This isn’t happening!
But it is.
It just did.
Only one thought crosses my mind over and over and over again:
Who told her?
Because there’s no way anyone in the world knows that Dante and I had sex in our house on Thursday night. Nobody could possibly know. Not one single soul except me and Dante!
Unless…
Luke.
Oh, no…
Did he spy on us?
What did he do?
Why did he do it?
Oh, no, oh no, oh no, oh no!!!
He’s jealous of Dante! It was so obvi!
I’m screwed.
In the worst way ever invented.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
“How could you tell her?!” I seethe dangerously, digging my nails into Luke’s forearm.
He spins around from his locker, caught totally off guard. “What the hell, Skye!”
“You told Ashley, didn’t you?” I am rage incarnate. I’ve never been so angry in my entire life. I’ve never hated anyone like I hate Luke right now. I want to claw his eyes out. I want to stab a number two pencil through his heart. I want to jam his scrotum in my three ring binder and puncture his testicles in the clawed steel rings. I want him to die. But only after I hurt him worse than he hurt me.
He yanks his arm out of my grasp, tearing the skin, drawing blood. “What are you talking about, Skye?”
“You told Ashley that I had sex with Dante, didn’t you? You lied to her and made up a story because you’re jealous of Dante!”
“No I didn’t!” he denies vehemently.
“Oh really?” I hiss. “Then who told her? The Gingerbread Man?”
He rolls his eyes dismissively.
“I knew it,” I growl. “You told her! And what’s worse, you lied to make me look bad!”
“I didn’t tell her you guys had sex,” he snaps.
I glance around, noticing all the other seniors milling around us. “Lower your voice,” I whisper.
“I didn’t tell Ashley you had sex with Dante.” He looks at my shrewdly. “Wait, did you?”
“That doesn’t matter,” I grunt guiltily. “What did you tell her?”
He rolls his eyes again and sighs like I’m no more than an annoying rash he has to begrudgingly tolerate until it goes away.
Well, he’s in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can ignore me. I’m not going anywhere. “What did you tell her, Luke?” I demand.
“I told her that I was into you and you weren’t into me.” He says nothing more.
“That’s it? You can’t expect me to believe that’s all you said.”
“I may have mentioned that you had a thing for Dante. And that he was your stepbrother.”
I stamp my foot. “How could you, Luke?!”
“I don’t know!” he says defensively. “That part just sort of came out. Maybe I was mad at you.”
Him mad? He has no idea what mad is. I grind away at him some more. “How could you possibly think that Ashley Masters, of all people, wouldn’t take that to the gossip bank and cash it in for a million dollars worth of rumors?!”
“I never told her you guys hooked up! I just said you liked him. And maybe I told her what happened at the house. That you and I were making out and Dante barged in like an animal.”
“You told her that?! What were you thinking, Luke?!”
His brow furrows, “I was thinking that Dante is a total dick, and he basically thought I was a rapist or some shit. How was I supposed to feel? Look at my arm.” He holds up his forearm, the one Dante abraded when he knocked Luke down. There’s a thick pebbly scab running the length from elbow to wrist.
“Oh,” I grimace.
“Yeah,” he spits. “Oh,” he mimics.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so bad.”
“It’s no big deal. I’ll live. But that’s not what hurts.” His face softens and he looks totally dejected.
My stomach sours. He doesn’t have to explain himself. I chose Dante over him. Then I stood beside Dante after Dante made Luke look bad by attacking him and being jealously suspicious of his intentions. “I’m sorry, Luke,” I mutter.
“It’s no big deal,” he sighs.
That’s Luke. Always being nice.
But I can tell it is a big deal for him. Luke and I got along really well. Maybe not in the bedroom, but looking back, we had fun together plenty of times. Maybe not often enough for what I expected out of a relationship at that point in my life, but we had fun tons of times before I ended it, for good or bad.
“Luke. I’m sorry about your arm.” I wave my hand toward his wrist. “And the nails.”
