Spreading

Ryan stared at the dazzling array of American-style breakfast foods piled high with meat, eggs, dairy, and calories, momentarily unsure whether it was morning or noon.

Americans usually ate a light lunch, that was true, but the breakfast in front of him was way too lavish.

"Ryan, coming over so early today without telling Auntie beforehand—I would've prepared more. How does it taste?" Taylor's mother, Andrea, said with a kind smile.

"It's enough, tastes great. You all eat too." Ryan gave an awkward laugh, feeling a bit uncomfortable under her constant gaze.

Taylor's father put down his newspaper. "Taking Taylor out for a drive today?"

"Not exactly." Ryan shook his head and explained the purpose of his visit.

"Electronic music?"

The middle-aged couple looked confused, then exchanged a glance.

"Yeah, I mess around with electronic music in my spare time, just for fun. Can't compare to a professional singer like Taylor." Ryan continued explaining.

"Oh, one of those trendy things young people like." Taylor's mother nodded repeatedly, though she had no idea what electronic music actually was, let alone that its main venues were nightclubs.

"That's good. You and Taylor will have more common ground." Taylor's father, Scott, nodded along.

Why did it always circle back to her? Ryan felt like these two were acting a bit strange.

Just then, Taylor shuffled into the kitchen with a messy bird's nest of hair, wearing cartoon-patterned pajamas and rubbing her eyes. Still half-asleep, she mumbled, "Mom, where did you put my glasses?"

"You're losing this or that from morning till night. How would I know?" Andrea stood up to help her daughter find them.

Only then did Taylor notice Ryan sitting there. She didn't react much and just kept looking for her glasses.

A moment later, she sat across from Ryan with hair as rough as a broom, now wearing a pair of large black round-framed glasses.

At breakfast, she was the same as always—picking and choosing, this would make her fat, that would make her gain weight. The burden of being an idol weighed heavily on her.

"Austin!" her mother called upstairs. It was the weekend, so Austin was probably sleeping in.

The meal dragged on lazily. Around nine-thirty, Taylor gulped down the last of her milkshake.

"We can start. I need to go change first." Taylor set down her glass.

"Just wear this. The whole point is to be 'close to real life.' Dressing up too much would defeat the purpose." Ryan studied her with interest.

"Are you kidding me?" Taylor shook her head frantically.

"Ryan's right. This is being filmed at home." Andrea chimed in.

"We need to film quickly. I have a meeting soon." Scott checked his watch.

"No!!!" Taylor's scream tore through the quiet morning.

"It's over. It's all over. Why do I look like an idiot?" Taylor caught a glimpse of the video on the computer screen and let out a despairing wail.

Ryan thought it was great, though. Usually, they filmed the "normal part" first, then the "crazy part." With Taylor, it was the opposite.

Taylor hadn't washed her face, was still wearing her glasses, and walked like a chimpanzee. She had completely sacrificed her image for the video.

By then, Taylor's father had driven off in his Cayenne, and her mother was watching a morning drama. Only Ryan and Taylor remained in the dining room.

"Hey, Ryan, did you know Carrie Underwood is dominating the charts right now?" Taylor suddenly asked.

Ryan was editing the video and nodded absently.

"I'm talking to you!" Taylor frowned.

"So what? Are you releasing a new song? Like 'You Belong With Me'?" Ryan kept his eyes on the screen.

"I haven't started producing it yet. What I mean is..." Taylor hesitated, stopping mid-sentence.

"Ugh!" Taylor fumed in frustration.

Ryan glanced at her, then went back to editing.

After that, he instructed Taylor to post the video on her main social media accounts, then stood up to leave.

"You're leaving just like that?" Taylor called after him.

"How about dropping me off at Blackbird Studio?" she suggested tentatively.

Ryan sat in the car for twenty minutes before Taylor came out, her usual Coach Legacy handbag hanging from her arm. Since the weather had fully warmed up, she'd switched to a "new look"—a solid-color strapless dress, paired with uncommon high heels, plus extra accessories like bracelets, a necklace, and earrings. With her wild, curly hair, the overall impression was... "complicated."

She was still young, yet she insisted on dressing maturely—just like the first time he'd met her. It didn't suit her. Ryan made that judgment in his mind.

Objectively speaking, though, even if she couldn't dress well, her...

Listening to the crisp sound of her heels, Ryan's gaze locked onto Taylor's long legs.

That part wasn't bad. Having an idol's burden wasn't necessarily a bad thing—at least it kept her in shape.

In the car, Taylor seemed to have something to say but kept it to herself, visibly frustrated.

"What are you trying to say?" Ryan was getting annoyed by her behavior.

Taylor pouted, turned her head away, and refused to look at him.

"We're here. Get out." Ryan parked in front of Blackbird Studio.

"What are you doing later?" Taylor asked hesitantly.

