Going Viral

Ryan looked at the lavish spread of American food before him, packed with meat, eggs, and dairy and loaded with calories. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether it was morning or noon.

It was true that Americans usually grabbed something quick for lunch, but this breakfast was far too sumptuous.

"Ryan, you came over so early today and didn't even give me a heads-up. I would've prepared more. How does it taste?" Taylor's mother, Andrea, asked warmly.

"It's plenty, and it's really good. You should eat, too." Ryan gave an awkward smile. Being watched so closely by her mother made him uncomfortable.

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

"Not exactly." Ryan shook his head and explained why he'd come.

"Electronic music?"

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

"Yes. I mess around with electronic music in my spare time. It's just a hobby, nothing like what Taylor does as a professional singer." Ryan continued explaining.

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

"That's good, then. You and Taylor will have more in common." Taylor's father, Scott, nodded repeatedly.

How had they brought it back to her again? Ryan felt there was something strange about the two of them.

Just then, Taylor came into the dining room with her hair sticking up like a bird's nest. She wore cartoon-print pajamas and rubbed her eyes, apparently having just woken up. Still bleary-eyed, she asked, "Mom, where did you put my glasses?"

"You're always losing one thing or another. How would I know?" Andrea stood up to help her daughter look for them.

Only then did Taylor notice Ryan sitting there. She didn't react, though, and went on looking for her glasses.

A little while later, she sat across from Ryan, her hair as unruly as a broom. She now wore a pair of black, round-framed glasses with huge lenses.

She was still the same when it came to eating, picking at this and that because it might make her gain weight. Her image-consciousness was off the charts.

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

Breakfast was a very leisurely affair. At around nine thirty, Taylor gulped down the last of her milkshake.

"We can get started. I need to change first." Taylor set down her glass.

"Just wear that. The whole point is to make it 'relatable.' If you dress up too much, it defeats the purpose." Ryan eyed her with interest.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Taylor shook her head furiously.

"Ryan's right. We're filming at home," Andrea chimed in.

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

"No!!!" Taylor's scream shattered the quiet morning.

·

"It's over. It's all over. Why do I look like an idiot?" Taylor caught sight of herself in the video on the computer screen and cried out in despair.

Ryan thought it looked great. Usually, they filmed the "normal part" first and the "crazy part" afterward. With Taylor, they'd done it the other way around.

Taylor hadn't even washed her face and still had her glasses on. She imitated a chimpanzee's walk, sacrificing her image completely for the video.

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

"By the way, Ryan, Carrie Underwood's been dominating the charts lately. Did you know?" Taylor suddenly asked.

Ryan was editing the video and nodded absentmindedly.

"I'm talking to you!" Taylor furrowed her brows.

"So? Are you going to release a new song? Maybe 'You Belong with Me'?" Ryan kept his eyes on the screen.

"I haven't even started working on it. I mean..." Taylor trailed off, stopping herself before she could finish.

"Ugh!" Taylor fidgeted impatiently.

Ryan glanced at her, then went back to editing.

He told Taylor to post the video to her main social media accounts, then got up to leave.

"You're leaving already?" Taylor called after him.

"How about you drive me to Blackbird Studio?" Taylor ventured.

She'd waited in the car for twenty minutes before Taylor came out. She had her usual Coach Legacy handbag looped over her arm, but now that the weather had warmed up, she'd switched to a "new skin": a solid-colored strapless maxi dress. She'd also put on an unusual pair of high heels and added a pile of accessories—bracelets, a necklace, and earrings. Paired with her long, wild curls, the whole look was "complicated."

She was still young, yet she insisted on dressing like a mature woman. Just like when he'd first met her, it was an awkward mismatch. Ryan gave his assessment silently.

Objectively speaking, although she had no sense of style, she...

At the crisp click of her high heels, Ryan's gaze settled firmly on Taylor's long legs.

At least she had that going for her. Being image-conscious wasn't necessarily a bad thing; at least it made her take care to stay in shape.

In the car, Taylor seemed to have something to say, but she kept holding back, fidgeting with impatience.

"What is it you want to say?" Ryan asked, growing annoyed.

Taylor pouted and turned away from him.

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

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

"Keeping Abigail company," Ryan replied.

"Oh. Then make sure you keep her company." Taylor hopped out of the car.

"If I don't keep her company, should I keep you company instead?" Ryan muttered, then sped off.

·

In just a few days, all kinds of Harlem Shake videos began spreading wildly across the internet. Multiple imitations appeared, inspiring even more people to copy them, and the trend kept replicating and spreading like a virus...

