Oh yeah, def def, I accepted the invitation without thinking twice. I mean, come on, it's time to milk this situation for all it's worth. This isn't just any random appearance; this is the moment. National TV. "One on One Talk" with Jamey Frodd.
For the first time, because of the circumstances, I let my mom dress me. Yep. The last time she did that was when I was probably six years old. She was ecstatic. If there's a more extravagant word for that, please, be my guest. Anywyays, I needed all the help I could get. Hands of glory, ancestors' blessings—everything. And honestly? She kinda killed it. But shhh, don't go telling her that.
I've been awake since 7 a.m. this morning. Lol. And saying that, you'd think I actually slept, like a baby or something. Nope. No babies here. I haven't had a proper night's rest since the management team replied to my email and booked me for today. That was exactly a week ago. And since then? I've been a literal stress ball with lashes.
People say anxiety kills. Trust me—it does. Slowly, deeply, and with dramatic flair. And the worst part? I've been sweating like crazy since I woke up, and it's ruining my makeup. My mom and I have been battling this face beat for over an hour now. We've had two mini touch-up crises already.
"Mom, my eyeliner's smudging again!" I whined from the bathroom.
"Oh hush, Nala. That's just your nerves talking," she called back, already dabbing at my cheek with a sponge. "We didn't go to the spa, the salon, and the dentist for you to melt like ice cream now."
Don't worry, dearies, it's only 11 a.m. I'm not late yet. I'm supposed to be at the studio by 12:45 for prep, briefing, and all that good stuff. There's still time, technically.
When my mom first heard the news, you would not believe her reaction. She screamed so loud I legit thought we were being robbed. Our neighbors did too, apparently. Mrs. Harris from across the hall even opened her door with a baseball bat. "What's going on in here?" she yelled. My mom? She just clutched the phone to her chest like it was a golden ticket and screamed again. I swear, it felt like she was the one being interviewed.
"There I was," I muttered to myself, "thinking I was overreacting."
We hit the mall the very next day. Mom was on a mission. We spent hours in the clothing section. She was pulling gowns, jumpsuits, blazers, like it was her personal runway. But I wasn't vibing with any of it.
"No, mom. This one makes me look like a news anchor from the 90s."
"You say that like it's a bad thing!"
Eventually, she gave up and shoved me toward the salon. "Go. Get your hair fixed. Come back when you're in the mood to slay."
I didn't argue.
While I was getting my curls refreshed, she walked in like a fashion fairy godmother, holding three shopping bags. "We're doing a spa day. No arguments."
Next thing I know, I'm face down on a massage table, hot guy kneading away the tension in my back while cucumbers chilled on my eyelids. Not bad. I could get used to this.
The next morning? Dentist appointment.
"Mom. My teeth are fine," I groaned.
"They can be finer," she replied without blinking.
While I was there, she went on another makeup haul. Came back with half a store's inventory. "We're not playing around, Nala. You're going to shine on that stage."
Honestly? She's the best. If I ever get famous for real, she's totally becoming my manager. She's organized, stylish, slightly terrifying, and basically my best friend.
Five minutes. That's all I have before the cameras roll. Five minutes before the entire country sees me, hears me, judges me, or supports me. Either way, this is happening.
I stare at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to gather whatever confidence I can. My curls are sleek, falling softly past my shoulders. My makeup? Flawless. No cap. A glossy nude lip, subtle gold eyeshadow, a kiss of blush, and lashes long enough to wave with.
The red silk dress fits like a dream—knee-length, elegant, with chiffon sleeves that drape to my wrists. Paired it with deep green pointed heels. I look... official. And fabulous. A mix of class and "don't play with me."
A crew member appears beside me. "Ms. Nala? We're ready. Frodd's about to call you out."
I nod, heart thumping. "Thanks."
From behind the curtain, I can hear the theme music playing. The band is setting the tone, jazzy and upbeat.
Then, his voice: "It's Jamey Frodd, back on your screens with another inspiring episode of One on One Talk. Today's guest is someone who's sparked a nationwide conversation…"
He goes on about the viral video. The one where I was just vlogging, minding my business, and then got mocked by passersby. The video exploded. The hashtags started trending: #iStanNala, #WeHaveAVoice, #StandWithNala. I still don't even know how it caught fire like that. But here we are.
"And now, she's here with us in the studio. Please welcome the one and only—Nala Murphey!"
A pre-recorded clap track fills the air.
A short guy with bronze hair nudges me forward. "Go kill it," he whispers.
Lights. So many lights. I squint but recover quickly, spotting the cameras and flipping my smile on like a switch.
Jamey Frodd rises from his chair, extending a hand. I offer a side hug and then take my seat across from him.
"So, Nala," he begins, smooth and practiced, "how do you feel sitting here today, knowing your story's touched so many lives?"
"Well, first of all, thank you so much for having me, Jamey," I say, my voice steady but with a touch of emotion. "It's an incredible opportunity. And honestly... as much as the situation that brought me here was upsetting, I'm grateful that it sparked something bigger than me."
"Very understandable," he nods, chuckling gently. "How have you been handling the reaction? The fame, the support, the sudden visibility?"
"It's been a whirlwind," I admit. "The love from my family, the DMs from strangers, the way people are now speaking up for themselves... it's overwhelming. But in a good way."
Jamey leans in. "Tell us a bit about yourself. And... was this your first experience with public bullying?"
I take a breath. "Well, I'm an upcoming vlogger. I started my channel just six months ago. I talk about anything entertainment and Hollywood at this point or just random thoughts. And no, it's definitely not my first time being mocked or dismissed. But it was the first time the world saw it happen."
He glances at his tablet. "You say 'just an upcoming vlogger,' but Nala, you've got over 100k subscribers now and your last video has over 700k views!"
I laugh. "Okay, okay, maybe I'm doing alright. I guess I can't call myself 'upcoming' anymore, huh?"
The laugh track kicks in again, and I add, "Also, I'm single, if anyone's wondering." I hold up my bare fingers to the camera and wiggle them. Jamey cracks up.
We go on for a few more questions, talking about advocacy, my upcoming content, and my hopes for the future.
Eventually, Jamey wraps it up. "Thank you so much for coming, Nala. We hope to have you again, hopefully under happier circumstances."
"Thank you, Jamey," I say with a grateful smile, turning to the camera. "And thank you, everyone, for supporting and listening."
"And... we're out!" someone yells from the crew.
I exhale, shoulders dropping.
Before I can even stand fully, I hear heels clicking and my mom bursts into the set like it's her stage now.
"Nala! Baby! You did amazing! I'm so, so proud of you!" she squeals, pulling me into a hug tight enough to crack ribs.
"I didn't trip. I didn't cry. I didn't black out," I whisper.
"You slayed. You absolutely slayed," she whispers back, smoothing a curl away from my face.
And in that moment, I realize…this isn't the peak. This is just the beginning.