Chapter 13
Maple
I flop onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I bet Mom is already on her laptop, editing that prank video, adding cute stickers and emojis that make me look even more stupid.
One minute she’s buying clothes that make me look hot for Dylan, and the next she’s setting me up to get tricked by a couple of eight-year-olds.
It’s like I’m a lump of Play-Doh that she shapes into whatever she wants.
I send Taylor a message, asking to video-call.
Can’t babe. Got swim training
Missed you today
I’m not sure if I’m pissed that she can’t talk, or that her sad-face emoji reminds me of the video she sent me, and how it wobbled with her laughter.
But either way, I don’t respond. Instead, I send Coco a snap, asking the same question, and she comes back with a thumbs-up.
But then she adds another message almost immediately:
Wait, gimme 5.
So I click into TikTok, take a second to prepare myself, and search for Dylan Dope.
The first thing I do is check that he’s following me – he is, that’s something I guess – then I scroll through his profile page, clicking on random TikToks, sinking further down the bed with each one.
Because in every video, he looks so good.
Natural, confident, like he actually likes himself.
His style is awesome too. In some posts he’s wearing brands I know, like Vans and Supreme.
Then there are others I don’t recognize, but seeing how he wears them makes me want to buy them. Which I guess is the point.
He’s got over a million followers, an agent, and a sponsor. He is the guy every boy wants to be. And the evidence is there. Thousands of reposts, everyone loving his content. I swipe through his followers at dizzying speed, then catch my breath, like I’ve been running.
Am I being super lame about this? Is a collaboration with Dylan actually an amazing opportunity, like Mom said?
I imagine dropping into my group chat with my girlfriends, calmly mentioning that Dylan Dope is coming to hang out at my house. They will all be crazy jealous. So why am I so stuck on how awkward it will be?
Except I know why. Because I’m the one who’s going to have to make conversation with him.
To think of things to do together, knowing every moment will be filmed and posted.
And all this while knowing the visit wasn’t his idea either.
Our moms organized this. And he’s probably lying on his bed right now, praying for a meteorite to drop on him before Monday.
I need a better distraction while I wait for Coco to come online, so I open the video I took in Swig earlier.
I cut it, stitch it, and add the Barbie track ‘Pink’ by Lizzo.
I’ve been doing this stuff for so long it’s as natural as breathing now, but when I start to type a comment, I can’t think what to say.
I always tag Mom when I’m with her, but I’m not in the mood to be nice to her today.
Eventually I choose a raspberry and pink hearts – everyone knows less is more – and post it to TikTok and Instagram.
Then I stay on Instagram, scrolling through my grid.
I haven’t done this for a while, and it’s good to remind myself how far I’ve come since I opened an account on my thirteenth birthday.
Over a hundred and twenty thousand followers now.
There’s been so much bad stuff going on recently – gross men getting in my face, Tabitha sharing that nightmare video, Mom seeming to care more about my channel than me – that I’ve started to question whether I even want to be an influencer.
But these Instagram stats, alongside close to half a million followers on TikTok and nearly two million subscribers on YouTube shout loud.
Most girls would kill for these numbers.
I can’t give up on this dream because of a few bad experiences.
I’m watching one of my first reels – a dramatic Sabrina Carpenter lip synch – when Coco’s face finally pops up on my screen. I flip over onto my belly, rest my phone against the headboard, and accept her call.