Life Unaware (Entangled Teen)

by Cole Gibsen

  He nodded, though he didn’t look happy about it. “We will. It’s important.”

  Mrs. Murphy pointed toward the hall. “To class, Nolan.”

  With a nod, he set off in the opposite direction. He paused once to look at me over his shoulder. Something passed through his eyes. Fear? Remorse? I couldn’t be sure because it was gone as soon as it arrived.

  I wanted to call out to him, but Mrs. Murphy placed a hand on my back and steered me inside the room. I thought about what he’d said as I took my seat. I did something really stupid. I slid my backpack between the legs of my chair and sat. What stupid thing could he have done? Obviously we both said some really awful things about each other before—surely he didn’t think I’d hold him accountable for that.

  Mrs. Murphy took attendance, and I raised my hand when she called my name. When she finished, she switched on the television mounted on the wall.

  My heart seized. I’d been so busy thinking about Nolan, I’d completely forgotten about my video confessional, which would be played in a matter of moments. I curled my fingers around my desk and watched seniors Natalie and Dan, the journalism club’s morning anchors, rattle off various sports scores and announcements at a card table decorated with poster board to give it the appearance of a news desk.

  The wall clock’s second hand ticking away drowned out all sound except for the pulse beating inside my head. In mere minutes, everything would change.

  Natalie picked up several sheets of papers and stacked them in front of her. “With Ian Riley injured, we have to wonder what chance our wrestling team has this year of making state.”

  “It doesn’t look good,” Dan agreed with a frown. He swiveled in his seat as the camera zoomed in on his face. “That’s all for the morning announcements, but please stay tuned. In light of the upcoming Bullying Awareness Week, our producer and president of the broadcasting club, senior Blake Mitchell, has a special presentation.”

  This is it. Fear squeezed my lungs so each breath was a ragged gasp. But beneath the threads of fear pulling across my chest was something else. A niggle of unease fluttered through me beyond the fact I was about to bear my soul to the entire school. I couldn’t help but wonder about the timing of the whole situation. What were the odds all this happened before Bullying Awareness Week?

  The camera panned out. Both Dan and Natalie stood and walked off camera. A second later, Blake appeared onscreen and took a seat at the abandoned desk. She licked her lips and fidgeted in her seat before looking at the camera. “Good morning,” she said with a quiver in her voice. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Blake Mitchell and I’m a senior here at Saint Mary’s. My best friend, a girl by the name of Jordan Harrison, was supposed to be here with me enjoying the best year of her life. But she’s not because of the bullying she suffered here at this school.”

  My gut clenched as wave after wave of nausea washed over me. Something wasn’t right. Why was she bringing up Jordan now before she was supposed to show my video?

  Blake placed her hands on the desk and laced her fingers together. “The video I’m about to play is a documentary I filmed with my friend Nolan Letner. We came up with the idea after Jordan was bullied nearly to death. We wanted to show Jordan’s bullies what it was like to spend a day in her shoes. We’ve titled the project Life Unaware.”

  What the hell was going on? All around me, students stopped doodling in their notebooks and leaned forward in their seats, clearly curious as to what was about to happen. Even Mrs. Murphy had set her iPad aside in order to swivel her desk chair for a better view of the television monitor.

  The screen went dark as a piano played a low melody. The words Life Unaware flashed on the screen as if being typed by a keyboard, only to disappear one letter at a time.

  A two-story brick house appeared on screen. It looked like any house in any middle-class neighborhood. Bushes with pink flowers lined the porch, and the grass was several days past needing to be mowed. A metal mailbox painted to look like a cow stood at an angle at the edge of the yard.

  “May, last year,” Nolan’s voice narrated. At the sound of it, so unexpected, I jerked back in my seat. “Things had been rough before then, but I never knew how bad they had gotten until then. I take some of the blame. I was her boyfriend, so shouldn’t I have known? Shouldn’t I have done something?”

  I held my breath. Had Nolan intended for this video to be shown? A tremor of fear wound down my spine.

  The scene switched to a closed door. Whoever held the camera—Nolan, I assumed—tried to twist the knob, but it wouldn’t move. “C’mon, Jordan.” Nolan’s voice was no longer narrating but recorded in the scene. “If we don’t leave now we’re going to lose our reservation. You’ve been so down lately I really want to do something special for your birthday. I have the camera recording so you really have no choice but to come out with a smile on your face.”

  There was a pause, followed by a muffled reply. “I’m not coming out.” Sobs punctuated her words.

  “Jordan?” The humor vanished from Nolan’s voice. “What’s the matter?” He tried the handle again, jiggling it several more times. “Are you okay? Let me in.”

  “Go away,” she moaned.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Her voice was barely audible. “Nothing will ever matter again.”

  “What the hell does that even mean?” Nolan asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  “What the f—k, Jordan?” “Fuck” had been bleeped out, but enough of it remained to come through. Fear laced Nolan’s voice. “This isn’t funny. I swear to God if you don’t open the door, I will break it down.”

  No reply.

  Mrs. Murphy leaned forward in her chair. She reached for the remote, even pointed it at the television, but she never hit the power button. It was apparent she was held captive by the video in the same way I was.

