by Randi Rigby
Pushing my glasses further up the bridge of my nose, I sat up in bed. Charlie looked confused by this break in our routine. I was usually lacing up my shoes at this point, not talking on the phone. Drew picked up on the first ring.
“Kel.” He sounded breathless.
“Hey Drew, you okay?”
“Yes. No. Did you look at your Instagram posts yet?”
“No. Should I have?”
“You were trolled last night. It’s pretty bad.”
I opened it up and scrolled through the comments. He wasn’t kidding. I felt sick to my stomach and violated. “I don’t even recognize any of these people.”
“They’re probably fake accounts. Freaking cowards.” Only he didn’t say freaking because he was freaking mad.
“But who would do this, be this awful?” I was having a hard time getting my head around it, but even as I was saying this, I knew. I knew.
Whitney pretty much disliked me on sight. My continual long-limbed, towering existence a shadow over her otherwise shiny universe—the one where Blake was inexplicably her sun, moon and stars. The boy was an out-and-out player. When he wasn’t flirting with me he was busy flirting with anyone else not named Whitney. But she didn’t see it that way. And she had a lot of friends.
Case in point, homecoming. Blake asked me to the dance as we were gathering our books off our desks one morning at the end of English Lit.
“Sorry. If I go, it’ll be with Drew.”
“So that’s a maybe?”
“It’s a hard ‘no.’ You should ask someone else.”
“What if I only want to go with you, Grace Kelly?”
“Then I guess you stay home,” I shrugged. “But you don’t. And you won’t.”
Blake stepped in front of me, effectively blocking my exit. “I might.”
I stared at him. Given that Blake already knew about Drew—had known for some time that I had a boyfriend at a different school—and nothing in my behavior indicated that had changed, he had to know I was going to say no before he even asked. So why do it? That was when I noticed Whitney, silent and stone-faced and without her usual posse, her arms wrapped protectively around her books as she stood at the doorway watching us. Great.
“Whatever floats your boat,” I said, pushing past him. Whitney was gone before I took two steps. But if I’d felt like an outsider at school before she made sure I now felt like an outcast.
Ten miles at a punishing pace and a hot shower later, I dressed for school with care. I’d learned a thing or two from different make-up artists I’d worked with. By the time I was finished I’d created a face even Shae would be proud of.
Pick a point and fix on it. Chin slightly down. I could hear the gossip and snickering, see them crowded around their phones and sliding their eyes to me as I walked by them in the hall. I was absolutely flummoxed. Was everyone looking at the same two pictures I’d posted last night? In one of them I was wearing a cropped sweater over my bikini top while kneeling side profile in the sand. It was wet, but I was pulling on it so it wasn’t even clingy—only my mid-riff and legs were exposed. In the second I was wearing a solidly sporty one-piece. I looked like a lifeguard.
“How was Miami, Kel?” Becca said with gritted teeth as she burst in to chemistry, dropped her books onto the counter and glared around the room, almost daring someone to say something to her.
I blinked in surprise at her fierceness. “It was…busy.”
“I bet.” Karla Robbins, who was good friends with Whitney, smirked at her lab partner, Derek Suarez. They shared a workstation with us. She said it under her breath but it was still loud enough that we could hear it. “Slut.”
And just like that Becca fired out of her seat, ready to go to war. I managed to put a restraining hand on her arm and stop her from getting in Karla’s face just as Mr. Frantz walked in to class.
“Thanks Bec, but I’m good,” I said quietly. She stared at me in disbelief, her face almost matching her purple hair, so I smiled reassuringly at her. “I’m fine, really. And I got my part of the lab done on the flight home.” I slowly tugged her back to our side and pulled my tablet out of my bag. “Ready to do this?”
“This school sucks.” Not exactly a direct quotation but that was basically the main idea.
Mr. Frantz, aware he might’ve walked in on something, looked at us all sternly but thankfully didn’t call Becca out on her language. “I’ve already put your supplies out for today’s reaction. I hope you all did your prep for this one. And I’d advise you to be very careful with your measurements.”
