No one would be able to tell if I was a girl or a boy or maybe something else.
It’s also the perfect position to scroll through TikTok for hours. My mom doesn’t
technically let me have social media, but she doesn’t check my phone.
The TikTok I’m scrolling on now isn’t even my main one. This is my TikTok that no one at
school follows or knows about—my secret backup account—where I watch what I
actually want without the Addisons’ dancing videos ruining my algorithm.
My For You page is a mix of stuff, but it’s mostly videos of girls who like girls. It’s kind of
wild that TikTok knows I want to see those kinds of videos, because that means it knows I
feel the same way.
That I like girls, I mean. That I have crushes on them. It’s not a big deal, but I don’t want
to tell people. Not even Leo. It’s one thing to have my stomach hurting all the time and
be sick or whatever the doctor’s going to tell me, but I don’t need my best friend to know
about my random crushes too.
But on my backup TikTok, I can be someone else entirely. I can be my full queer self, and
comment on girls’ TikToks, telling them they look cute or that I like their outfit, even if
the outfit is just a giant thrifted sweatshirt with an embroidered prairie dog on it.
…Saying I’m queer would mean telling Leo that I know I like girls. That I know I get
crushes at all. That I want to kiss someone (eventually).
I think that would be embarrassing even if I were straight.
…I scroll through TikTok for a few more minutes. I’m exhausted from the day, but my
brain is too focused on school and cute girls and the storm happening in my stomach for
me to fall asleep.
My dad, on the other hand, is some random guy named Shelly who lives in Rancho
Cucamonga, which is in California.
…She told me that she had had something called a one-night stand, which is when you
only meet someone once and then get pregnant. (Well, I don’t think everyone gets
pregnant from a one-night stand, but my mom did. And that’s how I came into the
world.)
I wish my backup TikTok could be my main one. I wish my backup life could be my main
one, the one where I watch videos of girls who are dating without needing to hide it,
where Leo and I make up songs without him wanting to join drama club.
Now I’m just the Al Club, which is the worst group in existence because I’m just one sick
kid whose entire wardrobe is made up of oversized T-shirts and whose backup TikTok is
full of girls kissing.
“We can all say our name, what grade we’re in, our pronouns if you’d like, if you have
Crohn’s, ulcerative colitis, or both, and our favorite animal. I’ll go first. I’m Aneliza, I
haven’t been in middle school for a long time but technically I’m in twentieth grade
because I just finished four years of graduate school, my pronouns are she/ her, and my
favorite animal is a toucan.”
“I’m Rikako,” the stage manager says, starting the introductions back up again. They have
their nails painted a mix of blue and green and have perfectly winged eyeliner. I could
never wear something that bold, something that drew so much attention to myself. They
remind me of some of the cool people I watch on TikTok, ones I know I could never be
friends with in real life. Or thought I couldn’t, at least. “I’m in eighth grade, they/ she,
Crohn’s, and my favorite animal is an Old English sheepdog, because they’re cute and
they’re good at herding, just like me with the actors in my shows.”