  “F—k,” Nolan said. “F—k, f—k, f—k.” The camera jostled as it was set on something undeterminable due to the angle. Nolan appeared in front of the door a second later. His hair was streaked blue—the color it was all last year. He braced his shoulder against the door, as if testing its strength. His eyes were wide with panic. “This is the last time I’m going to ask you, Jordan. Open up or I’m coming in.”

  Silence answered him.

  He muttered something under his breath, pulled away from the door, and rammed it with his shoulder. The door made an awful crack and bowed in, but it didn’t open completely. The frame beside the handle had snapped so the door gaped several inches but still held on.

  Nolan rammed it a second time, snapping the frame completely. The door swung wide and struck a boot on the other side with a dull thud. When the shoe didn’t budge, it was then I realized it was still being worn.

  Nolan ran into the room only to jerk back. “Oh my God, Jordan. What have you done? Is that…bleach?” He fell to his knees beside Jordan’s unmoving legs. The rest of her body remained hidden by the door. Nolan reached for her and her legs jerked from the force of being shaken. “Did you drink this, Jordan? Damn it, answer me.”

  She said something, but it was too low to be heard on camera.

  He released her and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.

  “I’m calling 911.” The screen blurred and faded to black.

  My lungs burned, and I realized I’d been holding my breath since the moment Nolan broke down the door. I exhaled loudly and several people around me did the same.

  A second later, Nolan appeared onscreen, sitting on the very stool in his room I’d sat on a few days ago. He’d used the green screen to make it look like he was sitting in between a set of railroad tracks in the middle of a field.

  “After having her stomach pumped and suffering minor intestinal damage, Jordan survived her suicide attempt. We’d been dating for more than a year when she broke up with me as soon as she got out of the hospital. She never forgave me for saving her life. Because of her ong
oing battle with depression, her parents pulled her out of school so she could get the help she needs.” Nolan disappeared, replaced by an image of the city’s hospital.

  The railroad tracks returned, only this time it was Blake sitting on the stool. “Jordan was my best friend since kindergarten. Up until high school, she was this bubbly, perpetually happy person. She would never have tried to kill herself if she wasn’t being tortured on a daily basis.” A flush burned up Blake’s cheeks and tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t know how bad it was.” Her voice cracked. “And I guess that made me a really shitty friend because things must have been pretty bad for her to think the only way out was death.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away with her hands. Her gaze shifted beyond the camera. “I need a break.” The screen faded to black.

  Seconds later, Blake reappeared on the stool, her face no longer red and the tears gone. “Jordan Harrison tried to kill herself because of the torment she endured at school from bullies. She nearly died, may have permanent intestinal damage as well as psychological scarring from what was done to her. Her bullies, however, have suffered no repercussions from their actions. They get to continue to live their lives as they always have, hurting people, making them suffer, with no thought to the consequences of the pain they inflict.”

  Blake shook her head. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let more people get hurt because of them. And what better way to teach bullies about the consequences of abuse than for them to experience firsthand the very bullying they dished out on others? That’s where the idea for Life Unaware was born. In order for the experiment to work, we needed the bullies to become targets. We knew that wouldn’t be difficult. It’s high school after all—everyone has secrets.”

  I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if invisible hands held me by the throat and were slowly strangling me. I had only a moment to wonder what Blake had meant before the setting changed to a green bedroom I knew all too well—Payton’s bedroom, only Payton was nowhere to be seen. Nolan sat at her white desk and flipped open her laptop.

  “Do you feel bad about what you’re about to do?” Blake asked from somewhere behind the camera.

  Nolan arched an eyebrow. “I’d feel bad if I didn’t do it. If this documentary saves even one life, it’s all been totally worth it.” He spent several minutes typing and navigating the mouse before he finally smiled. “Bingo,” he muttered. He clicked the mouse several more times and the printer came to life with a whirl. Several sheets of paper shot out. Nolan grabbed them and pulled his car keys from his pocket. “Now to get this to a FedEx store. We’re going to need a lot of copies.”

  “Copies of what?”

  Nolan flipped the pages around. The video had been edited so the names on the pages were blurred, but I could make out enough to know it was a printout of private messages.

  My private messages.

  Chapter Twenty

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I rubbed my eyes, hoping my mind was playing tricks on me. But no. The papers Nolan held in his hand were the same ones that had been taped to my locker. All this time I thought Amber had been behind the messages, that I’d done something to piss her off and it was her retaliation. Now I realized that wasn’t the case. Blake and Nolan had been behind the messages all along.

  Nolan—who’d held me in his arms, who’d kissed me, who’d…lied to me this entire time.

  The floor slid out from underneath me, and I grasped both sides of my desk as if I could somehow anchor myself. I thought I’d been falling for Nolan, but in reality I was just falling further apart. He told me he cared about me, he’d held me in the bathroom when I couldn’t stand, he’d kissed me—had all of it been an act so he could get footage for his documentary?

  My stomach clenched painfully tight. My cheeks flushed hot and tears burned in my eyes. I quickly blinked them back before they could fall.

