Offline

by Donna Cooner

  OUCH! BREAK UP VIA CHITCHAT????? #ANNSON

  ???? SERIOUSLY. DID I JUST SEE THAT?

  WHO CARES ABOUT ANNSON???? NO ONE!

  HEY, HONEY. YOU CAN ONLY HIDE THOSE EXTRA POUNDS FOR SO LONG. EVERYBODY SEES THEM. EVEN YOUR BOYFRIEND OBV.

  #ANNSON IS SOOOOOOOOOOOO DONE.

  YA THINK?

  WOW. CAN’T LOOK AWAY FROM THIS DUMPSTER FIRE.

  I watched the video again. Then again. The comments piled up like land mines, the tiny red number on the notification button at the corner of my screen going up and up and up. My heart pounded, rapid and crazy. I couldn’t move. A text pinged onto my screen.

  LUNA: ARE YOU OKAY?

  ME: NO

  CAITLIN: HANG ON. WE’RE COMING OVER.

  “Did you see it?” My voice was barely audible from the pile of pillows as I lay facedown on my bed. My friends stood silently in my room. “Of course you did. Everyone saw it.”

  How could I be the same person who just this morning strolled into school with a perfect boyfriend? In the few seconds of a ChitChat video, my whole life had changed.

  I rolled over, brushing a hand over my face and smearing black mascara down one cheek. I looked at Caitlin and Luna, who were both still watching me, the pity plain on their faces. I felt the heaviness in the room.

  “How could he do that to me?” I asked, my voice harsh.

  Luna shook her head in response and sat down on the bed beside me. After a minute, Caitlin sat down on my other side.

  Then I whispered, “And why?”

  Luna looked like she was searching for an answer to my question. Any answer. But there wasn’t one, and it was obvious by the look on her face. I glanced at Caitlin, who could only watch me with a small frown. It was going to be impossible to say the right thing. I knew it and they knew it.

  Finally, Luna spoke. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, patting my knee.

  “Don’t say that,” I snapped. “You don’t know. Nobody knows the future, not even you.”

  Luna blinked, and I instantly felt terrible.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t take this out on you.” I buried my face in my hands and let out a sob.

  “I understand,” Luna said softly.

  Caitlin put her arm around me. “This is a lot to take in all at once. Give it some time,” she pleaded. “Maybe it’s not what it looks like.”

  “He was pretty clear. And so are all the ChitChat comments. Have you seen them?” I asked. I picked up my phone and glared at my screen. The comments were still pouring in, piling up. They were endless. And so cruel. “I can’t stop reading them,” I admitted.

  Caitlin reached for my phone. “Don’t read them. Don’t wallow,” she said in the voice her dad had used a thousand times to tell players to get back on the field and play their best whether they were losing or not.

  “Shush,” Luna said, stretching her hand across me to tap Caitlin on the arm. “It’s her right to wallow.”

  I clutched the phone to my chest. My eyes still burned with tears, but I swallowed them down. “I just feel so …”

  “Stupid?” Cait asked helpfully. I lifted my head and shot her a squinty-eye look.

  “Ugly,” I said quietly.

  “You know there is nothing further from the truth,” Luna said. “Remember when we first met, when we were little, and I thought you were a princess? Not the Oh, I’m so helpless someone come and save me kind of princess. More like the kind that mirrors said was the most beautiful in the land.”

  I sniffed. “I remember,” I whispered. Our childhood seemed so long ago.

  “You’re not ugly. Or stupid.” Caitlin laid her head on my shoulder.

  “Thanks,” I told my friends.

  But looking ugly and feeling ugly were two completely different things.

  “Maybe you should talk to Jameson,” Luna suggested. “Find out from him what’s going on.”

  I knew she was right. I turned my phone over in my hand, ignored ChitChat for the time being, and texted Jameson:

  ME: WE NEED TO TALK.

  He didn’t write back and I wondered if he would.

  I looked at the home screen on my phone: a photo of me and Jameson, all dressed up for the Valentine’s Day dance last year. In the photo, Jameson gazed adoringly at me, but I smiled straight into the camera. We looked like something out of Teen Vogue. That’s how well we fit together. But that perfect facade was obviously a lie.

