I sat in front of my computer, nervously biting my lip. My fingers hovered over the “Post” button, a big red rectangle on the screen.
I’d become known on Instagram for my covers. A surge of inspiration had struck me to tackle Billie Eilish’s “bellyache.”
It was a beautiful piece, and I felt I’d taken something great and made it my own. I’d adjusted the chords to fit my vocal range, adding unnecessary riffs just for the fun of it.
My acoustic guitar really seemed to do the song justice.
Summoning all my courage, I pressed the button and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I quickly shut the computer, not wanting to see the immediate results.
It was funny, how I’d almost forgotten I *had* friends. Usually, everyone else forgets about me, not the other way around.
I *had* friends!
I dove onto my bed and grabbed my phone.
Cierra: i’ll have you know potatoes are fucking tasty I giggled at her salty remark.
Sydney: potatoes are so good lol Genesis: mhm they are Stefanie: especially with butter! Cierra: MMMNN Genesis: Ou my god yes Autumn: :0 Abigail: you guys are so easily distracted... Abigail: oh my god i found a penny Cierra: Ava! get your ass over here. we know you are reading this
I replied, “I wasn’t paying attention, sorry. What’s happening?”
I could practically feel their eye rolls through the screen, disappointed by my recent lack of attention.
I loved them, but… I loved sleep more.
They’re always up at ungodly hours, ranting about who knows what. Cierra throws in occasional quotes too.
A group call request popped up on my phone. Given my current state, I needed to answer.
Six familiar faces appeared on my tiny iPhone screen.
“Hey guys,” I mumbled.
“Ava, you should check your Instagram,” Sydney suggested, her eyes sparkling with secrets.
“What? Why?” I asked skeptically.
“Just do it.”
Still confused, I opened Instagram and went to my feed.
Then I saw it: 2,000 notifications.
Scrolling down, I saw a flood of random usernames: “liked your post,” “commented on your post,” “followed you.”
I was overwhelmed. It was a cover of Billie Eilish’s song.
I squealed, then quickly covered my mouth, remembering the call.
“I-I uh gotta go!” I blurted out, ending the FaceTime call with my girls.
I scrolled through the comments, eyes wide.
“So good!” “Talent!” “Sing sista!” “Bitch get it!”
And then, the tags…
My eyebrows furrowed as I examined one.
@wherearetheavocados
Intrigued, I pressed the account.
And I was met with a surprise.
It was *her*.
Billie Eilish’s official Instagram account.
I smiled in awe at the pictures, each unique. I quickly pressed the follow button.
Notifications continued to flood in, each filled with encouraging words: “keep singing.”
It felt surreal, something I’d never experienced before. Special. I knew followers didn’t define me, but validation from my peers felt…necessary. Seeking approval was a daily habit.
Then, the unexpected happened.
@wherearetheavocados commented on your post
My jaw dropped.
My chest pounded as I fumbled with my phone to see the comment.
And what I saw made me scream.
“beautiful”
And if things couldn’t get any better?
@wherearetheavocados has followed you.