He holds up his other arm, the one I grabbed, and smears away the blood seeping from my claw wounds. He shrugs, “It’ll heal.”
Damn it, Luke. Stop being so understanding. You’re impossible to hate.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
“I hate you!” Rox jams her smart phone in my face. It shows the photo of me and Dante wrapped around each other in the dark meeting room at the library, looking guilty as sin. It’s the photo from that very first day we met.
We’re both dressed, except Dante’s pants are obviously unbuckled and hang an inch too low around his waist, revealing the top of his tan and dimpled ass. Because of how I’m positioned behind him in the pic, I almost look naked. All you can see is my naked knees wrapped around his unbuckled jeans and my arms around his broad shoulders. But I remember having all my clothes on. Well, skimpy cotton shorts and a T-shirt. But from this photo, I may as well be totally naked. Worse, over my shoulder on the back wall, there’s a library poster of a dinosaur wearing glasses and reading a book. The caption reads, “Don’t let your love of reading go extinct.” The library logo is on the corner of the poster. Jesus, this looks really bad.
I can’t respond. I’m shell-shocked for the second time today.
“This was that day that Dante tutored you at the library, isn’t it? The day we met him at 7-Eleven and went to Blazing Waters.” She’s tearing up. “You lied to me, Skye! You lied!”
Like black lightening, her words damn my soul to you know where.
I am horrid.
I am despicable.
“But…” I whimper weakly.
“You said all you did was study math! This isn’t studying math! How could you?” she pleads. “You’ve been lying to me since this all started, haven’t you?!”
“I—”
“You’ve been hooking up with him this whole time, haven’t you?!”
“No, I…” I feel like I’ve stolen her heart and soul and thrown both into the sewer for the rats to feed on. I hold out my hands in a half hearted gesture. “Rox—”
She spins away and runs off before I can stop her.
I can feel my own heart start to crumble piece by piece.
How did she get that photo?
I can think of one likely source.
On wobbly legs, I make my way toward my locker in the freshmen section. I pull my smart phone out of my bag and open my ChatBrat app and wait for it to connect.
ChatBrat took North Valley by storm two years ago. It’s a social networking app that lets you post text or pics or video anonymously, and it sends your message out to every user within a ten mile radius. In other words, anyone at North Valley can post anonymously to ChatBrat and everyone at North Valley will know about it one second later.
Yes, everyone at North Valley uses ChatBrat. It’s a one-stop shop for the latest North Valley insider info and ghoulish gossip. Who’s dating who, who cheated on who, who is hot and who is not, who’s fake, who’s real, blah, blah, blah. I was obsessed with it sophomore and part of junior year, but I got over it after a while. I decided the constant stream of stupid mean hater gossip was best avoided, so I quit using it.
But now, I have to check it one last time to find out if the worst has occurred.
Like a person gawking in slow motion past a freeway accident, I watch t
he disaster unfold before my eyes when the app connects. The top post on my ChatBrat page is that photo of me with Dante in the Library. Below the photo is the following text:
Town Pump Skye Slutbright getting used and abused at the local library! Someone slap a scarlet A on that girl’s chest!
Gosh, who could’ve come up with such a clever caption? Could it be Ashley Masters? Sarcasm. Who else could it be? Only she is that cuttingly clever. She is the ultimate snark shark. Whenever she smells blood, she starts an offending frenzy.
The other thing about ChatBrat is that it uses up-voting and down-voting, similar to “likes” on Facebook. On ChatBrat, you either “kiss” or “diss” a post. The photo of me and Dante already has 586 kisses. How ironic, because usually you kiss people you like. This feels more like the kiss of death. My heart is cracking into pieces. And 586 kisses? That’s almost half the North Valley student body, and I’m guessing Ashley only posted the photo a few minutes ago. I’m sure by brunch or lunch, it’ll be all over the school. Social networks are evil. Grimacing, I jab the “diss” button for the post with my finger, which brings the total number of disses to 3. I wonder who has my back? I want to personally thank them. It’s safe to assume that Luke is one of the dissers because we all know how nice of a guy he is. Who was the other? I hope it was Rox. I doubt it was Rox because of how hurt she is. But I’m still going to hope that she has my back after all these years as BFSFs.