The rest of the day I wore my earbuds in between classes and listened to a recording of Drew singing the song he wrote just for me at high volume. At lunch I forced myself to keep Becca entertained with the story of my disastrous attempt at vegan zucchini muffins (Charlie wouldn’t even eat them and he’d eat anything). And I made her taste some of my butternut, sweet potato and red lentil stew I brought for lunch (she proclaimed it edible, which was high praise from her and a sign of just how sorry she felt for me). I had to spend some time during my lunch hour handing in assignments to a couple of teachers and going over what I missed while I was away working, which was frankly a relief. Class was the worst. It was hard to ignore the undercurrent of snide remarks and snotty looks being thrown my way.
I barely made it home to Mom’s gray-striped couch before unleashing a torrent of hot tears. And then, because I wanted nothing more than to pour out my heart to her and be on the receiving end of one of her sassy, southern pep talks and lose myself in the wraparound comfort of her embrace, it quickly turned to heaving sobs. Charlie jumped up beside me where I’d buried my face in the cushions and wriggled under my arm, looking worried. “Hey buddy. It’s…okay…I just…had a…really…bad day.” Undaunted, he licked the tears from my face as fast as they fell. And I let him.
When I’d finally cried myself out and we ended up with me flopped on my back, spent, and Charlie, quiet and still and vigilant on my chest; I suddenly realized that I was so lost in my own drama that I didn’t let him out when I got home. He probably desperately needed to pee. I was officially the worst.
My phone was ringing from within the deep recesses of my handbag, still lying on the living room floor where I’d flung it earlier when we got back in the house. It was Aunt Shae.
Shae had taken it upon herself to be my manager/stand-in mom. She went with me to Miami for my shoot, made me coordinate with the agency for our flights and hotel reservations, arrange for ground transportation, and find places to eat. Once she was certain I was at the right location for the job, she went shopping without a backward glance until the shoot was over. “You’ll need to know how to do all this for yourself soon. You might as well learn now while you have me as a safety net.”
She’d even worked out at the hotel’s fitness center with me while I was on the treadmill—and Shae hated to sweat in public. It was very decent of her. Dad probably wouldn’t have let me go otherwise.
“Kel, thank heavens.” Shae almost sounded surprised to hear my voice. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Justin told me what happened. You okay, honey?”
Might as well be honest. “I’ve been better.”
“Are these kids you go to school with?”
“Probably.”
“I think you need to tell your father. He deserves to know.”
“I know. I will.”
“Are you home alone?”
“Dad will be here any minute.” I looked at the kitchen clock. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten. “In fact, I should probably go. I need to get dinner started.”
“Dinner can wait, Kel. Trust me, Lucas will understand. I just need you to know how much I love you—how much we all love you. You’ve done nothing you need feel ashamed of. You’re a class act, Kel McCoy. Don’t you allow anyone to cause you to feel otherwise. Greer would be so proud of the woman you’ve become. I know I am.”
Sometimes your light bulb moment of soul st
ark clarity didn’t come from books or experts with a lot of degrees tacked after their names. Sometimes it wasn’t something new or monumental at all. Sometimes it was a truth so much a part of you that you forgot it was even there: Mom would be proud of me. I knew this with every fiber of my being. I let my confidence in that knowledge wash over me and fill up all the places inside that had so recently shriveled and shrunk.
Dad hit the roof. Of course he did. He wanted to pull me out of Barton that very moment or at the very least storm the administration’s office the next morning and demand some kind of an explanation, but I convinced him to stand down. I wasn’t ready to walk away. And I wanted to try and handle it myself.
Something else I learned: just when you thought the world was cruel and twisted you discovered that there were always people out there who were good and kind. My Instagram was flooded both with new followers and positive comments from people I didn’t even know. Chris tagged all the nasty ones with #cleanupthemean. Travon was ready to “bust balls” for me the minute I wanted to name names. Drew stopped by as soon as he was done with football practice—which he’d gallantly tried to ditch but I wouldn’t let him. “I would slay dragons for you, Kel,” he said when I protested.
