We walked over to Roberto’s and claimed the same bench we had the week before—I liked to think of it as our bench. While Trey went inside to order burritos, I sat down and pulled my phone from my bag, scrolling through my Instagram notifications to see what I’d missed. There’d only been a few new likes since this morning, so I scrolled back further to the notifications I’d already seen.
Sometimes (okay, a lot of the time) I liked to reread older comments that were particularly positive. Even though I didn’t know any of the people—or in some cases, brands—that left these notes of encouragement, I found them satisfying, nonetheless. Getting validation from complete strangers on the internet was like taking a hit of some wonderful drug.
The most recent positive comments were on my Kissy Face post. People wrote things like, “You are so gorgeous! xo ” and “Totally obsessed with this look on you, girl.” They were instant self-esteem boosters. I couldn’t get enough.
Trey returned with our burritos, individually wrapped in paper, along with two Cokes (the good kind from Mexico with real sugar) and a huge stack of napkins. I thanked him, then split mine open to reveal the meaty, cheesy, guacamole-covered goodness within. It looked so beautiful, so delectable, only one thought sprang to mind. This is totally Instagrammable.
Maybe if I posted a photo of it to my feed, I could score some free meals at Roberto’s. I was a local nano-influencer, after all.
As I arranged the burrito artfully on a napkin, Trey bit into his and said, “You did so great today. You were a natural out there.”
“Thanks,” I said, my eyes on the burrito, trying to figure out the best way to angle it for the photo. I could shoot it head-on or stack the two halves crosswise. Maybe I could hold it with one hand and take a picture with the other.
“Next time we’ll need to get you on a board.”
“I doubt I’ll be able to stand, but I’ll definitely give it a shot.” I held up the burrito, trying to frame it so the Roberto’s storefront appeared in the background. This was good. Original, A+ content.
As soon as I picked up my phone and aimed the camera at my hand, Trey squinted. “Please don’t tell me you’re taking a photo of your burrito to post on Instagram.”
My cheeks burned. Part of me was embarrassed for being called out. Another part of me was furious, also for being called out. What did it matter to him if I was posting my burrito on Instagram? This was my personal social media narrative.
“Yes, I was planning on it,” I said, almost defiantly. I’d spent enough time with a man who mocked me in subtle yet cutting ways. I wasn’t about to deal with that again.
He wiped his lips with a napkin and cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be left out of it.”
“Okay. I wasn’t planning on tagging you in it or anything. So, you know...” The second half of that sentence remained unspoken, but clearly would’ve been something along the lines of, it’s none of your business.
“You couldn’t tag me in it, anyway. I deleted all my social once I left the tour.”
Giant red warning flags fluttered inside my head. There was really only one reason a quasi-famous person would delete all their social media accounts: a scandal. No wonder he looked panic-stricken when he thought I’d googled him.
I was totally going to google him when I got home.
“Why?” I asked, expecting some rehearsed, self-important answer about the inauthenticity of Instagram and the dearth of meaningful, in-person connection.
“There were a bunch of reasons,” he said. “But the biggest one was because my ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend kept popping up in my feed, and every time I saw them together it was like ripping open a wound, over and over again.”
“Oh.” That was not the answer I was expecting. “Bad breakup?”
“You could say that. Her new boyfriend is the guy she cheated on me with for the last six months of our relationship.”
Yikes. “I’m sorry.”
“It was for the best. We were wrong for each other.” He chewed thoughtfully with a sad droop to his eyes, then swallowed. “Anyway, I unfollowed them both, but we have a bunch of mutual friends, so it was impossible to escape them. It seemed like they were in the background of every picture. Of course, I’m sure it wasn’t a coincidence, Shayla knows how to make sure she’s seen. Her entire life revolves around how many Instagram followers she has.”
There was a bitter edge to his voice. At least now I understood where his Instagram issues stemmed from.
“You said she was a model, right?”
“Model, influencer, shill, whatever you wanna call it. Anyway, I needed a clean break from her—from that whole group of people, honestly—so I deleted my accounts. Instagram, Twitter, Facebook—it’s all gone. It’s been nice, actually. I haven’t thought much about her...or him...until now.”
He stared off into the distance, his lower lip jutting out ever so slightly. I recognized the hurt in his eyes, the pain of betrayal and the grief of getting over someone who may have never really loved you in the first place. It was all so familiar to me.
“But that has nothing to do with you,” he said. “You do you. Instagram your burrito, if that’s what makes you happy.”
“It’s not some private matter. It’s just a burrito,” I said, and to make him feel more at ease, I added, “I’m not some famous influencer or anything.”
He nodded. “Right. Like I said, I just want to keep my name and my face off social media. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t mind. And honestly, this doesn’t need to happen now.” I darkened my phone screen and tossed it into my purse, then finally dug into my lunch, taking delicate bites to avoid irritating the sensitive skin around my mouth. “So, you really think I’m ready for a surf lesson?”
“I think you’re ready, but the question is, do you think you’re ready? As far as I saw today, you were confident and—”
“Yo, are you Trey Cantu?”
Out of nowhere, a gaggle of teenage boys descended on Trey. Under his breath, he murmured, “Ah, fuck,” then plastered on a painfully insincere smile and said, “Hey, guys.”
“So cool that you’re here, man,” one kid said, clapping him on the shoulder as if they were old friends. “I saw the posters at SurfRack and was hoping to run into you.”
“Yep. Here I am.” He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and hide until these kids were gone. I silently ate my burrito while they prattled on.
“Dude, what happened with Zander in Sydney was bullshit.”