There’s another message, this one just a link. I click on it, and it takes me to this site about vitiligo. It’s not one I’ve seen before. It’s really more of a blog than a site, full of typos. It has all these horrible pictures, most of which I’m pretty sure have nothing to do with vitiligo, and says all these bogus things that aren’t true. At the bottom, in bold, I read this:

Though rare, vitiligo is HIGHLEY contagious and can be life-threatning!!!

As I read, I feel my heart breaking into little pieces that go knocking around my chest like coins being rattled in a cup.

“This site says that I’m contagious,” I say in a small voice. “It says I’m dangerous.”

“Which is total crap,” Fina replies. “Anyone with half a brain cell can figure that out.”

But she’s wrong. All those people moving away from me. They didn’t want to “catch” my vitiligo. Tears bead my eyes.

“It was Edie,” Fina says quietly.

I remember the way Edie smirked at me on the bus before her face went all scared and worried. And I realize that she knows my vitiligo isn’t dangerous or contagious. And she sent this out anyway.

“Ruby must have helped,” I say. “How else would Edie know about my vitiligo? That’s why Ruby sent me that apology text.”

Fina nods. “I heard some girls talking. Apparently, Ruby wanted to go to Edie’s Halloween party. For reasons beyond human comprehension, she wants to be friends with that little brat.”

“She wasn’t popular in her old school,” I mutter numbly. “Remember? She told us that first day at lunch.”

“Being popular isn’t the same as having friends,” Fina says, scowling. “And Edie is never going to be a real friend to Ruby. She only let Ruby go to her stupid party so Ruby would give her dirt on you.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything. How could Ruby have done this to me?

“No one is going to believe this stuff,” Fina says. “Seriously.”

“They do believe it,” I cry. “You saw how no one wanted to get near me when I got off the bus. And look at this picture she took. People are going to think that’s how I really look.”

“People are probably just acting weird because they don’t want to go against Edie,” Fina says. “I swear, next time I see that girl, I’m going to—”

“Don’t, Fina,” I interrupt. “It’ll just make things worse.”

“But—”

“She’s doing this because of that stupid poem,” I say. “The one I wrote on the first day of school. She’s been waiting to get back at me ever since then. And if you do something, she’ll just come after you. Or she’ll make things even worse for me.”