by Diana Urban
“All you ever think about is yourself,” said Priya. “You should be the one to die. You’re wicked. You always have been.”
“No—” Sasha started.
“You’re so mean to me, all the time. You posted that video of me falling for everyone to see the most humiliating moment of my life!”
“And you blackmailed me about the worst thing in my life,” said Scott.
“You tried to sabotage me every chance you got,” said Diego.
“And you manipulated me,” I said. “Did you ever really want to be my friend? Or were you just using me—laughing at me behind my back—the whole time?”
“Oh, please.” Sasha crossed her arms as a tear dropped onto her cheek.
“Don’t ‘oh, please’ me,” I shouted. “You’re a bully. Did you know my older sister died by suicide because she was bullied?”
Maggie. Her purple face. Her gurgling throat. The empty pill bottles.
That utterly helpless feeling that sucked the air from my own lungs.
I remembered being in Maggie’s room, after the 911 dispatcher talked me down from my panic and instructed me to turn Maggie onto her side. I’d hunched over her, watching her face, watching her life leave her. And there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t save her. I wasn’t good enough of a sister to save her.
“She’s not moving,” I’d said to the dispatcher. “Please. What do I do?”
“You just keep hanging on, okay? An ambulance is on its way. Help is on the way. You just . . .” Her voice had faded into the background as I glanced at Maggie’s open laptop. Making sure she didn’t fall onto her stomach, I stretched and grabbed it. She’d been looking at Facebook.
Numbness shot through my heart at the first comment, from a girl named Natasha Jane: I can’t believe they still let you go to Brewster High. You’re such a waste of space.
A comment on a political link she shared: OMG look at you trying to look smart. Fake news!
A comment on a makeup tutorial link she shared: Too bad nothing could fix your ugly face.
A photo comment on one of Maggie’s selfies, with Maggie’s face superimposed on the body of an old, shirtless, overweight man.
Another lone comment: Why don’t you just kill yourself?
My stomach clenched as I read the messages of hate filling her timeline. It was the same girl, time after time. Sometimes other girls chimed in, agreeing with her, liking her comments, egging her on. But it was mainly Natasha. I scrolled back over the months, unable to go back far enough to see when it started. It’d been happening for ages. I never saw any of it in my news feed—Maggie must have blocked me from her timeline. Why she didn’t block Natasha or any of these other people was beyond me.
This must have been why she was so surly over the past year. I thought she was too busy to hang out with me. I thought she didn’t want anything to do with us, her family. But the truth was, she was being bullied. She was in pain. And I had no idea. Why didn’t she ever say anything? I could have been a friend to her. Mom and Dad could have helped her. Why did she keep this from us?
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I sobbed, hugging her limp form in my arms as sirens blared outside my house.
But I would never be able to comfort her. I’d never be able to take back what those bullies said to her. I’d never be able to help her.
She was gone.
Now Sasha stood in front of me, eyeing the syringe in my grip. Sasha, another bully, who’d tormented Priya; blackmailed Scott; tried to sabotage Diego; manipulated me; ridiculed so many others. Her eyes widened from my revelation, but she said nothing.
“Some girl wouldn’t leave her alone,” I said. “She bullied her on Facebook, like you bullied Priya. Only Maggie . . . the forensic psychologist said she showed signs of depression. We didn’t realize at the time. We missed the signs. But she was too sick when it all became too much. She couldn’t stop herself when she thought dying was the only way out.”
Sasha gave a great sniff. “Well, that’s her own fault.”
“No, it wasn’t! She was sick . . . !” I was shrieking now, my voice shaking from years of pent-up anger for that horrible girl who tortured Maggie. Robbie watched me with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
But now I couldn’t stop myself. “She couldn’t help that she was depressed. And if she didn’t feel like the whole world was against her, maybe she would have asked for help. But people like you don’t care how you’re affecting anyone else. All you care about is making yourself look perfect, and feeling better than everyone else. Just like tonight, all you’ve cared about is saving yourself. You’re a cruel, selfish bitch. Just like your sister.”
