Page 20 of The Wrong Side of Kai
And how exactly are wedoing that?I think.
Mom wouldn’t be proud of Dad right now. She would want him to be happy, to be the man she fell in love with, and not some tormented, grieving, shabby recluse. And she definitely wouldn’t be proud of me either. The daughter who messed up, who can’t get a handle on her own behavior; the daughter who’s desperate not to be shamed as her sex life circulates around school, and beyond, on some screwed-up video.
For a second, I think about telling Dad. I imagine opening my mouth and confessing the truth, then asking him, as my father, to help me fix this mess. I want him to reassure me that everything will be okay, that he’s going to help me resolve this, and thatI’llbe okay. But I know he’s no longer capable. He is numb to everything except his own pain.
I leave him smoking by the patio doors and run up to my room, taking the stairs two at a time. I grab my MacBook, collapsing onto my bed as I log in while tears break free and roll down my cheeks because the realization that I’m alone in this misery is too much. I don’t turn on any lights, only let the glare of the screen illuminate my face as I pull up my internet browser. I open a couple new tabs. Twitter. Facebook. The first social media I’ve seen all day.
I check Facebook first, only because I know it’s the safest. No one uses it these days, so the likelihood of me seeing anything about myself on there is pretty much nil. But I scroll through my newsfeed anyway, searching and searching for my name, but all I see are photo uploads from distant relatives and middle-aged locals airing their dirty laundry.
My focus shifts to the Twitter tab. The most ruthless social media of all. It’s a cooking pot when it comes to gossip and high school drama – everyone has something to say, because it’s just soeasyto say it, and everyone feeds off one another’s posts, fueling heated discussions, fallouts and unwanted opinions. I’m not stupid. I know exactly what I’m about to see as I log in, because I know what I’d be saying if it were anyone else, but it still shocks me to my core as soon as the posts come up on my timeline.
what a whore
hasn’t every guy in Westerville North already seen that body anyway?
vanessa murphy really has lost it
#smileforthecamera
oh my godddd gross!!
Only a couple of the tweets mention my actual name, but it’s so clear that every post is about me. Every post from seven this morning up until right now, tweet after tweet shaming me, humiliating me, my peers from school basking in the sadistic glee of tearing someone else to pieces. They’re just so freakin’ glad it’s not them who’s in the firing line, because it’s always more fun being the one laughing than being the one laughed at. What hurts worst of all is that last week most of these people were talking to me in the hallways at school. They were joking around with me at Madison Romy’s party. They were sitting with me at lunch. It feels so clear now that they have never really liked me at all, that they most likely already had these opinions about me, but never had the courage or the opportunity to express them. But people grow brave – and vicious – when they’re in unison with others. I’m usually a part of it too, but now it feels so wrong.
I wanted attention, sure, but not like this.
I make my account private and slam my MacBook shut.
The total unfairness of it sends tears streaming down my face. But there’s a purpose galvanizing behind my tears. Now I’m craving payback more than ever.
There wasn’t a single mention of Harrison’s name. Not a single insinuationaboutHarrison. But I already knew that too. I knew this morning that it would be me who’d be subject to all the backlash. Harrison doesn’t have to worry about being tortured online or his social status being torn apart – but he does have something else to worry about.
Kai and me.
7
I sleep in late for school. Admittedly, on purpose. I can’t bear the thought of walking down those hallways again. To think that yesterday I was blissfully unaware that everyone around me had that video on their phone.What a sucker.
I did shoot Chyna a text telling her not to pick me up, and I promised her I’d be at school by noon. No matter how much I dread facing everyone at school, I don’t want to ditch Chyna during lunch. We have our own table in the cafeteria that we share with some mutual friends, but Chyna is more reserved than I am, someone who’s happy to be in my shadow, so she’ll panic if I don’t turn up. That’s why I have to show my face at school today. For my friend’s sake.
