Chapter 3

3.

Six years old. My first lost tooth.

My front tooth had been loose for a week. She tied a piece of string to it and made me stand in front of a microphone.

"Three―two―one―"

She yanked it.

Tears sprayed from my eyes. I hit the floor, clutching my mouth as blood leaked through my fingers.

She knelt down, holding the phone in her other hand to capture my expression.

"Haha, baby, don't cry! Let's show everyone your first baby tooth! Isn't it cute?"

Thirty million views. The comments said: "I'm dying," "I could watch this a hundred times," and "Mommy Eileen is a genius."

She was a genius, indeed.

She put that tooth in a small glass jar and placed it in a display case.

Next to it was my ER registration from age three, my first diary entry, and the first button I ever lost.

Each item had a tiny label with the video number and view count.

She wasn't displaying my life.

She was displaying her traffic.

When I turned seven, I started elementary school. On the first day, my mother set up a tripod at the school gates.

She made me run toward the entrance three times in a new dress she chose.

The first time, my face was wrong. The second time, the light was bad. The third time, another kid blocked the shot.

On the fourth run, I tripped. My knee scraped the concrete, peeling back the skin.

"Don't cry yet! Wait! Stay there!"

She knelt down to film the scrape.

The title: "First Day of School Fall. Mommy Cried for Her Baby."

In the video, she actually looked like she was crying. But I saw her.

She had used eye drops in the car before the fourth take.

"Mom is acting," I thought that night, staring at my ceiling. I was only seven, but I knew what acting was.

I did it every day.

I acted like a happy daughter. I acted like a kid who didn't mind being filmed 24/7.

I acted like the "Princess Clara" who would do anything for the camera.