“I know you would. But it’s too hot for you to have to run laps and I want to stay on your coach’s good side. I can wait. I can.”
But when I opened our front door and saw him standing there, still a little grimy and sweaty from practice, worry written all over his handsome face, I was glad he didn’t take the time to go home and shower first. “Look at you,” he said, taking me in his arms and burying my head in his solid chest. “I hate that those losers made you cry. I really want to punch someone right now.”
“Get in line,” Dad said. He’d changed out of his work clothes and into khaki shorts and a Spurs T-shirt. “Are you staying for dinner, Drew? I should warn you, it’s vegan night. That’s suddenly a thing around here. I’m grilling black bean burgers—I promise they taste better than they sound.”
I knew Dad felt responsible, he was the one who insisted on me going to Barton in the first place, but I almost felt guilty that he was giving me a free pass on the meatless burgers. I thought I’d have to grill them myself and serve him leftover chicken. “Sounds…interesting,” Drew said manfully.
“Guys. You don’t have to eat them.” I rolled my eyes.
“Just let me wash up first? I toweled off as best I could and Matt had a clean shirt in his bag he let me borrow, but Coach worked us pretty hard.”
“Feel free to take a shower,” Dad said. “Use mine. There are clean towels in the cupboard, just help yourself to whatever you need. I’ll start grilling.”
They did taste better than they sounded, especially with homemade guacamole. I packaged up the leftovers, of which there were surprisingly little—men would eat practically anything if they were hungry enough—for lunch with Becca tomorrow.
“So, tell me we have some kind of a plan here,” Drew said, loading the last plate into the dishwasher. “We’re not just letting this lie.”
“We do.” I smiled at him. “Be my date for Barton’s homecoming? It’s this Friday.”
He grinned back at me across the island. “I thought you’d never ask. I asked you to mine two weeks ago.”
“I wasn’t going to. There are a million things I’d rather do with you than go to this dance. But it’s become necessary.”
“A million things?” Drew said. An eyebrow shot up as he dried his hands off on a dishtowel and made his way over to me, a gleam in his arresting blue eyes. “I’m intrigued. Like what, Chicago?”
I squinted at him. “Can you dance?”
“Seriously? Okay, not exactly what I had in mind but as a matter of fact, I can. My mom taught me. There were a lot of years between her leaving my dad and marrying Kevin. I was her go-to, push all the chairs back in the kitchen, dance partner. Why? You worried I’m going to step all over your feet when we slow dance?” He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close.
I slid my hands up around his neck and into his hair. “I’m more worried I’m going to step all over yours.”
“Go right ahead,” he whispered right before he kissed me.
The next day at school I filled out all the necessary forms and got tickets so Drew could attend our homecoming dance. We’d be late. He had an away game that night and he had to take the bus back—team rules. Ginny and I were carpooling. I’d be tearing to get back and into my dress, but I didn’t really want to spend a lot of time at the dance anyway.
“Homecoming?” Becca shook her head as she got out of the Mini. We were at San Sebastian Middle School for another mentoring session. “I don’t get you, Kel.”
I shrugged. “I’ve never been to a school dance. It’s my senior year.”
“You’ve never been to a school dance?”
“Come on, Bec. I’m 6'2" barefooted. Guys weren’t exactly lining up to dance with my chin. How about you?”
“I’ve never been either. Not that I care.” Except. Except, I could tell that she did. Maybe more than she would ever admit, even to herself.
We parted at the hallway. Stepping inside the library where I usually met Camila I quickly sent Travon a text. He immediately responded with a thumbs up and a disco dancer emoji. Didn’t need to see a picture of Becca or worry she’d think it was something it wasn’t. He just liked to be with people he cared about. I loved that about him.
Camila was not herself today. She was being nice to me. She didn’t complain. Not once, not even when I pushed extra homework on her. At the end of our session she awkwardly said, “So, are you okay?”
