Page 135 of Last Letters to Ara
I peel open my eyelids, squinting in the late morning sun pouring through the window.
Buzz.
Theo’s arm is draped around my middle, where it rests every single night, and I slowly lift it so I can slide out from underneath.
Buzz.
I train my ears, listening for it, but soon realize it’s not coming from a mosquito at all. It’s my phone, which is buzzing nonstop. With Theo lying next to me, it could only be Lou.
Another day flashes through my mind and I reach for it, suddenly concerned that something has happened to her. The screen lights up with her contact, and my gut drops to the floor.
“Lou!?? Is everything okay!?”
“Ara!!! Where the hell have you been!?”
“Sleeping!! What’s wrong?”
Lou laughs, hysterically. “What’s wrong!!?!? Are you kidding!? It couldn’t be better!!! Have you looked at your Instagram?”
“I just got out of bed, so no, I haven’t looked at my Instagram.” I rarely do as it is, but she knows that.
“Put me on speaker and look now. I want to hear your reaction.”
I sigh, following her instructions. “Reaction to whaaa…” I trail off as I look at my app.
Ten-thousand four-hundred and eleven.
Ten-thousand four-hundred and twelve.
Ten-thousand four-hundred and thirteen.
Ten-thousand four-hundred and fourteen.
Andcounting.
My phone drops to the floor.
“Ara!? Ara!?” Lou squeals from the phone.
Theo finally raises his head, curious about what all the noise is about.
“We need to flee the country.”
He gives me a sleepy chuckle. “Why?”
“I went viral.”
“Ara!!!!! They love it!!!!!!!!” Lou yells from the floor.
“What do you mean, they love it?” I lean down to pick up my phone.
“Your dress! Everyone is freaking out about it and asking how to get it. You could probably auction it for a million bucks!”
I would never, but I don’t say that. Instead, I take a deep breath and touch the icon which opens my Instagram account. Thanks to a comment from Lou, letting everyone know who designed the dress, I’ve since been tagged in hundreds of posts about a mystery girl wearing a mystery label to Tampa’s most prestigious charity event.
Follow after follow pops up, along with messages, comments, and even more likes. Nearly passing out as I see the amount of blue checks next to the names which now fill my inbox, I silently hand my phone to Theo (Lou still squawking), so he can have a look while I pace the length of my tiny room. Essentially, a lot of people now know that I exist, that I can make pretty stuff, and now they want something from me.
I remind myself that no one is laughing and take a minute to marvel at what is unfolding. Months ago had this happened, I would curl up in the corner of the room, unable to breathe while the monster under my skin reared its head, ready to destroy anything good which came my way.