Sasha’s face scrunched in confusion. “Wait, what? My sister?”
“Your sister was the one who bullied Maggie, wasn’t she? I saw your expression when you saw Maggie’s pillow with her name on it. You recognized her name . . . because your sister is the one who bullied her to death. Natasha Jane. Nat, right?” I’d finally made the connection when Maria mentioned Nat’s name in the library. “Natasha and Sasha.” I scoffed. “Real cute.”
Robbie blanched. “Holy shit, Sasha. She’s talking about you.”
What? Every hair on my body stood on end. Sasha’s face crumpled, and she said nothing.
No. That wasn’t possible. “What do you mean?” I looked between them, waiting for one of them to answer. Neither of them did. Sasha was almost hunched over, shaking her head at Robbie. He glared at her like she was a stranger who’d spit at him. “What the fuck do you mean?” I demanded.
Sasha gripped her throat like she was about to throw up. “Robbie, please.”
But Robbie went on anyway. “Sasha changed her Facebook name to Natasha Jane after she broke her leg in eighth grade. That’s her full name. Then a few months later she deleted her account for a while.”
Priya’s jaw dropped as she connected the dots. I stood in place, numb, unable to believe what I was hearing. Sasha killed my sister? It was Sasha all along? “I . . . I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought Nat was your sister.”
“Natalie. Her name is Natalie.” A tear created a glistening path down Sasha’s cheek. “We always hated how similar our names were. Natalie and Natasha. So she went by Nat, and I went by Sasha. But I didn’t want my old gymnastic teammates to find me after the accident. I was so angry . . . so mortified . . . so I unfriended them and changed my name online for a while.”
After everything I already knew Sasha had done, she was even worse than I ever imagined. “You . . . you killed my sister,” I said. Every part of my body shook. “You tormented her. Tortured her. Drove her to think there was no other way out.”
“I’m sorry,” Sasha said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize she was your sister until I saw the pillow on her bed. I never put it together before. She only used her last initial online.”
I remembered that. It was because she didn’t want our parents finding her profiles. “How . . . how the hell did you even know her?”
Sasha wiped her eyes. “I met her at one of Nat’s parties one weekend my parents were out of town. I was in eighth grade. I still had my cast on, and I didn’t know many people, but I . . . I wanted to fit in. So I . . . I . . .” She trailed off, but I knew where this was going.
“You teased her. So you’d look cool, even though you were only an eighth grader.”
She nodded. “And then for some bizarre reason she friended me back on Facebook. It was like she was asking for it.”
“Bullshit,” I screamed at her. “You’re fucking evil.” Even after she knew her nastiness had led to one girl’s death, she’d bullied Priya.
“No,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”
“No you’re not,” I said. “If you were sorry, you’d never have been so mean to Priya. You got sneakier about it though, didn’t you? Teasing her with those backhanded compliments. Ridiculing her when you thought nobody was listening. But you were bullying her . . . and you knew. You knew ho
w devastating the consequences could be, and you did it anyway!”
“Priya . . .” Sasha clasped her hands as though in prayer. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry for everything.” But Priya only crossed her arms and shook her head.
“Are you saying that because you mean it?” said Robbie, a tormented look in his eyes. “Or are you saying that because you’re afraid to die?”
Sasha screwed up her face, lost for words. Even her best friend had turned against her.
“I don’t buy it for a second,” said Scott.
“So someone do it already!” said Priya, glancing at the bomb’s timer. “We have less than two minutes left.”
Sasha shook her head and backed against the brick fireplace, a step farther from us, but a step closer to the bomb. She had nowhere else to turn. “No. Please . . . I’m sorry.” But for what, exactly? She had so much to be sorry for. The red timer blinked beside her. One minute fifty-seven seconds left. Fifty-six. Fifty-five.
But nobody came to her defense. Not even Robbie. “I’ll do it, Red,” Scott said with a rasping voice. He extended his hand toward me. “Help me up. I’ll do it. I won’t ask you to kill your friend.”
