The Law of Tall Girls

by Joanne Macgregor

  Leaving me completely topless.

  There was a collective gasp from the audience. For a moment that lasted a hellish eternity, I sat bare-breasted, open-mouthed and paralyzed with shock, my boobs displayed in close-up, hugely magnified, erect-nippled detail on the big screens.

  A piercing whistle from the audience broke the trance. As I pressed my hands over my chest, I was buffeted by a wave of yells, stomping feet, laughs, cheers, and furious shouts from outraged parents. The stage went pitch-black, the curtain fell, and an uproar of confusion surrounded me.

  Son of a bitch! I couldn’t believe what Jay had done. I’d known he’d been angry, but to strip me in front of the audience? That was insane. And crazy-malicious.

  In a panic, I patted the stage floor, searching in the darkness for a towel or Jay’s top. Where the hell had it landed? Someone stood on my finger, and I cursed.

  “Can we have some effing light back here!” I heard the stage manager yelling.

  In a moment, the stage was bathed in light, and I was on display again — topless on my hands and knees — albeit only for the cast’s eyes. I folded my arms across my chest.

  “I have died and gone to heaven,” I heard Zack say.

  Looking up, I saw him watching me, clutching Jay’s T-shirt to his chest. He stood out of striking range, but that could be remedied.

  I leapt to my feet. I’d start with him, beat him to a pulp, and then move onto Jay.

  Wren stepped between us. “Here,” she said, handing me one of the beach towels.

  At this unexpected kindness, tears filled my eyes. I wrapped the towel around myself quickly, gave Jay the filthiest look I could summon and was just starting to say, “How could you?” when the freaking curtain rose.

  The younger members of the audience were on their feet, applauding wildly, but the laughs, catcalls and whistles told me the appreciation was for my wardrobe malfunction, rather than for my performance. I could see the fuming faces of incensed parents, too — there would be hell to pay for this.

  Last night, Jay and I had held hands during the curtain call. Last night, we’d taken several bows together. But now I clutched the towel around my torso and bowed stiffly only once. Jay, too, took just a single bow before dashing off backstage. He either couldn’t wait to get away from me or didn’t want to face me. Either way suited me just fine. I never wanted to see him again.

  Never wanted to see anyone ever again.

  My face was burning hot, my vision blurred with tears, and I could feel my body starting to tremble. Liz and Wren held me tight, supporting me in another bow.

  “Please keep them busy for a few minutes,” I begged them in an urgent whisper.

  Then I wrenched myself free and fled into the wings. In the dressing room, I pulled on my sweatshirt and coat, shoved my hair up into my red beanie, pulled that down low, and grabbed my bag. As I ran out of the back entrance, I could still hear the raucous audience — Wren and Liz must be milking the applause to buy me time for my non-scripted exit. I knew a moment’s deep gratitude for their sisterly solidarity.

  I flew down the back stairs, tripped over an obstacle on the path, and went sprawling on the rough cement. Wiping my scraped palms on my jeans, I scrambled to my feet and swung my bag back over my shoulder. In the dim light, I could just make out the crumpled, snoring form of Tim on the ground. I had only a moment — already I could hear the scraping of chairs and the rumble of the audience starting to leave the auditorium — but a moment was all I needed. I gave Tim a savage kick on first one shin and then the other, and as he groaned and blinked up blearily, I bawled, “Thanks for nothing, asshole!”

  Then I turned and ran. Ran away from Tim, and the cast, and the smirking people who were starting to trickle out of the hall. Away from Jay and what we’d had. Away from his cruel betrayal and my humiliation.

  I ran out of the school gate and down the dark road, and kept running, crying through the night.

  ~ 44 ~

  I was still crying over an hour later as I lay in my bed, replaying the night’s events in my mind. Occasionally, a shockwave of denial would temporarily halt the sobbing — how could he have done that? How could I have been so mistaken in believing he was a good guy? Had tonight even happened, or had it merely been a horrible nightmare? Please let it have been just a nightmare. But then the feelings of rage and humiliation would resurface, and my bitter tears would resume. I felt hurt and stupid. More, I felt violated.

