: I was wondering if you would ever message back. Took you long enough. I was thinking you forgot about me. Am I not your dream guy anymore?
MissMia: Oh, Fake Cyrus. You’re not my dream guy. Just a poser. I could use some good conversation if you want to stop pretending to be someone you’re not. So, are you a wrestling fan, or just a creepy stalker?
FakeCyrus: I am a fan. The biggest marks are always wrestlers.
(FakeCyrus is now following you.)
FakeCyrus: So, you’re a fan?
MissMia: Oh yes. My dad used to take me to wrestling shows as a kid. I’ve been a fan since I was five years old. While other girls were playing Barbies and dress-up, I was pretending to be a wrestler, sparing, and roughhousing with the neighborhood boys.
FakeCyrus: You must have been a handful.
MissMia: Yeah. It led to a lot of scrapes, bruises, and a broken nose. When I got older and became more of a girly-girl, I always wanted to be a wrestling manager, but I stopped trying.
FakeCyrus: Why?
MissMia: The reality of being an adult came into play. Bills, responsibility. You know. Adulting and stuff. So, do you wrestle, or are you still pretending to be someone you’re not?
FakeCyrus: I am a wrestler. G.O.A.T. lol. Kidding. I am a real wrestler. What about you? I see you have a lot of photos of models in crazy makeup, but few of you.
MissMia: I’m a makeup artist and hairstylist. I co-own a salon.
FakeCyrus: Well, from what I see, you’re talented. Nice artwork too. I’m an art history major.
MissMia: Wow? You’re working this angle, aren’t you? You’re an art major just like Cyrus was. Probably double majored in political science, too.
FakeCyrus: Yep, believe it or not. Can I see a real pic of you? I saw your model photos on Facebook. I bet you don’t need all that to look hot.
MissMia: You found my Facebook profile? Dude! Don’t get weird. Stalker much? Yes, I model occasionally for photographer friends. I’m not pretty or tall enough to model full time. I just do artsy stuff for fun.
FakeCyrus: I’m not asking for nudes. Yet… Just kidding. I just want to see that pretty face without all the art stuff. The only real photo of you is your profile photo, and it looks like a headshot from an agency or something. You’re beautiful. Don’t pretend you’re not.
She sent a selfie she took that day in the salon and thought the lighting made her look pretty. Even if it wasn’t Cyrus she was talking to, she wanted to look nice in case this guy had some dating potential.
MissMia: Now show me a pic of you, Fake Cyrus.
FakeCyrus: Wow! You’re so hot. I can send a selfie, but I don’t think you’d like it.
MissMia: Why? Are you some creepy dude living in mommy’s basement, with a bunch of cats or something? Even if you aren’t my type, I have no problem chatting with anyone online. Especially other IWX fans. I’m not a snob. Sometimes people just need someone to talk to.
(Selfie photo)
FakeCyrus: I warned you. Lol.
MissMia: Dude? Really? You’re going to milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you? You found a good selfie pic of Cyrus, though. I’ve never seen that one before.
FakeCyrus: Well, I’m me. I just took that on my phone, you just don’t believe me. Are you into Cyrus? Does pretty Mia think the big man is a real stud?
Hesitantly, Mia tried to think of how to answer that. It was always personal to her, and few people knew about her attraction to him. Tapping on her phone with her thumb she decided to confess. After all. It wasn’t the real Cyrus, and it would feel good to finally have someone to talk to about it.
MissMia: I do. I have been a fan of his for years. And yes, I like him more than just a normal fan. I’m too old for silly crushes, but he’s gorgeous. It’s not like I’m delusional like other fangirls. I know he would never fall for someone like me, especially being a nerdy fangirl. Either I am attracted to someone or I’m not. I’m not a crazy freak. The first time I commented on his page was yesterday. He commented back, which was cool.
FakeCyrus: Well, sweet Mia, why wouldn’t I? You’re stunningly beautiful. I noticed your page before.
MissMia: Thanks for saying so, but flattery will get you nowhere, Fake Cyrus. You’re not some silly teenager, are you? I am way too old to mess with little boys playing games.
FakeCyrus: You’re not old. How old are you, twenty-one?
MissMia: Flattering, but no. I wish. Thirty.
FakeCyrus: Me. Thirty-seven.
MissMia: lol. You sure commit, don’t you? Your birthday is June 17th too, huh?
FakeCyrus: It is. You’ll never believe this is the real Cyrus, will you?
MissMia: Lol. No. I won’t let myself be catfished. I must admit it’s been fun talking to you.
Mia was having fun talking to this guy. He sure was persistent, but nice. It was sort of fun thinking it may be Cyrus, but she knew that would never happen.
MissMia: Tell me, Mr. Fake Cyrus. You married? Girlfriend? Don’t say divorced.
FakeCyrus: Okay, then I won’t, but I’d be lying. Divorced two years now. No girlfriend either. You?
MissMia: Nope. Single. Too busy with work and college on the side.
FakeCyrus: College?
MissMia: Public relations and communications. I want to go into entertainment.
FakeCyrus: Awesome. Never too late to learn something new. What’s your real name?
MissMia: Mia is my real name. Mia Wilson.
FakeCyrus: Well, Mia Wilson. Nice to meet you. I have to go. I’ll talk to you soon. If that’s okay.
MissMia: I should go too. I sure enjoyed talking with you.
FakeCyrus: You too lovely lady. - The Real Cyrus aka Cyrus Evans
MissMia: You’re relentless but consistent. Lol. Have a good night.
Mia sat her phone down, giggling. “Wow, this guy has issues. IWX fans can be freaks. At least he seems nice though. If he asks me for nudes, he can forget it. People are so weird.”