I quit out of the ChatBrat app and shove my phone in my purse. Unfortunately, quitting the app doesn’t kill that post. I’m pretty sure it’s about to take on a life of its own.
Nausea sloshes through my stomach in a cold rippling wave.
Can this day get any worse?
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
The sound of rustling papers surrounds me during first period. Mr. Mendez is passing out last Friday’s graded trig quizzes. The students sit in their chair desks flipping through the graded pages. Some kids stuff their quizzes into their binders or under their Trigonometry textbooks without looking at them.
All I can think is the only reason they aren’t all on their phones goggling at Ashley’s latest ChatBrat post is because it’s against school policy to use your cell phone during class. But at some point today, everyone will have seen the photo of me and Dante. Can you say, ‘The calm before the perfect storm?’
Normally, calm is a good thing. Right now, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I am in hate with calm. I will never speak to calm again. Because calm is a bastard waiting to bite. Can I stop time and not have to deal with what is inevitably about to happen to me? Can I leave the country and not come back? Fly to the Moon or Mars and live there? This is jacked beyond all proportions.
And the fun hasn’t even started.
“Miss Albright,” Mr. Mendez smiles, offering me my graded quiz.
I take it from him politely, “Thanks.”
He gives me a disappointed look before stepping past me.
On my paper, scrawled in careful red pencil at the top of the page, is yet another death sentence:
47%
For those of you who don’t know, that’s an F.
As in, fail.
As in, fuck.
Below the score, written in elegant cursive almost like a personal note from a caring Mr. Mendez are the words: “What happened, Skye? Your first three quizzes were B’s. Don’t drop the ball now!”
I’ll tell you what happened. Dante happened. I may have dropped the trigonometry ball, but I didn’t drop Dante’s balls. I had those well in hand on Thursday when I should’ve been studying for this damn quiz. Stupid math quizzes! Who invented them anyway? The last thing on my mind has been math. Because seriously, who needs math when you’re in amor with a hottie like Dante?
The good news is that Dante can actually help me with my future math homework. We just need to make sure we devote as much time to math as we do to sex education. I can do that. The idea puts a smile on my face.
What puts a frown on my face is seeing Anna Schmidt sneak her phone out of her purse and check ChatBrat during class. She sits one seat forward and to the right of me. I can see the photo of me and Dante on her screen. Anna turns and leers at me like I smell, which I don’t. She gloats with rancid superiority and silently mouths the word, “Slut,” her lips peeling across her teeth and her tongue tapping her teeth on the T.
I am not a slut.
Sluts sleep around.
I am in amor with Dante and I will only be sleeping with him. So what if he’s my stepbrother? That totally doesn’t make me a slut.
I glare defiantly at Anna.
Anna’s response is to snort derisively and tap the “kiss” button on her phone with great satisfaction before putting it back in her purse and turning her back to me.
I want to shout, “You can ‘kiss’ my ass, you squirrel faced fuck! You could chew through a truck tire with those buck teeth of yours!” But I don’t because I’m not a bitch and we’re in the middle of math class. But I do sneer and shoot a million daggers into the bull’s eye on her back, which makes me feel infinitely better.
Remember how I was totally focused all summer on preparing for the upcoming SAT retake in a few weeks? Because I need to do better on the math portion so I can secure a spot at SDU next year? That hope is about to be sunk by the rippling ramifications of one bad decision: sleeping with my stepbrother. Oh, and the fact that Ashley Masters had to tell the whole world. Love her timing. Grot.
