Social Media Girl
Trixie Delgado was everyone’s idea of perfection.
At San Miguel University, heads turned whenever she walked through the corridor. The professors smiled politely. Security guards greeted her by name. Classmates whispered as if she were royalty.
She was the daughter of Congressman Rony Delgado, the country’s “Father of Infrastructure.” Everyone knew half his bridges ended where his relatives’ land began. Trixie knew too, but she never cared. His politics were his business. Her business was fame.
She was more than a politician’s daughter. She was Trixie Delgado—the face of Delgado Foundation, the influencer with a million followers and a smile so bright it blinded.
Everyone thought she was kind. Thought.
Inside, Trixie knew the truth. She wasn’t kind. She was careful.
Every grin was rehearsed. Every “Hi po!” was strategy.
In her world, goodness was a brand.
“Ma’am, the flood photos in Panilao are going viral,” her assistant Jessa said as they crossed the parking lot.
“Good,” Trixie replied, sliding on her sunglasses. “We’ll go there this weekend. Perfect timing. People love seeing me help.”
“Ma’am, the roads are still muddy.”
“Then bring boots. And call the makeup artist.”
She lifted her phone and smiled at her reflection.
“Caption: ‘Heading to the coast to bring hope. Because helping is hot.’”
Click. Perfect.
That morning her father had called, his voice booming through the speaker.
“Anak, good job sa foundation post mo kahapon. The people love it. Say hi to the barangay captain later. I’ll send a check for show.”
Trixie sighed. “Thanks, Daddy.”
The next day, the Delgado Foundation convoy rolled toward the coast: three SUVs, a pickup of goods, and a van full of cameramen.
Inside the lead car, Trixie sat between Jessa and her crush, Marco Santiago, the university’s star varsity player.
He smelled of cologne and rain. Trixie angled her hair perfectly.
“Thanks for coming, Marco,” she said sweetly. “My team loves having strong volunteers.”
He chuckled. “Coach said it’s good PR for the school. Might as well help.”
She giggled, pretending the word PR didn’t sting.
“Ma’am,” Jessa said, scrolling through her tablet, “some comments are negative. They say the foundation’s just for clout.”
Trixie waved a manicured hand. “Jealous people. Tell our media team to post a clip of me packing goods. Warm lighting, ha? Compassion looks better golden.”
By noon they reached Panilao. The air smelled of salt and mud. Half the houses were gone, replaced by wreckage and puddles.
Trixie stepped out, adjusting her pink jacket. “Cameras ready?”
Marco nodded and helped her down from the SUV.
As soon as the lens turned, her voice became honey.
“Hi guys, it’s Trixie! We’re here in Panilao to bring love and relief to our kababayans affected by the storm. Remember, kindness is always in fashion!”
People clapped politely.
Off-camera she fanned herself.
“Ang init. Can we do this faster? My skin’s gonna peel.”
Jessa forced a smile. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Volunteers formed a line to pass sacks of rice. Behind her, a thin young man carried a full sack on his shoulder, sweat tracing down his neck.
His name was Ramon Morales, a scholarship student from their university. He wasn’t under any politician’s fund but a church-backed scholarship that paid only tuition. The rest he earned fixing old computers at the library.
His father, a fisherman, had never returned after a storm ten years ago. Since then Ramon had lived with his lola in a small coastal shack, studying by candlelight whenever brownouts hit. Now he is in last year of his college life.
He knew Trixie well—not personally, but from the screens that worshipped her. The girl who smiled for charity then ignored the cleaners walking behind her. He never had social media. Only messenger, but ever neighboor’s, roommate’s, classmate’s screen shows her face.
When he saw her posing beside a box of canned goods, irritation rose like tidewater. “Anong ginagawa niyan dito?” Despite his irritation, he has to help. A sack of rice is good for him and his lola. There were only two of them.
He tried to keep working, but fate was cruel. As he turned, the sack brushed her shoulder.
“Sorry, miss,” he said quickly.
Trixie spun around. “Watch where you’re going!”
“I said sorry,” he replied, shifting the heavy sack.
“You could have dropped this!”
“It’s rice,” he said flatly. “Para sa mga pamilya na nagugutom.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you even know who I am?”
Ramon met her gaze, voice calm but cutting. “Oo. That’s the problem.”
Marco snorted behind her. Trixie’s cheeks burned.
“Excuse me?! Don’t talk to me like that!”
Ramon adjusted the sack again. “You’re trending for helping, right? Congrats.” Then he walked away without waiting for a response.
Trixie glared at his back. “Unbelievable. Walang modo.”
Marco laughed softly. “He’s just a volunteer, babe. Don’t waste your energy.”
The word babe made her smile again. She let it replace the sting.
Across the field, Ramon kept working, jaw tight. “Plastic,” he muttered under his breath.
When the distribution ended, the team gathered for selfies with the villagers. Children raised food packs, smiling despite the rain.
In the van, Trixie was already editing her highlight reel.
“Okay, caption: ‘No matter how dark the storm, light will shine through.’”
Comments poured in within seconds.
“Our angel!“”So kind, Miss Trixie!“”Proof that beauty and heart go together!”
But others stung.
“She only came for the camera.“”I saw her yell at a volunteer.”
Her smile vanished. “Block them,” she ordered.
“Maybe reply kindly?” Jessa asked.
“No. Never feed the jealous.”
Outside, Ramon walked past the van, still drenched. He heard her tone through the half-open window and shook his head. “Same mask,” he whispered.
Night fell as the convoy started home. Rain thickened.
Trixie leaned back, scrolling through her notifications. Then a message flashed on her screen.
Hi Miss Delgado! We’d like to schedule a meeting this week for the BelleVie Cosmetics ambassador campaign.
Her heart leapt. Finally, the global brand she dreamed of.
Another message arrived seconds later.
Saw your posts today! Since you’re busy with the relief operations, let’s finalize next month instead.
Next month. Too far. Someone else could take the spotlight.
She clenched her jaw. In the next car, Marco was laughing with the volunteers. He hadn’t looked her way since they finished filming.
“Tell the driver to stop,” she said.
“Ma’am?” Jessa blinked.
“I’ll drive the 4x4. I can reach the city faster alone.”
“Ma’am, baha pa sa daan—”
“I said stop.”
“At least let Marco drive you. Or me.”
“No need. I can handle it. I don’t miss opportunities.”
Outside, rain hammered the roofs. Ramon, loading the last empty sacks onto the truck, watched the headlights swing.
“Where’s she going?” one volunteer asked.
Ramon wiped his hands on his shirt. “Home, probably. Fame can’t wait.”
Trixie climbed into the 4x4, slammed the door, and started the engine.
Jessa ran to her window. “Trix, please, dangerous ’yan!”
“I’ll be fine,” Trixie said, forcing a grin. “The world doesn’t wait.”
She pressed the accelerator. The SUV surged forward, wheels slicing through water.
“Next month?” she muttered. “We’ll see about that.”
Pop music filled the car, Lola Amour’s song starts, drowning out the thunder. Sadly, they are not in Manila. The wipers beat fast, the road a blur of rain and headlights.
She didn’t notice the warning sign half-buried in mud. She didn’t see the fork that led to the forest road.
She only saw her reflection on the windshield—perfect, determined, unstoppable.
From far behind, Ramon watched the taillights disappear into the storm. He tightened his grip on the last rice sack. “No filter in the world can fix that kind of heart,” he said quietly.
The wind roared harder, as if the storm itself was laughing.