  A clink at the window interrupted my obsessive thoughts. Chloe? Maybe she’d decided that our constant messaging wasn’t enough, and she’d come over to give me a hug. I needed a hug. I’d never felt so alone.

  I opened the window and stuck my head outside, squinting in the darkness at the figure below.

  “You!”

  Where were flaming arrows, vats of boiling water or burning-hot pitch when you needed them? I grabbed the first object my hands touched to hurl down as a missile — the dressmaker’s dummy — wrestling it through the open window and launching it out at Jay.

  He leapt aside, and the dummy landed headfirst in the dirt.

  “Dammit, Peyton!” he bellowed. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “Yes!” I hissed furiously. “And shut up, or you’ll wake my mother.”

  “We need to talk about what happened. Can I come up?” His loud stage whisper carried up easily to me.

  “No.”

  “Let me explain!”

  I glanced around for something else to throw at him. “What can you possibly say that can explain, let alone justify, what you did?” I whispered furiously.

  “It was an accident!”

  “An accident?” I cried, forgetting to keep my voice down. “Dropping a vase is an accident. Walking into a tree is an accident. Baring your girlfriend’s boobs in front of the assembled school? That’s intentional cruelty!”

  “Peyton. I’m so sorry. I never meant that to happen.”

  “Didn’t you? You were pretty pissed off at me. So you decided on some spur-of-the-moment payback?”

  “No! Doug told me to do it.”

  That pulled me up short.

  “Doug?”

  “After last night’s performance, he gave me notes. You’d pulled off my shirt last night, and Doug thought it was a great move. He told me I should do it to you tonight.”

  Could this be true? I remembered Doug telling Jay to stay back for notes the night before.

  “But I swear I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I knew you wore that black tank top under your pink shirt — I saw it at the costume fittings, remember? And every time the straps slipped off your shoulders? I honest to God did not intend to yank them both off, but I must’ve grabbed your bra together with your top.”

  I slumped against the windowsill as realization struck.

  “No, you didn’t,” I said flatly. “I sewed my the tank straps to my overshirt so that it would stop slipping. So when you grabbed the top, the whole lot came off. There was no way you could’ve known.”

  “Oh. Well, that explains it, I guess.”

  It had been an accident, a misunderstanding and miscommunication worthy of Romeo and freaking Juliet.

  “Please would you explain to Principal Perez, about the top?”

  “What?” I asked, pulled out of my musings about other tragic lovers. “Why?”

  “Why? Because this has turned into a major shitstorm, Peyton. Parents are complaining, it’s blown up online — my God, you should see the things I’m being accused of on Facebook! Perez hauled Doug and me into his office straight after the performance. He was looking for you, too, so expect a call. He grilled us for half an hour straight about what exactly happened. He’s scheduled a meeting tomorrow with Ms. Gooding and our parents, and he’s talking about reporting this to the police. He says they may want to open a case of sexual assault!”

  Jeez.

  “I’ll explain, I’ll tell him it was an accident, explain how it happened. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him it wasn’
t your fault.”

  “I really am sorry this happened, Peyton.”

  I could feel my anger leaking away, like air from a punctured balloon, and I wasn’t ready to let go of it yet — it was the only thing holding me up.

  “You didn’t think to at least warn me – that you’d be yanking off my top?” I asked.

  “Did you, with me?”

  “No, you’re right.” I sighed deeply. “I shouldn’t have done that either. I didn’t plan to. I just … I just got carried away in the moment.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I was going to warn you to expect it, but then Tim happened.”

  “Yeah, Tim happened.”

  Jay crossed his arms and stared down at his feet for long moments while silence, icy as the winter wind, stretched on, widening the gap between us.

  I needed to explain that I was truly sorry — about the bet and the list, for not coming clean to him, for him being dragged into this mess tonight. I opened my mouth to apologize, but I’d hesitated too long.

