Chapter 16 Heaven
Heaven
It’s been hours and I’m still thinking about Saylor.
The look on her face when we took that selfie with Miss Anita.
How quickly she pulled that interview together and how good it was.
How it felt to have her in my room and how it didn’t feel weird or awkward to share my art with her.
The way she called me princess, and even though she was joking, it sounded completely different coming from her.
And I keep thinking about how I wish she’d stayed for dinner, how I wish she had kissed me on the cheek again.
I haven’t had a sleepover with another girl since Girl Scouts, but I also find myself wondering what it would be like if she stayed over.
And then I remember we have a campout square in the bingo challenge. We’ll be sleeping in the backyard, but it’s still a sleepover, and then suddenly I’m nervous about the idea of lying in a sleeping bag next to Saylor.
I look down at my phone, blinking at the silly question still in the search bar.
How do I know if I like someone—romantically?
Clearly Saylor is more than an accomplice who barged into my summer plans, but I didn’t expect it all to be this confusing.
My parents have done a good job getting me this far in life, but other than one “lesbians need to practice safe sex” chat I had with my mom, they haven’t told me anything about relationships.
I know they really love each other, but what good does that do me in this situation?
I’ve had those types of feelings where I just sort of look at a cute girl from afar.
I know those feelings don’t mean anything.
This is different. I cannot stop thinking about her.
I swipe back over to Instagram to finish what I started when I came up to my room in the first place.
I look at what I’ve put together so far.
New account. New name. I went with the HandItiiHeaven idea Saylor had, and I’ve added the best of the sad-clown self-portraits as my profile picture.
Some of my best work, truly. The bio is short and simple.
Heaven GC—Artist/Future Tattoo Artist. She/Her.
I’ve put up three posts and decided to limit the captions.
I know me. Less is more, and I will freak out if I have to come up with something deep every time I post.
There’s a self-portrait I did in charcoal from freshman year that my teacher actually tried to keep. It’s now in my dad’s office. The sketches of the Call the Midwife cast in sad-clown makeup, and then another still life.
I take a deep breath and commit to the hard part.
I have to let people know that this account exists, that I exist. My stomach churns, but my thumb does what I need it to do.
I follow Miss Kelly and Mr. Rick. I follow the rest of the crew at Ink & Pearl, including the shop manager, who’s always been nice to me.
I follow my parents on their private accounts and think twice about following the Bright Smiles Dentistry’s account.
People don’t need to question why we’re connected.
I follow a bunch of other artists and tattoo artists that I followed from my private account and then I send follow requests to Axel, Jake, and Bethany and Valentina too ’cause why not. They’ve always been really nice about my work.
I don’t go to Saylor’s account on purpose, but I send her a follow request too, and my heart feels like it’s on a trampoline in my chest. I know she’s helping me, but does she care about this part, what happens after?
I go back to my profile and try not to think about it as I stare at that zero under the Followers tab.
I have no clue what I expected to happen.
I’m a seventeen-year-old kid who just posted three pictures and then followed Ashley Myers, who has hosted three seasons of Masters of Ink and has two million followers.
Did I think she was going to run to her phone to follow me back?
Not bloody likely. Miss Kelly said she wanted me to start putting myself out there.
She didn’t say I would be magically famous overnight.
I grab my tablet and decide to start working on some more flash pieces to show Miss Kelly and to share on my account.
I only work for an hour or so before I start yawning and I know it’s time for some Lower Decks and bed.
After I finally dig up my bonnet and before I go say goodnight to my parents, I brave a look at my new IG account.
My heart dusts off its bouncing shoes when I see I have three followers—my mom, Miss Kelly, and Saylor.
I click on the comment notification and see it’s from Saylor too, under the sad-clown self-portrait flash sheet.
I love these so much.
My cheeks instantly go hot as I like the comment. Suddenly my phone vibrates in my hand and I almost drop it. It’s a text from Miss Kelly.
Just looked through the IG profile.
It looks great! Keep going!
Thanks. I’ll def post more tomorrow.
I flop back on my bed and squeeze my eyes shut.
I don’t think I’m cut out for this much stimulation.
I wanna barf every time I think about posting another piece.
I wanna run over to the Yeuns’ house and confess to Miss Kelly that I couldn’t even get the profile up on my own, that Saylor did everything but the physical typing.
And I wanna crawl in a hole and hide because I might like Saylor or maybe I’m just confused because she’s the only girl I’ve ever really hung out with like this before.
And she’s gay. And she’s super hot. And confident.
And considerate. And nice. And sometimes I think about kissing her, but I’m not sure if that’s because I’ve never kissed anyone before and Saylor’s lips look really soft, or if I really want to kiss Saylor because I like her.
I grab my pineapple Squishmallow and bury my face in it. Death by plushie seems like the only logical next step. When that doesn’t work because I like breathing and I really want to see Saylor again, I decide to go to bed.