"Keep Abigail company," Ryan said.

"Oh, well, you have fun with that." Taylor zipped out of the car.

"Not like I'd keep you company instead," Ryan muttered, hitting the gas and peeling away.

Within just a few days, various versions of the Harlem Shake began spreading wildly online, spawning countless imitations. Those imitations, in turn, triggered even more copycats, replicating and propagating like a virus...

"Fuck, Austin, you nailed it!" Paul stared at the video on his phone, surrounded by a crowd roaring with laughter.

"Holy shit! How many views?" Taylor, taking a break from recording, overheard the staff's chatter and got hooked, forgetting all about laying down tracks.

"Over five hundred imitation videos?" Joel casually searched on YouTube and was stunned by the result.

Nighttime, Atlanta, some high-end club.

On a TV screen covering an entire wall, Jon Stewart's The Daily Show was playing. One of the show's trademarks was its wisecracking coverage of current political events, and today was no exception.

"Let's check in on the Donkey Party primaries. Senator Obama from Illinois said at a rally today that his primary opponent, Senator Hillary from New York, is 'all talk, no action.' He better hope that's true, because yesterday she brought up Obama's birth certificate in Hawaii..."

"Wait, what was that sound? Did you guys hear that?" Jon Stewart looked puzzled and curious.

The noise grew louder—a strange rhythm and rumble.

"Do the Harlem Shake!!!" A voice with reverb effects cut through.

The next second, Jon Stewart on screen started convulsing like he'd been electrocuted, his arms flailing uncontrollably in a textbook Harlem shake. The sight had the guys smoking weed and watching TV cracking up.

They were all Black men, dressed in full hip-hop gear—gold chains, gold chains, dreadlocks, tattoos—and their speech dripped with rap flavor.

"Hold up, that ain't funny, bro. We Black folks are gonna be running this country by year's end, and Jon Stewart's playing favorites!" Ludacris, sitting in the middle, waved a hand. As a heavyweight in Southern rap, he already had two RIAA multi-platinum albums and took home a Grammy in '05 with Young Arthur and Lil Jon.

Beyond his rap fame, he'd made moves in Hollywood too. In '03, he played Tej Parker in 2 Fast 2 Furious, a key comic-relief role that opened doors for other films—though he missed out on the upcoming Fast & Furious 4.

"Oh, you might not know, but some teams are already filming their own Harlem Shake versions," said the Black man beside him. His body seemed slightly hunched, but that was just because of his towering height—it was Joe Johnson, the core player of the NBA's Atlanta Hawks.

"Like a passing fad. People care today, but tomorrow they'll forget," Ludacris scoffed, then stood up to whisper with a Video vixen nearby.

Video vixens were a byproduct of hip-hop culture. Since 1995, they'd been a staple in every hip-hop music video—essentially professional video models. The trend peaked around 2000, with top vixens earning up to ten thousand dollars per shoot, drawing in more and more women, mostly Black or mixed-race. In 2005, one vixen published a book detailing her intimate encounters with multiple big-name hip-hop artists, hitting number one on the New York Times bestseller list.

Most of the women orbiting hip-hop stars were like this—blending "groupie," "video vixen," and "party girl" labels into one. You could call them scene chasers.

Plenty more of them filled the venue, enough for every Black celebrity, athlete, and their entourage to pick two or three each. Barring any surprises, this would be another debauched weekend, just like countless ones before.

Until a white man walked in.

He stood out like a sore thumb—baby-faced, and a quick look showed he was the only white guy there.

Despite being an obvious outsider, every Black person who noticed him greeted him warmly, and he chatted back with equal enthusiasm. The scene was oddly harmonious. In fact, the whole party was hosted by this white young man, Atlanta's most famous "party promoter" at the time. In 2002, he'd broken into the hip-hop scene by organizing after-parties for Eminem and Ludacris's Anger Management Tour.

Luda, about to head into a private room with two scene chasers on his arm, spotted him and immediately ditched the women to walk over.

"Scooter, Pontiac chose to renew! Ten million a year—can you believe it?" Luda was buzzing.

"Yeah, I made the call," the white man, Scooter, said with a casual nod.

Ludacris had once endorsed Pepsi, but the deal got axed after public backlash over gangster crime elements in his lyrics. After that, Scooter landed him an eight-figure endorsement deal with Pontiac, and from then on, Luda was Scooter's "ride-or-die."

"That little thick one brought to the States? When's Diddy gonna get a taste? Heard he's been into new flavors lately," Luda joked, making a "yummy" face.

Scooter shrugged. "You'll have to ask Young Arthur—he's the guardian now."

He tossed the question back to Young Arthur.

Then Scooter noticed Jon Stewart still clowning on TV and seemed to get an idea. He asked Ludacris, "Who made that goofy-ass song?"