The photo of a handsy Biology teacher’s children is removed from his desk, returned later with the addition of paper speech bubbles that say, I AM WATCHING YOU, DADDY and DON’T BE A PERV. LOVE, HEATHER.

A bunch of homophobic guys on the basketball team have their lockers painted pink and NO HOMOPHOBES written across them. LOVE, HEATHER.

The captain of the soccer team, who made the position, people say, because her dad is the coach, is blatantly tripped in a crowd and twists her knee, incapacitating her, Tonya Harding style. No one saw who did it. No one fesses up. I don’t even know why anyone would do that. But someone wrote on her locker, too, just a sloppy, red heart and SUCK IT, CUNT. No artistry at all.

A guy who keeps a “slay list” of girls he’s slept with is found to have shoplifted from the store where he works in the mall. A T-shirt in his backpack sets off the alarm, and he’s fired.

The student council freshman rep, a tall and skinny kid who everyone seems to think is a “totally nice guy,” is swarmed and beaten up in smokers’ alley, but later won’t snitch on his attackers. He was spray-painted red and staggered, crying, into the front foyer of the school, looking terrified with snot and spit and tears running down his face. I am shocked by this. There is no way he deserved that, I think, but then realize that I don’t know who is doing what, who has what coming, or why.

Up and up and up. More and more and more. All grades, not just freshmen; all the people, not just those I know. Like everyone gave permission, got permission, to take what they want, give shit to the rest, to knock people down. Maybe we are behind some of these, but maybe not, not all of them, anyway. At this point, it’s so hard for anyone to tell. Dee never admits to anything, and neither do I. No one does.

At lunch, Antar and Marta, and even Ava sometimes, have started sitting a little further away from us, but the table where we sit is full of other kids. We are not alone, even if our friends are spreading out, away. People talk excitedly about all the pranks, and about whether they were warranted or not. Sometimes people fantasize about getting even with those who tormented them and others over the course of their lives.

People scrawl calls for vengeance and condemnations in red lipstick in bathrooms. There are sloppy notes left behind on chalkboards:

Rob is an asshole, someone Heather him.

Heather can suck my dick.

Heather help me