  The screen went black as words scrolled across: We took incriminating messages from one of the offenders and taped them to all the lockers in school. Would the bullies come out of their own social downfall more empathetic?

  A girl appeared onscreen. Her face was blurred out, but the second I saw the purse she carried, I realized with horror I was watching a video of myself. It was the video of my arrival the morning the notes were posted. The girl with the asymmetrical hair whirled around as I tried to pass. Our conversation couldn’t be heard over the buzz of students surrounding us. A second later, she smacked the coffee cup out of my hand.

  Even now, sitting at my desk, I gasped just like I had that morning. Humiliation washed over me just like it had during the original encounter. The familiar cords of anxiety roped around my body. Please, God. Let the video be over soon. I glanced at Mrs. Murphy to find her watching with a strange look of fascination and horror—obviously she wouldn’t be turning it off anytime soon.

  The students around me sat wide-eyed and rigid in their seats, more awake than I’d ever seen them at eight in the morning.

  The scene cut again, and this time I stood in front of Julie Sims’s locker as she stared at me with papers clutched in her hands. “Julie, even if you don’t believe me, I want you to know I’m very sorry I said those things,” Recorded Me said. “I didn’t mean them. I was just…being an asshole.”

  I disappeared from the screen and another girl appeared. Even though her face was blurred out as mine had been, there was no denying who the girl with the hiked-up skirt and stiletto heels was—Amber. Words scrolled across the top: If they learned nothing, would they succumb to the very abuse they dished out? Amber ripped the pages off a locker and after reading it, tore it into several pieces and threw them across the hall. She marched down a row of lockers and tore the pages off before stuffing them in a trash can.

  Would they turn on each other? the scrolling words asked. This time Amber, Payton, and I were onscreen. Amber’s shoulders were tight and her fingers curled into fists. “You can drop the innocent act now,” she practically spit at me. “I told Payton what you told me—that you thought she was annoying and you were only friends with her because she was good at digging up dirt.”

  “That’s a lie,” Onscreen Me shouted.

  Another black screen followed by the words: Would the experience change them? Would they be forced to face their own demons?

  I was back onscreen, my face still blurred—only this time I sat on Nolan’s stool in front of the green-screen row of lockers. “I have to be perfect. So f—king perfect all the time. Not just at home but at school, at church, at the f—king grocery store because everyone’s watching. Like the entire world is just waiting for me to screw up. And I’ve been holding my breath for years because I knew it was only a matter of time before the day came when I slipped up and everything fell apart.”

  The angle of the camera widened, making me look so small, so frail, among the seemingly never-ending row of lockers. “Some days I think the only thing holding me together are these pills. It’s so pathetic. Even more pathetic than the pills, though, are the horrible things I said about other people—the awful things I did. I’m not trying to make excuses because there are none. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything—just everything. High school is hard enough without other people making it worse, and I’m really sorry I was one of those people.”

  I disappeared, replaced by the words: Or would they learn nothing? Would they be so afraid to face the truth about themselves that they would keep on hurting everyone around them?

  These words were replaced with others—blurry, black, and handwritten. Gradually the camera lens focused until the words became readable: Delaney Hickler is a fucking whore.

  It took me a moment to realize where I’d seen those words before—they were written inside the handicap stall in the girls’ locker room. The same stall where I recorded— Oh my God.

  “No.” I stood, but no one appeared to notice my outburst. Every eye remained transfixed on the screen. Nolan had taken the footage I’d
stupidly left on his camera, and now was about to ruin two lives with it. I whirled around and faced the class behind me. “Please don’t listen.” I turned to Mrs. Murphy. “Turn it off. Hurry.”

  She frowned at me and glanced at the remote in her hand, her brow creased in confusion. “Miss Flay, what on earth—?”

  Even though I hadn’t caught Amber on film, her voice was unmistakable. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  My heart plummeted to the floor and I realized I was too late. Even if I could stop the video from being shown in my homeroom, I couldn’t stop every other class in this school from watching it.

  “But not sorry enough to dump that prick Jer—” Christy’s voice replied.

  Amber sighed. “Jer––’s just for show. You know I couldn’t care less about him.”

  “But that’s not what he thinks,” Christy countered. “What everyone thinks.”

  “Fu— what everyone else thinks. We only have to do this for one more year, and then we’ll be in college and able to do whatever the fu— we want. One year.”

  “I guess. The Snowflake Ball is coming up. I just wish—”

  “Look,” Amber said, “I need to go. We shouldn’t risk being caught together like this—especially not at school.”

  The screen went dark and I waited, with my breath held, for more to come. When it didn’t, I turned to discover Mrs. Murphy holding the remote up with a shaking hand, her thumb pressed on the power button. She appeared several shades paler than she had moments ago. “I’m not sure that was appropriate.” She said it so softly, I wasn’t sure if she was talking to us or herself.

  The intercom beeped, making all of us jump.

  “I would like Blake Mitchell and Nolan Letner to immediately report to my office,” Principal McDill announced. Even over the intercom, her anger was unmistakable. “I would also like to personally apologize to all of you for the video just shown. It was in no way authorized by myself or any of the school faculty. The responsible parties will be dealt with. In the meantime, please resume with your classes as scheduled.”