Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

4| D-list famous

There are two distinct versions of my mother: the version my little brother, Cody, is accustomed to and the one reserved for me. My best friend, Daisy, claims I'm paranoid, but only because my mother's indiscretions are too subtle to the naked eye – it's why I write them down.

It's at breakfast when it's most apparent. My mother – ever the early bird – will roll out of bed in her satin pajamas, dark hair twisted in an elegant top-knot, and head to the kitchen for her cup of black coffee and hourly dose of Instagram.

Alexa Masterson is what passes for D-list famous in Sherman Oaks. At twenty-three and armed with her sales and media degree, she borrowed a loan and started up her own nutrition company, which, to her credit, became hugely successful. The result is that most of her time involves taking pictures in our newly renovated kitchen. It's large and airy, with marble surfaces and a long glass breakfast table that looks out onto the infinity pool – the picture-perfect snap.

All of this happens before 7 am when I drag myself – notebook in hand – out of bed. My bedroom, much like this notebook, is another extension of me. The walls are covered in old magazine covers I've collected over the years, from the Rolling Stones' Led Zeppelin issue to Britney Spears' 1999 FHM cover.

It all started when I stumbled upon an old magazine hidden in the attic, and ever since then, I've collected them like Pokemon. Cody thinks it's weird, and maybe it is, but looking at these magazines is like watching society evolve in front of my eyes. The covers, the headlines, and the content each reflect the values of the time, a reminder of how far we've come. Yet, in some ways, not far enough.

After showering and dressing, I head downstairs and through the open-plan living room until I pop out into the kitchen. Most of the renovations took place when Mom's business kicked off, which means everything was handpicked to look as Instagram-worthy as possible, from the elaborate paintings adorning the walls to the expensive Italian white sofas. As grateful as I am to live somewhere like this, I can't help but think of Dad in his tiny apartment eating pizza out of the box.

With my mom as the breadwinner, it meant my dad could work as a tortured artist without worrying about a steady income, but now he's having to live off the money he'd made from commissioning his artwork – money, I'm sure, is running out.

Cody is already in his seat and eating his Eggs Benedict. I ruffle his hair in the way he hates and kiss him on the cheek. He scrunches his nose, attempting to duck away, but I'm too quick for him. Despite being eight, he acts like a teenager trying to be cool, even though he secretly likes it. "Morning, Chipmonk," I say to him.

Mom turns around from where she's standing at the stove and smiles. A fresh fruit salad with a side of brown toast is plopped in front of me. I eye the brown bread full of seeds and what looks like bird food. As a self-certified health expert, Mom thinks eating white bread is akin to eating a plate full of sugar. Maybe she's right, but I can't bring myself to care.

"Morning, Cassie," she says, "did you sleep okay?"

"Like a baby on Ambien." I'm lying, though. All night, I tossed and turned as I replayed last night's fight in my head. Nico defeating Hayden felt like the end of an era, and for the first time in my life, I am nervous about heading to the gym.

"What's Ambien?" Cody asks.

"Nothing, sweetie," Mom says, but she's lying too.

She hands over some coffee as I get out my notebook and study her expression. The differences in these versions of her are never anything tangible, they lie in the flashes of disappointment in her eyes or the sighs she reserves just for me.

My pen taps wildly on the pages of my notebook as I wait to be proven right – my dose of validation. I wolf down my fruit while Mom sits across from me with her freshly squeezed mango juice, scrolling through her Instagram. I'd had an account once too, but her constant comments and tagging me in things made me quickly delete it; I've sworn off social media since.