Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

The four of us huddle together next to my car, watching the notifications pouring in on my phone. My phone sounds like a beehive with all the buzzing.

“What’s going on?” Ava asks.

The four of us look at each other but no one seems to understand why my phone is suddenly blowing up. The flood of texts and instant messages surprises me. It’s like they announced my phone number at the restaurant or something so that everyone in the room could send me their thoughts. I admit, I’m worried it won’t be very supportive.

“Do you want me to come home with you, Sam?” Ava asks. “I could help figure out what’s happening.”

For some reason, I look at Dylan when she offers this. He nods at me like he totally understands. Then he frowns back down at my phone. “I’m happy to help too if you think we need to set up a command center to manage this.”

I smile at them. “That’s super cool of both of you, but I’m sure this will die down as fast as it exploded.”

Bek and I climb into my car, and I prop my phone in a cup holder. The screen remains lit up the entire time it takes me to drop Bek off at her house. One notification after another scrolling across the screen.

“I don’t know, Sam. This seems crazy big.” She gnaws her lip as she watches the stream of notifications. “I don’t think you should handle this alone.”

She may drive me crazy with her fish allergy, but she’s completely dialed in when it comes to being a supportive friend. I wave a hand at her. “Don’t worry about me. I might not even look at any of it tonight.”

She swings her door open, but then turns back toward me. “I’m so impressed with what you did. That was really brave to stand up for yourself like that.” She wilts in her seat. “I’m so sorry you had to. I had no idea guys were making things up like that.”

I stare at my screen as the notifications pop up one after another. Texts from people I don’t know. Email notifications. I frown down at the screen when I see a flurry of Instagram notifications. Bek sees my expression and leans over to see the screen, and she’s frowning too.

“Instagram?” she asks.

I rub my forehead. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll worry about this stuff tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.”

I toss my phone, screen side down, onto the passenger seat so it doesn’t distract me while I drive home. The screen has not gone dark for a second since we left the restaurant.

I consider that by speaking out like that, I might have ruined my chances of finding a boyfriend my senior year. I might not even get to go to prom. But when I remember the embarrassment on the boys’ faces as I asked the questions, I know it’s worth it. I’ll go it solo until I go away to college. Standing up for myself like that was the best thing I could do!

Of course, my parents aren’t home, so I grab a sparkling water and head up to my room. I want to plug my phone into the charging cable but it’s too far away from my bed. Turns out a constant stream of notifications drains a battery fast. I wasn’t planning to look at any of the messages until tomorrow. Being pumped up on anger and adrenaline has exhausted me, and the idea of crawling into bed and burying my head under my covers is very enticing. But if I’m going to have to page through a bunch of messages calling me nasty names for pointing out the liars in the room, then I should get it over with tonight.

I start with my texts. I figure if they have my phone number, we’ve had a connection at some point.

Kurt: I didn’t realize how shallow I am. I’m sorry.

I stare at the message for a long time. Not what I expected.

Me: Apology accepted.

He surprises me by responding immediately.

Kurt: Want to try again?

That feels slimy.

Me: Not on your life.

I open the next text. It’s from Lana, a girl I was biology partners with sophomore year.

Lana: That was the most beautiful, powerful thing I’ve ever seen.

I frown. I don’t remember seeing her in the room.

Me: You were there?

Lana: No.

She includes a link in the text that I tap, hesitantly. It opens to a video hosting site and there I am, asking boys questions about myself. It shocks me so much, I tap the screen to stop it from playing. The title of the video is GIRL STANDS UP AGAINST UNDESERVED SLUT SHAMING. I grimace. Have the rumors gone as far as slut shaming? I realize it doesn’t matter if they are telling lies about me kissing them or doing more. It’s all wrong.

My frozen image on the screen stands tall and determined. I like what I see, so I start the video playing again. I’m not gonna lie, I hate hearing my voice, but I love what I’m saying and how I’m saying it. I get riled up all over again listening to it, even though I’m the one who said it in the first place. Whoever filmed the scene stayed on me until I started asking for a show of hands. They scan the crowd too fast, and my stomach roils like I’m about to capsize on a boat. Then they scan the crowd more slowly as I ask for the show of hands for second dates.

Whoever is filming mumbles a swear word. “Seven. Seven out of 18.” It’s a girl filming. Then I ask for the final show of hands and the pause feels as long during the video as it felt in real time. The videographer swings the camera back to me just in time to capture the ironic look I gave the boys not willing to admit the truth. Then she does a slow pan of the entire room and ends up on Spencer. The girl swears again, but this time you can hear her own anger. She says, “That’s effed up.” And the video cuts out.

I don’t know how to process the fact that my speech was taped and is already online. Then I look at the counter under the viewing screen and I almost drop my phone. Three hundred people have already seen it. I don’t even know if there are three hundred girls in our school.

Tentatively, I scan the comments under the video. Comments are usually so shallow and often not even related to the subject matter. I’m not surprised when I see one criticizing the dye job on my hair. I snicker when I see that someone responded that it is natural and called them a nasty name. But most of the comments are positive. Either cheering me for standing up for myself or talking about female empowerment.

The whole time I watched the video, my phone was buzzing with new notifications. I’m more encouraged to dive into my messages based on the video comments. There are a couple mean ones from guys who feel challenged by me outing them. I shake my head and wonder if they truly believe something happened between us or if they think they should have a right to tell whatever story they want of me.

I lay in bed even though I’m still clothed, because I can’t take my eyes off my phone. There is something really good happening for other girls because of my speech. I have that same feeling I got when I learned that I’d empowered Latisha to stand up for herself, but this time it is a thousand times bigger.

I feel like a crazy person tucked up on my bed, alone, laughing and crying and responding aloud to some of the more heartfelt comments. Maybe I am crazy, but it feels too good to stop.

When I can’t keep my eyes open any longer and I notice that my phone is on the last drop of battery power, I shut it off completely, plug it in, and burrow under my covers.

I concentrate on trying to relax and calm my mind. The stress begins to melt away when a series of comments flash behind my eyes, or the video plays in my memory and my brain kicks into gear again. I try an old-fashioned sleep remedy and picture sheep jumping a fence as I mentally tally them, hoping the distraction will allow me to let go of the whirlwind of emotions I’m feeling. But instead, sobs take over. Though I don’t understand why I’m crying, it feels like the right thing to do. My tears are the anger I felt for being wronged, the empowerment I feel for standing up for myself, and the joy I feel for the other girls who realize they don’t deserve judgment either. They are happy tears, sorrowful tears, and exhausted tears. And eventually, I’m too tired even for them, and I fall asleep on my damp pillow.