Yeah. She’s an idiot. It’ll come back to her. It’ll bite her in the ass. Go to sleep.

I turn my phone off. I lie in bed and finally fall asleep, but each time I wake during the night, I check my phone. More responses, more and more, and eventually, by morning, the story is gone and Breanne has removed the pic. There is momentary quiet.

Chapter 25

25

I walk alone to school. Nobody is at our rock on the grounds when I arrive, so I walk right in, focused on my locker like a heat-seeking missile. I try to ignore the looks coming my way. Occasionally someone pats me on the back, like a gesture of solidarity. But there is also snickering and muttering, whispering and giggling.

Everyone is talking about all the stuff happening online. It’s not just Breanne’s posts, or the Insta message sent through Aidan’s account, but everywhere we can go and talk and shout, everywhere the teachers can’t reach us. People are whispering and arguing, conspiring, gossiping. There are side group messages and public declarations, trash talking and threats. There are peacemakers, and those trying to diffuse with GIFs and memes. Some people can’t wait to get away from the school for the summer, from the drama; others are sad the first year of high school is almost over.

I sit through Pete’s class watching him for a sign that he caught wind of anything Breanne wrote. He acts the same as always, but it’s hard to tell if he’s just rising above it. I leave quickly after class, my head down.

At lunch, it’s just me and Dee at our table. Antar looks our way and shakes his head, choosing to sit at a different table and listen to music. Michelle, Ava, and Marta shrug and follow him, looking at their phones. Lottie isn’t there. I am guessing she’s in some far corner of the school, maybe eating her lunch in Pete’s classroom. I bet they’re together. They are family, after all. I watch my friends and consider going to join them, to talk it through, to tell them that I know it’s all too much.

“What’re you thinking?” Dee asks, looking at me over her sandwich.

“I dunno. Just want the whole thing to end.”

“I hear that.”

But I don’t know that she does, or that she would want things to end the same way.

By the time the bell rings, gossip has reached a fever pitch, and on top of that, everyone is talking about the party tonight.

“I don’t know about you, but I am not going,” I scoff, opening my locker.

Dee is looking at herself in the mirror, applying bright-red lipstick. “Like hell you’re not,” she says.

“I’m sorry?”