“Holy hell.” Robbie crouched close to the floor, covering his face with both hands.
After a moment’s hesitation, I took Scott’s hand and helped him stand again, letting him put his arm over my shoulder so I could help him cross the room. “She’s not my friend. Not anymore.” I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and clamped my lips shut, struggling not to throw up. One minute thirty-eight. Thirty-seven. Thirty-six.
“I got it from here, Red,” said Scott. I released him and stepped back, and he hobbled the rest of the way toward Sasha. Sweat dripped from his face, the blood from his forehead cut dry now, but sheer determination led him forward.
Sasha uttered a strangled cry, her eyes frantic. “Robbie, please! Don’t let him do this!” But Robbie didn’t stand to stop him. Diego was suddenly next to me, wrapping his fingers around mine.
Before another moment could pass, before he could change his mind, Scott shoved Sasha against the wall and raised the syringe, pressing the needle against her bare shoulder while holding her in place. His thumb hovered over the plunger. She let out a guttural shriek. “Please! No!” One minute twenty-seven. Twenty-six. Part of me wanted to bury my face in Diego’s chest. But I had to watch this. I had to see how this ended. One minute twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
“Scott! Do it!” cried Priya.
“No!” Sasha screamed. She hugged herself around her stomach, unable to move with Scott pressing the needle against her skin. She pressed back against the bricks so hard it was like she was trying to dissolve into them.
Scott cringed and squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t a murderer. But to save the rest of us, he was willing to become one. He cried out as he stabbed down, the needle disappearing from view, and Sasha shrieked as he pressed down the plunger.
The room was silent. Scott opened his eyes, a stunned expression on his face. Liquid trickled down Sasha’s arm. We all stared. Sasha sobbed and slid down the brick wall as her legs gave out from under her.
“Did you stab her with the needle?” said Diego.
“Of course I did.” Scott inspected the syringe and noticed some of the liquid on his fingers. “Ahh!” He threw down the syringe and frantically wiped his hands on his shirt. Diego raced to the table, picked up one of the cloth napkins, and used it to scoop up the syringe. He rotated it in his grip, his brow furrowed as he shook his head. Finally, he used some of the cloth napkin to push at the end of the needle. He let out a breath with a whoosh. “Whoa.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a retractable needle.” He grinned at me. “It’s totally fake.”
“Holy shit, man.” Robbie rubbed his hands over his hair. “I could’ve sworn it was real.”
I threw my arms around Diego. “It’s fake, it’s fake. It wasn’t real.” Priya ran to us and joined in the group hug. We all laughed and cried in relief.
Scott held out his damp hand like it was contaminated, but grinned from ear to ear. “Thank God.” Then he grimaced in pain and let himself drop to the rug. “Some sick prank that was.”
“It’s over,” said Priya. “It’s over.” We disentangled ourselves from Diego so we could hug each other.
Robbie took the syringe from Diego and inspected the needle. “I dunno, you guys. How do we know the liquid inside wasn’t really poison?”
“It’s obviously a prop,” I said. “It’s fake. It’s over.” I gave him a hug, but his arms remained limp as he examined the syringe over my shoulder.
Diego leaned toward the bomb, the red glow from the timer illuminating the inside of the fireplace. “Uh, guys? The timer hasn’t stopped.” My stomach clenched. Oh, no. This was supposed to be over. We survived, and now we could leave.
“How much time is left?” Priya asked.
“Fifty-eight seconds.”
“What if the syringe was broken or something?” asked Robbie.
“That’s not how syringes work,” I said. “The needles don’t just retract into the barrel. It’s a fake.”
“I don’t know.” Robbie shook his head. “I don’t want to be blown to bits because the syringe didn’t work right.”
“Oh, right.” Sasha scrambled to her feet, teetering from the shock of nearly being poisoned to death. “But you were willing to let me die.” She lunged at the table for a napkin.
“Wait, what are you saying?” I asked Robbie.
“What if we still have to kill someone?” he said.
