by Lucy Cuthew
and walk quickly
down the street.
I can talk to Benjamin.
I can confront him again.
Now I think about it,
time has given me clarity,
and even though I know
he didn’t make the meme,
I do know he told somebody.
It’s easy, really,
one turn here,
down the next street,
along a few more,
and before I know it
I’m looking at his
red front door.
I don’t let myself think.
I don’t let myself stop.
I just walk up to it,
reach out with my fist
and knock.
FIX IT
I stand still and wait,
braced to deliver
my scathing reproach.
I watch his shadow approach
through the cloudy glass
and then
Benjamin’s mum
opens the door
and I’m totally thrown.
“Hello,” she says, smiling.
“Er … hi,” I say, searching
for words to explain
who I am
and what I’m doing
standing here
looking determined.
“I’m … er …
is … er …
Benjamin in?”
I finally get out.
She tilts her head,
gives a flicker of a grin,
before standing aside
and saying,
“Sure, come in.”
My eyes fall straight
on Benjamin’s trainers
lying on the floor at
the foot of the stairs.
The same ones he
took off in my hall
right before we got
almost completely naked.
“Go on up,”
she says, pointing
to a door at the top
of the stairs.
“He’s in his room.”
“Thanks,” I mutter,
slipping off my shoes,
the carpet squashing softly
beneath my bare feet.
I climb the stairs,
wondering if my parents
would ever be so cool
about letting a boy
come up to my room.
But before I’m at the top,
Benjamin’s mum shouts up,
“Someone’s here for you!
Keep the door open!”
And I’m in his doorway,
breathing in the clean,
biscuity-sweet
smell of his room.
Benjamin is lying
on his bed.
“OK!” he shouts
down to his mum,
not looking up
from his laptop,
which is on the bed
next to him.
Rugby kit covers the floor
and on the wall above his head
is a huge poster
of what I know to be
a Cassini mission photo
of Saturn’s icy rings.
Benjamin taps the keys
and I look at his screen
and I freeze.
Half of the meme
fills his screen.
Not the picture of me,
but the one that’s always
next to me with the
bloodied fingers.
Stranger’s fingers.
Why is he looking
at that bit on its own?
I feel
A whimper escapes me.
Benjamin turns
and practically
falls off his bed
as he sees me
and scrambles up.
“Frankie!” he says.
“What are you do—”
“What are you doing?”
I say, pointing at his screen.
I try to sound strong.
I feel so small.
I wish I hadn’t come.
I want to fall
into a black hole.
Benjamin looks from
me to his screen.
Panicking.
Guilty.
I’m so confused.
I know, know,
he told someone,
but…
“Did you have something
to do with the me—”
“No!” he says, shaking his head.
“I’m trying to help you!”
I search his face,
wondering how he
could possibly be helping me.
“I can’t believe you’re here,”
he says, taking a step
closer to me. Then stopping.
“Can I show you
something I’ve just
found out?”
He pulls the laptop
to the edge of the bed,
kneels on the floor
and starts clicking.
I move a little closer,
watching over his shoulder.
Curiosity silencing my anger.
Then he brings up
reams of white text
against a black screen.
“The metadata
shows where
the fingers photo
was taken.”
“It’s geotagged?”
“Exactly,” Benjamin says,
his eyes wide and hopeful.
“This is not a stock photo.
It was taken just before
the meme was posted.
At about one that morning.
Locally.
But it was nowhere
near Harriet’s house.”
“Then where?” I say,
my heart lifting,
skipping,
as I try to stop myself imagining
what it would mean
if the meme
wasn’t
Harriet.
“There’s only one person
I know who lives
in the area where the
photo was taken.”
Benjamin pauses.
He looks worried.
“Jackson.”
I blink.
And shake my head,
trying to catch up
with what he’s said,
and what it means.
Harriet was grounded.
She’d never go
against her mum.
Did Harriet really not make the meme?
“So…” I say, swallowing.
“Are you saying
Jackson made the meme?”
Benjamin nods
and
I realize I’m standing,
guilt and regret
battling in my guts.
“Harriet hasn’t been lying.”
“She could have
been with him.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“She was grounded.”
I bend over feeling
almost sick with relief.
I breathe out deeply.
Then breathe in,
trying to take it all in.
I was so angry with her
about the shower photo,
I believed she’d do anything mean.
Even the meme.
I didn’t listen to her.
But at the same time as
realizing Harriet
didn’t make the meme,
I’m realizing that
Benjamin still blabbed
to somebody.
He was the only one
who knew.
“You told Jackson,”
I say, standing up straight
to look at Benjamin.
“I didn’t!” he protests.
“Stop lying!” I say,
my voice risi
ng,
hoping his mum
doesn’t hear me.
“It was on Harriet’s page.
How did he get into
her account if she
wasn’t there?”
“Maybe he guessed it?”
I say, thinking about how
all her passwords are
variations of 99 Flake,
and how she was salivating
over her milkshake
when we went ice skating,
and how Jackson knew
her phone’s passcode
was 9999.
“Don’t ask me how, but
her password would have
been really easy
for him to figure out.”
“But that doesn’t mean he—”
“Just admit you told
Jackson what we did!”
I snap.
I need to go
and see Harriet.
“I didn’t,” he says.
“Stop lyin—”
“Wait!” he says, pleading,
his hands on his head,
compressing his curls,
as though he’s trying
to force something out.
“I told my sister.
I texted her
when I got home
that afternoon.