Suddenly it all made sense. “You follow me on Instagram?”
“Yeah. We all do. I didn’t know you were a model. Carmen found out first.”
“It’s all pretty new. The modeling. And the abuse.”
Camila was quiet for a bit, she picked at a Selena Gomez sticker on her binder with a slightly chipped, red-polished thumbnail. “I just didn’t think people like you got treated like that.”
I smiled at her. “People like me? You mean uptight and uncool people who will never be quite as good at hip hop as their friends?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “You really suck.”
“I do.” I hugged her. “That’s why I need people like you in my life.”
I met up with Becca in the parking lot. “Drew has a friend, Travon—he’s a football player, so he’s going to dwarf you—he’d like to take you to the dance if you want to go. We could go as a group.”
“You asked him to take me? No thank you. I don’t do pity dates.”
“There’s no pity involved.” I showed her my text: If you don’t have plans after the game this Friday, Drew and I are going to Barton’s homecoming. Could use another friendly face. You could go with my friend Becca. You in?
“But he doesn’t even know me.”
“He will. You’ll like him. He’s really sweet. Would you like his number?” I texted it to her.
She stared morosely at her phone. “He probably thinks I look like you.”
“I think he’ll surprise you, Bec. Do you have a dress you can wear or do we need to go shopping?”
“Do I look like I’d have that kind of dress just sitting in my closet?”
I smiled. “Shopping it is. Can you go right after school? I need to run home first and let my dog, Charlie, out. You could follow me over and we could leave from there so we’d just have one car.”
Shopping with Becca was a challenge. She didn’t really know what she wanted but she had some pretty strong ideas about what she didn’t. And the black and white asymmetrical number she was currently wearing was about to be pitched into that pile. “What color is your real hair?” I asked as we stared at her almost anemic reflection in the three-way mirror in the upscale dressing room. My arms were already full of her rejects and the salesgirl just kept them coming.
“White blonde, I’m practically an albino.” He
r eyes were a very pale blue.
“You willing to try a vintage shop? My mom and I used to shop them all the time in Chicago.”
I drug her to Reflections where I unearthed a black lace, corseted top with delicate black roses printed on a white satin inset and a full, black netting tutu. “What do you think?” I said, holding them both up for her. There was only a small yellow stain on the satin and it was hardly noticeable. We could wrap a gauzy scarf around her shoulders and no one would ever know.
She grinned. “Very Black Swan. It’s perfect.”
Once we laced it up tight enough that she didn’t spill out of it, it was perfect. She looked at me, almost sheepishly, phone in hand as we waited for her purchases to be rung up. “Would you take a selfie with me, Kel?”
“Of course! Do you want me to do it? With these arms I’m like a human selfie stick.” We bunched together and posed with our shopping bags for a couple of takes.
“Do you mind if I put this on Instagram?” Becca paused.
“Psh. If you take a picture and don’t post it, did it really happen? I’m putting it on mine.”
“I wasn’t sure. I thought you might be through with Instagram. And Barton, to be honest. You’ve been remarkably chill about this whole thing. I don’t know if I would’ve come back.”
“I’m pretty happy with who I am,” I shrugged, captioning my own post. “I guess that’s all that matters, right?”
Dad was already home when we got back. I introduced them and invited Becca to stay for dinner but she said she had a ton of homework she needed to tackle. Dad looked secretly relieved. Vegan night twice in a row might’ve been more than his carnivorous soul could handle.
Friday night, Becca came to MacArthur’s game with Ginny and me. She and Travon had been texting each other a lot—it was his idea. “I’m not stalking him,” she said for like the twelfth time.
“You’re talking to the girl who’s wearing her guy’s number on her chest.” I replied, directing her toward the visitor’s stands where Ginny and I spent most of the time explaining what was happening on the field to Becca, who’d never been to a football game before. For all her tough exterior, she couldn’t watch Travon get hit without cringing.