“No!” I screamed. “It wasn’t real. Don’t you see?” I grabbed the syringe from Robbie, pinching it between my fingers and raising it like it was evidence at a court hearing. “It’s a prop. It’s over. We all get to walk out of here alive. The timer will run out, and nothing will happen. None of this is real.”
“It is real, it is!” said Sasha, scrubbing the napkin against her skin so fiercely her skin was already red and raw. “I have to get to a hospital.” The red timer blinked. Thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven. “The bomb is still ticking down. Someone has to die. But it’s not going to be me.” She threw down the napkin and raced to the chair Robbie had annihilated earlier. She yanked one of the legs clinging to its frame by a few splinters, and it detached easily.
“Wait!” Priya approached the china cabinet with the camera, waving her arms over her head. “Turn off the bomb! The poison didn’t work!”
Sasha raised the chair leg over her shoulder like a baseball bat. “No, stop!” I cried, raising my hands. “Sasha, it’s not real.”
“Oh, shut up,” Sasha cried, her whole body shaking with fear . . . or fury. “How can we know for sure the syringe didn’t malfunction? That the poison’s not slowly killing me? You think you’re right about everything, that you’re so high and mighty—everyone’s fucking savior.” She shifted her wide-eyed gaze to the bomb. “Well, guess what? I’m not dying in here. Not because of you. Not because of anyone.” Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen.
“You’re not going to die!” Diego shouted. But Sasha ignored him, her eyes darting around my face like a rabid animal. I’d exposed the truth about her. Her drug addiction. Her manipulation. Her lies. Her murder by bullying. Now everyone knew she was far from perfect. And it was all because of me.
Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven.
Without hesitating another moment, Sasha barreled toward me, pulling back the chair leg. I recoiled, scurrying backward, but before anyone could stop her, she brought down the chair leg hard. I tried to sidestep the blow, but the table blocked my path, and the wood cracked against my bare right shoulder. Pain shot down my arm as blood streamed from where the jagged edge sliced my skin. I shrieked as I tripped and fell back onto the glass shards. One of them slashed my left palm. It felt like every part of my body was on fire.
Oh, God. She was going to kill me.
Fear clawed at my throat as I scuttled backward, igno
ring the sound of people screaming, ignoring the searing pain of the cut on my palm as I used my good arm as leverage. All I could think about was getting away from Sasha. As she pulled back the chair leg to take another swing, clearly aiming for my head, Priya sprinted toward us from behind and slammed into Sasha, shoving her backward.
Determined as ever, Sasha quickly regained her balance. Her face twisted in fury as she reeled back to take aim at Priya.
What happened next, I never could have predicted.
As Sasha leaned forward to swing the chair leg, Priya bent and scooped up the nearest shard of glass she could find. And Sasha’s mouth formed a silent O of surprise when the shard sank deep into her belly.
5 Seconds Left
Everyone watched the deep red stain flower across Sasha’s light red dress as blood spread from the stab wound. She dropped the chair leg, and her aghast stare shifted from Priya to the glass shard protruding from her belly. No. No. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Just then, the red timer blinked to zero. And nothing happened. Because of course it didn’t. The bomb was fake all along.
Priya finally released the glass shard and stepped back, a dazed expression on her face, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Her wide eyes trained on the bloodstain blossoming across Sasha’s stomach. “I had to. I had no choice. She was going to kill Amber.” I gripped my shoulder Sasha had bashed with the chair leg. It was swollen and bright red, and warm blood streaked down my arm from a deep cut, but I could still move it.
“Holy hell,” Robbie croaked.
Sasha lightly touched the end of the shard with shaking fingers and winced in pain. “What . . . what do I do? Please, what do I do?” Before anyone could answer, her knees buckled. Robbie caught her before she hit the floor and gently lowered her onto her back. Blood bubbled from the stab wound, and Robbie reached for the glass shard.
“Don’t touch it!” I scrambled over to them, trying to avoid cutting myself on more glass shards, and knelt next to Robbie. “She might lose blood faster if you do.” I glanced at Diego. “Right?”
