I stare at my phone for ages, my chin resting in my palm. I’m desperately reaching for an idea. I try staring off into space, pacing in tight circles around my math textbook, even scrolling through TikTok for inspiration. Instead, I spend hours thinking Why didn’t I think of that? every time a video makes me laugh.
Eventually, I make a video about my math homework murdering me. My gut sinks as I watch it loop after I post it to my account. It doesn’t even make me laugh.
I check my phone under the table throughout dinner. For the most part, I get away with it, because Mom is busy grilling Eve about her schoolwork.
“Are you looking for internships?” she asks.
I could’ve sworn they talked about internships last night. Judging from the pinched look on Eve’s face, they’ve been over this several times already. I check my TikTok again while Eve reminds Mom that they’ve talked about this before.
“I’m just worried, honey,” Mom goes on as she scoops some mashed potatoes onto her plate and passes the bowl to me. “It’s not too late to look at more practical options. Comedy isn’t, well, serious.”
I take a mechanical bite of potato as Eve revs up on her in-defense-of-comedy rant again, barely listening. I can see her trying to catch my eye as she starts talking about her writing, but I’m too busy refreshing my TikTok profile to meet her gaze.
Dinner ends, and my video still has absolutely no likes.
By the time I wake up the next morning, I’ve accrued an astounding three likes. No comments at all, which makes them feel like pity likes at that. Precious few views. There’s no way Alyssa will ever see this. I don’t even want her to. Even without comparing it to her coming-out video, it’s a huge failure.
I run my hands through my hair, tangled after a night of restlessness. All I want is for Alyssa to see that I can be as funny as she is, that I can be worthy of her.
Trouble is, I’m not.
But someone else in this house is.
—
“So you do have a crush,” Eve says with a smirk.
Smush saves me from responding by dashing to the windows lining the wall in the living room. His paws skitter against the floor, but I can barely hear even that over the deafening roar of his bark. A squirrel has just dashed through the yard, and we’ll all be hearing about it for the next half hour.
“Quiet, Smush,” I shout. It’s hopeless, he hasn’t internalized that command yet, but it saves me from looking at Eve’s teasing grin.
It does nothing to protect me from her teasing jab in my side. I slap her fingers away.
“It is not a crush, it is soul-crushing, heartbreaking, earth-shattering unrequited love, thank you very much,” I say, thinking of the way she could make the whole class light up with one of her jokes.
“Why do you need me?” Eve asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be yourself?”
I bite my lip. That’s the traditional advice, but when humor is social currency, and I’m simply not that funny, what am I supposed to do?
“I just need help making some TikTok videos,” I say. “I don’t have any good ideas, and I need to go viral so I can end up on her page.”
“Can’t you just text her and ask her if she wants to FaceTime or something?” Eve asks, raising her voice above Smush’s fresh round of screaming, this time at a little bird that has apparently posed a life-or-death threat to the perimeter of the house.
I groan. “She’s one of the funniest people I know—”
“Ouch.”
“I said one of.” I give Eve my sternest look. “She’s too good for me.”
Eve reaches over to ruffle my hair, mouth open with what is sure to be a patronizing speech about how untrue that is, so I duck away from her hand.
“Please,” I say. “Put that comedy degree to use.”
Eve glances over at Smush, who’s now clawing at the window in a desperate attempt to hunt down the chipmunk that lives under the stone wall that lines our yard, his one true nemesis.
“You said she likes animals?” she asks.
One TikTok tutorial later, Eve has Smush framed in her phone lens as he runs from one end of the window to the other, tiny tail wagging with urgency as his bark peaks into a high-pitched whine. When she’s done narrating his thoughts—Smush apparently knows a lot of swear words—we go outside to track down the chipmunk and get some shots of him poking his head out from between the rocks. Eve isn’t satisfied until she films a squirrel scuttle from tree to tree, almost taunting Smush as he weaves in and out of sight.
The end result is hilarious. Eve narrates Smush’s thoughts as he tracks down the squirrel, his nemesis for constantly attempting to invade the yard with his army of small birds. I can’t help laughing as I watch the video, even though it also makes heat flush into my cheeks. Why couldn’t I put together something like this?
I post “this chipmunk is my nemesis” to my account. When I check it again, five minutes later, I almost drop my phone.
It’s already hit thousands of likes. More pour in every time I refresh the page.
“Eve,” I scream, even though she’s only a few feet away from me, her legs propped up on the end of the couch. “Eve, you did it.”
I toss her my phone, and she smiles so wide, I’m worried her lips will crack. “Wow, this is actually doing well.”
She reaches over to give me a high five, and I slap her hand even though I did nothing.
Half an hour later, my phone pings, and my heart seizes when Alyssa’s name flashes onto the screen.
your dog is the cutest
I bite my lip, but nothing can stop the smile from