Second period is drawing to a close as I pull up to our campus. But, oh no, not in the Green McRusty. Dad took it to work this morning, so I had to improvise. I’m on Kai’s bike. Embarrassing, sure, but nowhere near as humiliating as a leaked sex tape. I’ve discovered that it’s quite freeing, really – feeling so exposed already that it doesn’t matter what you do next, because it’s not like you can sink any lower.
I stopped by the hardware store on my way here to buy a bike lock, because nothing is ever safe on this campus. And right now, I’m the prime target for abuse, so if anyone catches me pulling up on this bike, they’ll most likely break the chain and then toss it in the dumpster just to spite me. And then Kai will kill me.
There’s no one around, though. I chain the bike up to a rack and study the others already there in search of Kai’s father’s one, but I can’t remember what it looks like. Kai’s is painted a dark blue and the tires have a red trim, but his dad’s was more subtle. I keep checking the bikes until it occurs to me that what I’m really doing is trying to figure out whether or not Kai is at school.
Of course he’s at school. Why wouldn’t he be? It’s only his second day. I don’t even knowwhyKai transferred here from Westerville Central. I need to ask him, but apparently I’m not allowed to talk to him in public.
The bell for lunch period rings out, echoing across the deserted school campus. It’s my cue to pluck up some courage and enter the building. I take a deep breath, several of them, and head for the door. I’m wearing a pair of baggy jeans and a hoodie, because I know it’d be like feeding time at the zoo if I turned up today in my usual style. I like tight jeans and low-cut tops, becauseIlike the way they look, but I know that drawing attention to my body wouldn’t do much to help my cause right now. So, another middle finger up at Harrison for forcing me to change the way I dress.
Students spill out of the building and I have to fight against the current to get inside. I ignore the whispers, the laughter. It doesn’t mean they don’t hurt. No amount of trying to tough it out can save me, not really, not deep down. I keep my head up and my eyes set ahead, lips clamped firmly shut. I can’t look at the sea of faces in the hallways as I drift past them. It’s all a blur. I don’t want to see Harrison or his friends. I don’t want to see Kai, because right now, other than Chyna, he feels like the only other friend I have, so I’m worried I’ll run straight to him. And I’ve no way of knowing if I can trust him. Plus, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t want us to be seen together.
When I reach the cafeteria doors, I brace myself for impact. The cafeteria is always toxic – it’s where arguments that have been brewing all day finally break out, it’s where jock-level disagreements are settled with fistfights, it’s where Judgment Day takes place for those of us who have made mistakes and sinned against the rules of the school.
I follow a couple of freshmen girls through the doors and into the boxing ring that is the Westerville North cafeteria. It’s a buzz of noise, mindless chatter laced with laughter, bodies milling around with trays. At first, as I weave my way around tables toward my own at the back, I’m praying that everyone is too self-absorbed to notice my arrival. But then the hushing starts. It’s subtle, the volume of the cafeteria dropping by only a notch or two, but it’s there. Eyes latch onto me. Tongues wag.
It’s hard not to tune in to what they’re saying, and I flinch, but it’s easier to bear once I finally spot Chyna at our table. She’s on her own, picking silently at her food, which is weird. Our table is usually packed full, and on the odd occasion that there is an empty seat, it doesn’t take long for some desperate soul to fill it. As I approach, Chyna glances up, her face lighting up with relief.
“You’re here!” she says, her smile wide and beautiful. She stands from the table and pulls me into a tight hug that I know means much more than her just being grateful that I’ve turned up. It’s a hug full of love and reassurance, a hug that reminds me that she’s here for me. I squeeze her back, burying my face in her braids, fighting back tears. Sometimes when I look at Chyna, I see pieces of my old self in her. Happy, passionate, loyal – hopeful for all that’s ahead of us. The past couple years, I have become someone entirely different, but yet we have never grown apart. It’s corny, I know, but that’s how I’m sure we’ll be best friends for life.
