“What is this Instagram tinstagram?” she asks with narrowed eyes. The only thing Ammu knows about social media is checking her Facebook for the latest photos from weddings and dawats and who knows what else. Mostly she likes to judge what everyone is wearing, even though she always tells us that we shouldn’t judge people.
“It’s just social media.” Priti rolls her eyes, even though Ammu definitely won’t know what that is. She narrows her eyes further, like she’s trying to process Priti’s words but it’s taking her a while to get there.
“You don’t need social media tedia.” There’s a frown on her lips. “Priti, you should be studying for your exams.” She turns her glare to me, like I’m responsible for Priti’s lack of focus—which, I guess I am—and says, “Don’t distract your sister. She needs to study.”
It’s the most that Ammu has said to me since I came out to her a few weeks ago, and it sends a jolt of pain through me that I hadn’t expected. I guess you never really get used to your parents treating you like you’re worth nothing.
“I know,” I say, staring down at my shoes at the same time that Priti exclaims, “I can study and do other things at the same time!” Priti’s voice drowns out mine, and I don’t think Ammu hears me at all. She doesn’t say anything else, turning away instead.
“So, did you?” Priti whispers to me as we’re heading out the door.
“Huh?” I’m still thinking about the fact that Ammu barely looked at me all through breakfast, like she couldn’t stand to. WhatamI to her now? A ghost that occupies her house?
“Your Instagram?” That snaps me out of my thoughts. “Have you checked it?”
“Not yet.” There’s a hole in my stomach, growing bigger and bigger with every passing second. “Have you? Is it bad? Don’t tell me.”
Priti pulls out her phone as soon as we’ve boarded the bus and made it through the throngs of people and into a corner. She thrusts the screen in front of my face.
523 likes. 97 comments.
“It’s not quite viral. But it’s proven to be pretty popular among the people from school.”
“We don’t even have five hundred people at school.” Clearly the wrong thing to say because Priti groans.
“Of course we have five hundred people at school,” she says. “I can’t believe how bad you are at math.”
I scroll through the comments. Each of them makes my heart beat faster and faster.
Omg, when are you starting up?
How much will it cost for one tattoo?
What other designs do you have?
So excited!
So pretty!
Love it!!!
I feel elated. Or … I feel like Ishouldfeel elated. This is what Iwanted.I’ve been anticipating this moment since Priti opened up the Instagram account last night. But with Ammu’s stony silence in the back of my mind, all I can feel is that hole in my heart getting bigger and bigger. I keep scrolling through the comments, reading them over and over and over again, hoping that they’ll somehow fill it.
My fingers brush against the top of the screen and before I know it I’m on Priti’s Instagram feed. And then I see a photo that makes my heart stop.
Priti snatches the phone out of my hand before I can stare for too long. She knows me too well. She must have recognized the look on my face.
“Holy shit.” Her voice is low, but still one of the ladies beside us shoots her a glare that she doesn’t even notice. “I can’t believe her.”
Priti puts her hand on my shoulder, a calming presence that I can barely feel for once. “Apujan,” she says. “It’s not a big deal. She doesn’t even have as many likes as you.”
“It’s nicer. So much nicer.”
“That’s just … she’s used to it, you know. She’s probably been taking pictures of her art for ages. She has hundreds of posts. She has a bigger following than you.” Priti’s voice is gentle and soothing but it doesn’t make me feel better in the slightest. Whatever happiness I’d talked myself into feeling is gone. Disappeared into thin air.
“She’s going to do better than me,” I say. “She already has a customer base and I have nothing.”
“It’s not a competition,” Priti says.