"Fuck, Austin, you've got the moves down perfectly!" Paul laughed along with a crowd as he watched a video on his phone.

"Holy shit! How many views?" Taylor overheard the staff discussing it between recording sessions. Her attention snapped to them, and she forgot all about recording her song.

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

·

That night, at an upscale club in Atlanta.

A television screen that covered an entire wall was showing Jon Stewart's The Daily Show. One of the show's trademarks was its jokey coverage of current events, and tonight was no exception.

"Let's take a look at the Donkey Party primaries. Illinois Senator Obama spoke bluntly about his primary opponent, New York State Senator Hillary, at a rally today, calling her 'all talk, no action.' He'd better hope that's true, because yesterday she brought up Obama's birth certificate in Hawaii..."

"Wait a minute. What was that sound just now? Did you hear it?" Jon Stewart looked puzzled and curious.

The sound grew louder. It was a strange rhythm accompanied by a rumble.

"Do the Harlem Shake!!!" A distinctive, reverberating voice rang out.

The next second, Jon Stewart began twitching as if he'd been electrocuted, his hands moving on their own in a textbook Harlem shake. The few people watching TV and smoking weed burst into laughter.

They were all Black, dressed in hip-hop style, with gold chains, dreadlocks, and tattoos. Even the way they talked was steeped in rap.

"Hold on, this isn't funny, man. We Black folks are gonna run this country by the end of the year, and Jon Stewart's playing favorites!" Ludacris, seated in the middle, waved a hand. One of the leading names in Southern rap, he already had two albums certified multi-platinum by the RIAA. In 2005, he'd won a Grammy alongside Usher and Lil Jon.

He'd made a name for himself in rap and had also found success in Hollywood. In 2003, he'd played Tej Parker, an important character with a comedic streak, in 2 Fast 2 Furious. The role had opened the door to several other films, though he'd missed out on the upcoming Fast & Furious 4.

"Oh, you might not know this, but a team's already filmed its own version of the Harlem Shake," said the Black man sitting beside him. His body looked hunched, but that was only because he was so tall. He was Joe Johnson, the Atlanta Hawks' star player.

"It's like a gust of wind. People care about it today, then forget it tomorrow," Ludacris scoffed. Then he stood up and leaned in to whisper with the video vixen beside him.

Video vixens were a byproduct of hip-hop culture. Since 1995, they'd been a staple in hip-hop music videos—essentially professional video models. The trend peaked around 2000. At its height, a video vixen could earn ten thousand dollars for appearing in one music video, drawing more and more women into the business, most of them Black or mixed-race. In 2005, one video vixen published a book detailing her sexual encounters with several well-known figures in hip-hop. It briefly topped the New York Times bestseller list.

The people surrounding hip-hop stars were mostly women like these, with overlapping identities as groupies, video vixens, and scene girls. They could all be lumped together as women who moved in those circles.

There were plenty of women like that at the club, enough for every Black athlete and entertainer there—and their entourage—to pick two or three. All signs pointed to another debauched weekend, like countless weekends before it.

Until a white man walked in.

He stood out from the crowd, with a baby face. A closer look revealed that he was the only white man there.

Though he was clearly an outsider, every Black person who noticed him went out of their way to greet him. He was just as friendly in return, chatting with them easily. The scene was remarkably harmonious. In fact, the whole party had been organized by this young white man. He was Atlanta's most prominent party promoter at the time. In 2002, he'd entered the hip-hop world by throwing after-parties for Eminem and Ludacris during the Anger Management Tour.

Ludacris, who had two women draped over him and was about to take them into a private room, noticed him too. He immediately left the women behind and went over.

"Scooter, Pontiac renewed the deal—ten million a year! Can you believe it?" Ludacris said excitedly.

"Yeah. I called them," Scooter replied with a casual nod.

Ludacris had once endorsed Pepsi, but the gangster-crime elements in his lyrics had led to a public backlash, forcing him to drop the endorsement. After that, Scooter negotiated an eight-figure deal with Pontiac for him. Since then, Ludacris had been one of Scooter's "ride-or-die brothers."

"Did you bring that little homie to the States? When are you gonna let Diddy see him? I hear he's developed a taste for something new lately." Ludacris teased him, making a "yummy" face.

Scooter shrugged. "You'll have to ask Usher. He's the guardian now."

He'd deftly passed the question to Young Arthur.

Then Scooter noticed Jon Stewart was still clowning around on TV. As if struck by an idea, he asked Ludacris, "Who made this stupid song?"