Like most impending disasters, the first signs are seemingly insignificant. Mr. Mendez’s disappointed smile. Anna’s silent snooting. Both are easily ignored. But, in a very short period of time, the adult disappointment and the peer disdain are going to balloon out of control. And, like the captain of the Titanic, I’m too drunk (on amor) to care about the tip of the iceberg. It’s just the tip, as they say.
How bad of a problem can that be?
I have Dante in my life. That’s all that really matters, right?
Despite my optimistic denial, my slide down the slippery slope to academic and social irrelevancy starts here.
oOoOoOo + O+O+O+O
The brunch bombshell explodes, as per the warning signs.
It goes off like a chain reaction the second I set foot in the quad, which is packed with people. But I don’t care about them. I need to find Rox so I can explain things and apologize to her. That’s my top priority. We usually hang out in the quad on the senior lawn during brunch. But I don’t see her anywhere.
What I do see is the rest of the student body entranced with their smart phones. Then, one by one, people look up from their phones and notice me. Word of my presence passes through the crowd like a virus until it seems like everyone is staring at me.
My first thought is to run. No. I won’t. I’m not going to let a little gossip make me hide my head in the sand. I’m going to stay strong. Screw everyone and their petty rumors. Besides, I’m a senior now. I have more important things to focus on, like my future. I take a step forward, heading toward the senior lawn, which is on the far side of the quad. My skin tingles with hot irritation while I walk, like I’m wearing an itchy wool jumpsuit that has never been washed. Who knew that so many dirty looks could make you feel so unclean?
As I pass through the thronging gauntlet of people sitting on the numerous benches around the quad, everyone is literally whispering my name like I’m a social disease, which from this point forward, I may very well be.
What I hear the girls say:
“I didn’t know Skye Albright was such a slut.”
I’m no slut. I’m in amor.
“Girl, don’t you see the way she walkin’? That a slut strut right there.”
I’m not slut strutting. I don’t even know what that is. All the same, I try to walk as plainly as possible.
“Didn’t she sleep with the football team last year?”
“I heard it was the swim team.”
“Bitch probably did both.”
I haven’t
slept with any member of either.
“O.M.G, who did she piss off?”
We all know the answer to that one: Ashley Masters. Don’t get on that bitch’s bad side.
“I always knew Skye was a skeevy slunt.”
“Look how she walks like she’s a princess or something.”
I’m not walking like a princess! I’m walking like normal! Just plain walking!
“That ChatBrat pic proves she’s nothing more than a whore.”
Oh, the pic. It is going to ruin my life, isn’t it?
What I hear the guys say:
“I’d fuck that.”
“I already fucked that.”
No he didn’t. I know who I’ve had sex with, and it wasn’t you!
“Mmm, mmm! I’d like to tear that ass up!!”
“That” ass belongs to a human being! Me, you jerk!!
“Get her drunk and we’ll both hit that shit.”
No you won’t, and don’t call me shit, you shit!
“No need. She’s DTF, bro. Everyone knows Skye Albright is a slag hag. She’ll fuck anybody.”
I’m not Down To Fuck, and everyone knows that I’ve barely slept with anybody. Well, that was the word on the street about me an hour ago. Isn’t it amazing what a single photo with a clever caption can do to sink your reputation in seconds?
“Who’s the dude with her in the photo?”
“Her cousin.”
“No, bro, it’s her brother.”
“Her actual brother?”
“Yeah. He went into the Army when he was 18. Now he’s out.”
The Army? Where the hell does all this misinformation come from? I almost want to laugh. But it would be tragic laughter, not happy laughter.
“I could kick that guy’s ass. Fuck the Army.”
“The only thing I wanna fuck is Skye Fuck Me All Night Albright.”
“Heh, heh! Yeah!” another voice laughs and hollers behind me. “Hey! All Night Albright! Whyn’t you suck my dick, bitch?”
I spin around to glare at whoever said it, but all I see is a bunch of guys and girls smirking and chuckling and looking away like they weren’t just literally talking about me behind my back.
Stepbrother Obsessed Page 24