  “Fine. See you around,” Jay said coldly. He turned on his heel and left. I sat on the sill watching him disappear into the darkness.

  Wherefore art thou, Romeo?

  ~ 45 ~

  “Oh, hello, Chloe. I didn’t know you were visiting,” my mother said when I unlocked my bedroom door for her.

  “Hey, Mrs. Lane. Yeah, I’m here to bring Peyton some tea and sympathy — she’s not feeling too good this morning.”

  I cast Chloe a warning glance. I had no desire to share the story of last night’s fiasco with my mother.

  “What’s the matter, dear?” my mother asked, staring at my puffy eyes and red nose with concern.

  “I think I’m coming down with a cold,” I said. Then, realizing that I would need to do better than that if I was going to play hooky for the last three days of the semester, I added, “Actually, I think it’s the flu. I’m feeling awful.”

  Honestly, I was.

  I’d call in sick for my next few shifts at work, too. The diner was a favorite hangout for the kids at school, and once Tori and Steve got to hear about Saturday night, I’d never hear the end of it. I’d be leaving Jim short-handed, but it wouldn’t be for long — he always shut up shop between Christmas Eve and January the fifth.

  “I’m sure I’ve got some flu medicine stored somewhere,” my mother said.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Any flu remedy she could lay her hands on would no doubt be long past its expiration date. Besides, there wasn’t any medicine to treat what really ailed me. “Was there something you wanted?” I asked her.

  “I just wanted to know how last night’s performance went.”

  “Fine.”

  “It was spectacular!” Chloe said, grinning enthusiastically. “Everyone’s talking about how stunning Peyton was. She really bared herself, and showed them her all. It was amazing exposure for her” — Chloe caught my threatening look and finished — “talents.”

  “Goodness! I wish I’d seen that.”

  “You could’ve,” I said, even though I was glad she hadn’t. “There was nothing stopping you.”

  My mother gave me a wounded look and left without another word.

  I locked the door behind her and took another sip of Chloe’s tea. It was a special blend of whatever herbs and flowers were supposed to treat a broken heart, deep regret, lingering anger, fatal humiliation, and a strong determination never to step outside my bedroom again. Ever.

  “So, are you going to join us for Christmas next week?” Chloe asked.

  She’d been trying to distract me from my gloomy preoccupation with the horror of last night ever since she’d arrived, and helped me to lug the mannequin back into my room. It stood in the corner now, its dented, muddy head a silent reminder of everything that was wrong with my life.

  “What do you say? There’ll be turkey and all the trimmings.”

  I was very tempted to spend Christmas with the DiCaprios, but the thought of my mother sitting alone in her bedroom, watching reruns of It’s a Wonderful Life over a heat ‘n eat meal, added a dollop of guilt to my festering emotions. I swallowed the remainder of my tea — maybe Chloe’s potion could ease guilt, too.

  “Thanks, but I’d better spend it with my mother.”

  That way at least there would be two of us sitting in her bedroom watching reruns while eating TV meals. Probably under the plastic banner that said Merry Xmas and Good Year too!

  “Hey, what with all the drama, I forgot to tell you my good news.” Chloe’s face lit up with excitement. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I got accepted to Johns Hopkins!”

  I screamed and hugged her tight. “That’s so awesome! Oh, Chloe, congrats — I’m so happy for you, and so proud!”

  “Yeah, I’m totes excited. Though I’ll miss you if you go to fashion school in New York. How are those plans going?”

  “Not bad. I’ll have to apply for admission by the third of January, and my scholarship application and portfolio needs to be submitted two weeks after that. I’ve finished the designs.” I pointed at the pile of sketches with their wallpaper garments. “I’ve been saving to buy good quality fabric — I can’t risk the cheap stuff for the submission — and I’m going to spend winter break making the full-size patterns.”

  “Sounds good. It’ll help keep your mind off the Grand Reveal.”

