My Grandma's a Tik Tok Star

By Jhanvi Latheesh

A totally true-ish story by Jamie Jenkins, Age 12

I swear none of this is my fault.

All I did was try to bake a muffin. And maybe livestream my grandma for ten minutes. Okay, twenty. Max.

It started on a random Tuesday night. Mom was at yoga, Dad was asleep in the laundry basket (don’t ask), and Grandma decided it was “a good day for chaos and carbohydrates.”

She pulled out a scroll from the back of the junk drawer and said, “This is an ancient family muffin recipe passed down through generations. Also possibly cursed. But that just adds flavor.”

The ingredients were... questionable.

I read aloud:

* Sprinkles

* Glue

* Dynamite

* Two socks that smell like cheese

* A jellybean from the Year 1998

* “Whispers from the haunted halls”

I asked, “Are we actually making a muffin or summoning a pastry demon?”

Grandma shrugged and poured syrup on the floor “for luck.”

I added syrup, ping-pong balls, a squirt of whipped cream, and a little yak milk from the emergency fridge. We stirred it all with a fountain pen .

Then the oven started to shake.

It hissed.

It growled.

It roared.

The muffin inside started to bubble and glow purple.

“That’s either a good sign,” Grandma said, strapping on a welder’s mask, “or the beginning of the end.”

She pulled it out with tongs and oven mitts that said “Kiss the Cook (But Ask First).”

The muffin blinked.

And screamed:

“WHO WANTS PIE?! HIGH FIVE!”

It launched into the air like a frosted cannonball and punched a hole in the ceiling. Then it landed on the fridge and declared, “I AM THE KING OF SNACKS!”

While the muffin was busy throwing sugar packets at us, Grandma did a flying karate kick off the dining table and slammed it into a bag of flour. And then she saw my phone !

“Back in my day,” she said, covered in powdered sugar, “TikTok was the sound my knees made.”

Fishsticks… I had left my phone recording.

And livestreaming.

To everyone.

By the next morning, the video had over 3.2 million views.

Grandma was famous.

She went viral faster than a raccoon in a bubble bath. People online called her “Karate Nana,” “Pastry Brawler,” and “The Muffin Whisperer.” She had fans. She had memes. She had merch.

Grandma leaned into it with both orthopedic shoes.

She started a TikTok account called GrandTok and began posting videos like:

* “How to Make Government-Free Gnocchi”

* “Microwave Mind-Control Muffins”

* “How to Tell if Your Toaster Works for the Lizard People”

She wore sunglasses indoors. She shouted “I AM ALIVE!” out the window every time she “went live.” She told me to only refer to her as “GramCracker Supreme.”

She adopted Kevin the llama officially and gave him his own fan page. He once went viral for sneezing into a bowl of salsa.

I begged her to stop.

Instead, she recorded herself training the muffin (who we named Mufford) to play checkers and rap in ancient Latin.

At this point, I had lost all control of my life.

One night, the White House called.

They invited Grandma to cook at a diplomatic dinner and give a speech on “elder empowerment through explosive baking.”

She agreed, but only if they allowed her to bring:

* Kevin

* A fog machine

* And a giant spoon labeled “Truth Mixer”

They said no.

So she said no.

The next morning, she was gone.

Vanished. Disappeared. All she left behind was a glittery oven mitt, a voice memo that said “I must go. My muffin needs me,” and Kevin wearing a sombrero, looking suspicious.

Three days later, she posted a TikTok from Peru.

She was wearing a poncho made of banana peels, standing next to Mufford and Kevin.

> “Welcome to my new podcast,” she said. “It’s called Grandma Unfiltered. We talk muffins, moon landings, and massage therapy for ghosts.”

Kevin spit dramatically into a soup bowl.

The internet broke.

She’s still there. Still posting. Still yelling at muffins. Still alive.

And sometimes, when I open TikTok late at night, I hear her voice echo through the screen:

> “NEVER TRUST A PIGEON IN A TUXEDO.”

And honestly?

I don’t.

By Jhanvi Latheesh