It only takes a few minutes for me to walk into school, but that’s still enough time for a million eyes to land on me. The hallway goes silent as I pass through, Lydia and Claudia at my sides like bodyguards. Normally, no one looks at me. Normally, people are talking and laughing and interested in their own lives. This is anything but normal.

“Maybe you don’t need to go to your locker,” Claudia says, sharing a look with Lydia. “There might just be more people there. We can get your stuff for you.”

“No, it’s fine. I just want to get my shit and get out,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t want to come back after this. I’m sure there are already parents who wish I would leave. I’ll just be doing them a favor.

My theory is confirmed when we reach my locker. There, in bright red marker, someone has scrawled the words NO SLUTS AT THIS SCHOOL. I don’t know if I should scream or cry, but neither option comes readily. I just blink. Honestly, I expected as much. It’s no different from what I saw on Twitter.

“Simone,” Lydia starts. “Maybe—”

I just shake my head, turning down the hallway. It was a stupid idea to show up. Maybe part of me believed it wouldn’t be as bad as I imagined, that people wouldn’t think it was such a big deal. Maybe I thought they’d all write it off as a hoax. Clearly, I was wrong.

The auditorium doors are open as I walk past. In-school rehearsals—I forgot. The show is this weekend, after all. I peer inside. Ms. Klein is on the stage, in the middle of a speech. Mr. Palumbo stands behind her with his hands folded. I should be relieved that the crew isn’t here, but it doesn’t change the numbness in my chest. I walk in on autopilot, drawn by the cast onstage.

Ms. Klein glances in my direction and stops abruptly, staring at me like I’m a ghost.

“Simone,” she says, voice soft. “Can I speak with you privately?”

At her words, heads turn and whispers start. I want to groan. If she hadn’t said anything, I could’ve walked out of here without being noticed.

Ms. Klein walks offstage, heading toward the hallway. I hurry behind her. There are eyes on me during the entire walk of shame.

“Look,” she says once we’re outside. “I know this is probably a really hard time for you. I want you to know that we took the tweets down and suspended the account.”

“Oh,” I say. It doesn’t do much for me now, but it’s the nicest she’s been to me all year. “Thank you.”

“You aren’t alone,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “We’re all behind you.”

I give her a closed-lip smile.