Most of the notifications are from Snapchat. Some from Instagram. A few texts from numbers I don’t recognize.
I click on the first Snapchat message.
That’s trash af. Just like her rep now
My stomach drops.
Next message:
Community pussy
The words slam into me. But I’ve been called worse. Much worse. This is nothing new. I just— Where the hell is this coming from?
I keep scrolling.
Not her fuckin her brother
Three crying-laughing emojis. Like it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever seen.
All the air punches out of my lungs.
Brother.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
My hands are shaking so bad that I almost drop the phone. I scroll frantically, trying to find the source, trying to understand what happened, when I see it.
A text from Marie. Just two words.
MARIE: I’m sorry
And then the video itself.
Five seconds. On loop.
Caleb and me. His basement stairs—the ones with the loose third step Helen keeps meaning to fix. My arms around his neck. One of those quick, stolen kisses we sneak when we think no one’s looking.
His hand on my ass. Squeezing.
My vision tunnels. Everything goes fuzzy at the edges except for that video, playing on repeat, destroying everything.
Sure, people are calling me a slut. That’s nothing new. I’ve been called worse since I was fourteen andJared Bishop started the rumor that I blew half the football team behind the bleachers. (I didn’t. I’d never even seen a dick at that point.)
But I’m not the one with anything real to lose.
Caleb.
Oh god, Caleb.
The debate team. His perfect reputation. His mother’s pride. Everything he’s worked for since he was twelve years old and decided being perfect was the only way to keep her alive.
All of it is gone. In five seconds. Because of me.
I sprint toward the front entrance of the school, backpack bouncing against my spine. My boots slap against wet pavement, and my breath comes in short, panicked gasps.
I’ve got to find him. It’s lunch time—he should be in the cafeteria at our usual table. Unless he’s hiding somewhere because of the video. Unless he’s already been pulled into the principal’s office or?—
My mind races through scenarios, each one worse than the last.