I was worried I’d hurt you.”
“You told your sister?!”
I say, incredulous.
Benjamin nods.
“I didn’t know what else to do.
She works weird hours
in California so
she didn’t reply
until the next morning.
I was in school.
Jackson read
the message I sent my sister
over my shoulder.”
I stare at Benjamin.
Searching his face
to see if he’s lying.
Can that really be it?
Something so naive?
So innocent?
“I’m sorry.
I should have told you.
I just hoped so much
it wasn’t all my fault.
My sister’s been helping me
take the worst stuff down.”
I ignore the implication
that there has been worse
than what I’ve seen.
My temper is rising again.
“That’s what my parents
said we should do
when they found out.”
“Your parents know?”
“They know everything.
They’re going in to
see the head tomorrow.
Why didn’t you just tell me?”
I’m almost shouting.
Benjamin sighs.
“I’m really sorry.
I couldn’t bear it.
I was just pretending
it wasn’t my fault.
I felt terrible.”
“You felt terrible?”
I am shouting now.
“Everything OK?”
Benjamin’s mum calls
up the stairs.
“Yes!” he calls back. “Fine!”
But I’m not fine.
I’m furious.
“And you ignored me!”
“My parents have
my phone.”
“There are other ways
to contact me,”
I say, nodding at his laptop.
“You’re right,” he says.
“I just wanted to
fix it for you,
then show you.”
I shake my head.
“I didn’t need you
to fix it for me.
I just wanted you
to be there for me.”
Benjamin looks
genuinely surprised.
“Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
Benjamin swallows.
His Adam’s apple bobs
at the neck of his T-shirt.
“I felt so guilty.
I’m sorry.
I was hiding.”
“You were lying.”
Benjamin nods.
“I wish I’d just told
you the truth.
I was lying to myself too.
I didn’t know what to do.
I really like you.”
“I like you too.
But I don’t trust you.”
Benjamin looks down at his feet,
then up at me.
“Maybe over time
I can gain that back?”
Benjamin says.
“I really hope we can
hang out again.”
“I hope so too,” I say.
Maybe he was
just ashamed like me.
But I need
time to think.
“Send me that thing,”
I say, pointing
to his screen
as I leave.
I have an idea forming but
before I do anything
I have to talk to Harriet.
AN APOLOGY
I run all the way
from Benjamin’s house
my legs working
as hard as my brain
straining to sort
the muddling feelings
of guilt
from shame.
I reach Harriet’s gate,
legs aching,
heart pounding,
mouth bursting with
an apology I desperately
hope isn’t too late.
Harriet opens her front door
and takes a step back
as she sees it’s me.
Her face is red.
Her eyes are puffy.
“Frankie,” she says.
“What’s happening?”
Sweat is dripping
down my spine
and I’m panting from running
as I blurt out,
“I know you didn’t
make the meme.”
I stop to breathe,
my throat tightening.
“Jackson hacked you.
Benjamin can prove it.”
I lean over
and gasp for breath
then stand back up
and search her face.
Hoping she understands
what I’m saying.
Hoping she won’t slam
the door in my face.
Her brow furrows.
She blinks slowly.
Sniffs a little.
“No one believed me.”
“We were so angry.”
She starts nodding,
sobbing and saying
“It wasn’t me” over and over
as though she’s making up
for all the time she’s been
coping with everyone
thinking it was her.
“Harry,” I say,
reaching out to her,
“I’m so sorry.”
She looks at me
with her bloodshot eyes,
sniffs snottily and says,
“I did some horrible things,
but I would never do
something so cruel.”
“I know,” I say, swallowing,
my heart hurting
seeing how much
pain Harriet’s in.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
Tears slide
over my hot cheeks.
“I wanted to,
but it was so convincing.
And I was furious with you.”
Harriet nods,
tears still pouring
down her cheeks.
“You had every right to be.”
“Please forgive me?”
“Me forgive you?”
Harriet says, wiping
her nose on her sleeve.
“Frankie, I was awful to you.
I took that shower photo.
I pushed you over.
I snapped over
that whole email thing.
It was so embarrassing.
I wanted to get you into
as much trouble as me.
I’m the one who
should be saying
sorry to you.”
“What I said to you in the toilets
that day was horrible.”
“It was quite mean.”
“I just didn’t understand
why you’d send
a picture like that.”
“I think in my
sleep-addled state I
thought it would make
Mr B like me as much
as he likes you.
I’m not as clever as you.”
“Harry,” I say.
“You’re so clever.
I’m the idiot.
I shouldn’t have judged you
about the email.
I should have just
been there for you.”
Harriet winces.
“I should have
been there for you.
I didn’t know
how to come back to you.”
“I didn’t either.
But I am so, so sorry.”
The afternoon breeze
sweeps the clouds aside
and a sunbeam falls on us,
illuminating us, ridiculously,
both crying snottily,
standing on the doorstep,
tears dripping from our faces.
“I’m more sorry
than I can ever say.
To the moon and back
or something really big
and cheesy like that.
You’re not nothing to me.
You’re everything.”
“God, I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you too.”
Then we hug each other,
squeezing tightly,
sort of laughing,
sort of crying,
and for the first time in ages
I feel like smiling.
So I say,
“My parents saw
my porno debut,”
and I watch her
as her eyes go so wide
they look like they’re
about to fall out of her face.
AN IDEA
“OMG, tell me
everything
immediately!”
“I showed them everything.”
“Everything everything?”
“Everything everything.