  I groaned. “Don’t mention it!”

  “Oops.” Chloe gave me an apologetic grin. “But now that I did, I think we should deal with the elephant in the room.” She poured me another cup of tea and said, “Sooo, about last night … Everybody’s talking about it, texting about it, posting about it on Facebook.”

  “And by ‘it’, you mean …?”

  “Boobgate.”

  I flung myself onto my bed.

  “And by everybody,” Chloe continued, “I mean all the sweet peoples at Longford High. Except Jay. There hasn’t been anything from him since his Facebook post last night explaining how it was an accident.”

  I hadn’t heard anything from him since our conversation last night either, and I wasn’t expecting to. We either had too much to say to each other, or nothing at all. He clearly thought what I’d done was a deal-breaker, and I was still hurting at being dumped. In addition to making up my fashion range, I’d be spending my winter break licking my wounds and sewing up my torn heart.

  “I saw your posts, of course.” Chloe patted my arm in approval. “That was the right thing to do.”

  After Jay’s comment about Facebook last night, I’d gone online to check the damage. It was horrible. People were calling him a sexual predator who should be expelled from the school or worse, and slut-shaming me for being a skank who’d flashed the world. I half expected the greater Longford community to rock up at our houses with pitchforks and burning torches.

  I’d written a post explaining that it was an accident, giving the technical details of precisely how it had happened, and asking everyone to stop dog-piling on Jay, since it wasn’t his fault in any way. I’d posted it on his Facebook page as well as my own, plus on Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, Tumblr and every WhatsApp group I belonged to. Then, keen to get away from the ugly abyss of social media, I’d switched off my computer and deleted the apps off my phone.

  “Have you seen or heard anything about … my home situation?” I said.

  I was almost too scared to ask.

  “Not a peep.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But Brooke posted a cartoon caricature of you on Instagram.”

  I punched a pillow and growled, “When I’m queen of the world, I’ll ban social media.”

  “She got close to seven hundred likes, too,” said Chloe, clearly impressed.

  “Can I just die now?”

  “It’s like you’re a meme or something.”

  “I get the picture!” I yelled, throwing the pillow at her. “You know what else I’ll be doing this winter break? Sewing a stuffed doll with Tori’s
black lips and hair and sticking pins into it!” I’d make a Tim pincushion, too.

  “Yeah, she screwed you over, alright.”

  “And for a bet! To save herself a few dollars, she’s caused me terminal humiliation.”

  “Look, you’re having your fifteen minutes of fame. In a day or two, a gorilla will win America’s Got Talent, or a Kardashian’s ass will explode or something, and everyone will move on and forget about your boobs.”

  If only I could believe that.

  “And here’s something to help you cheer up.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

  “It’s amazing, incredible really. I’ve spent the whole morning online and in message groups, and I haven’t seen a single picture — by which I mean an actual photograph — of your girls. Not anywhere.”

  “Really?” This was good news.

  “Truly. I reckon a teacher confiscated the video footage from Sanjay before he could copy it or send it out into the world. So, everyone may be talking about it, but they’re not looking at it. And no pervs will be drooling — or, you know … over pics of your ladies.”

  I groaned again. “I don’t know how I’ll face everybody.” Whenever I thought about school, about the comments and wisecracks I’d have to endure, I wanted to throw up. “I’ll die of embarrassment.”

  “I don’t think that’s an actual cause of death,” said Chloe.

  At that moment, her phone rang. She answered, looked surprised and handed it to me. “It’s your father. He wants to speak to you.”

  “Dad?”

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” he demanded. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all morning.”

  I’d switched it off last night and disabled voicemail, wanting only to hide in my hole.

  “The landline just rings, and your mother’s number gives a message that her service is inactive.”

  Probably due to nonpayment. As for the landline, that had been disconnected years ago.

  “Sorry, Dad, my phone was off.”

  “What’s all this business about some boy stripping you stark naked in front of the whole school?”

  Holy cow. Bad news travelled fast and far.