  I didn’t know what to do, but I was sick of looking at that photo, sick of waiting for Jameson to text me back, and sick of checking ChitChat. Before I could think, I hurled my phone across the room, where it lay facedown on the carpet against the far wall.

  “Well, that’s one way to solve the problem,” Caitlin said dryly.

  I swiped at my eyes. Even though it had felt good to throw the phone, part of me was worried I’d broken it. My parents would be furious, and likely would not get me a new phone anytime soon. I stood up and picked up the phone to make sure it was still working. It was, and now there was a text from Jameson waiting for me.

  JAMESON: YEAH. LET’S MEET IN THE COURTYARD TOMORROW DURING LUNCH.

  I swallowed hard. Jameson hadn’t tried to apologize or explain. That meant that what I feared was coming true. This was the end of #Annson.

  CAITLIN: MORNING, A. DID YOU GET SOME SLEEP?

  ANNIE: BARELY. KEPT CHECKING CHITCHAT AND CRYING.

  LUNA: I DECIDED. THE THREE OF US ARE GOING TO SCHOOL TOGETHER TODAY. I’M DRIVING.

  ANNIE: THANKS. I THINK IT’S SAFE TO ASSUME JAMESON ISN’T PICKING ME UP.

  CAITLIN: YOU’RE GONNA BE OKAY. YOU’RE GOING TO WALK INTO SCHOOL WITH YOUR HEAD HELD HIGH.

  LUNA: AND WE’LL BE WITH YOU THE WHOLE TIME. XOXOXO

  It’s sad, but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life starts with goodbye.

  —Carrie Underwood

  When Luna, Caitlin, and I used to play make-believe as kids, Caitlin was always the superhero who swooped in to battle the evil villains. And she always won the fight, because her legs were toned and muscled from kicking soccer balls and footballs and sometimes even kicking me or Luna—but only when we totally deserved it. And it was always just a tap.

  But, I realized the next morning as I sat up in bed, Caitlin wasn’t going to be able to save me now. Neither was Luna. I was grateful to be going to school with both of them. But I would still have to face my classmates on my own, no matter what.

  I was exhausted after only a couple of hours of sleep. I had been looking at ChitChat on and off all night, but I couldn’t resist looking again. I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, and there were new comments waiting for me.

  THAT #ANNSON VIDEO WAS … SOMETHING

  HA! EVEN THE PERFECT COUPLE ISN’T SO PERFECT #LOSER #ANNSON

  SURE I FEEL SORRY FOR #ANNSON BUT STILL HERE FOR THE DRAMA

  DIDN’T SEE THAT ONE COMING!!! #ANNSON

  WHAT SHE SAID #ANNSON

  SERIOUSLY, #ANNSON. HAVE YOU SEEN YOURSELF???? ONE OF YOU IS NOT LIKE THE OTHER.

  I read every single one of them. I couldn’t stop. But finally, knowing that Luna and Caitlin would be here soon, I put down the phone and dragged myself out of bed. My parents had left for work, and my sister had an early morning class, so the house was empty, thankfully.

  In the shower, no amount of hot water could wash away the tears. I sobbed, my face turned up toward the pouring water and my back heaving. There were no conscious thoughts in my brain. Everything just hurt. When the tears finally slowed, the feeling of emptiness was still there. I sniffed, then turned off the water and stood still for a few moments, my head resting against the tiled wall. Finally, I took a deep breath and slid open the bright yellow shower curtain, stepping out into the steamy bathroom. I waited, dripping on the soft white rug.

  “Okay,” I whispered. “You can do this.”

  Steam covered the mirror, and I hesitated to wipe it off. I wrapped myself in a thick but
tery towel and stared at my blurred image, willing life outside the bathroom door to be different when I opened it. Drips of water ran down the mirror, revealing only slivers of my face, until at last I reached out a hand and wiped the fog off completely. There I was. My outer shell looked exactly like it had yesterday, even though everything inside had completely changed.

  Caitlin, Luna, and I walked into school with our arms tightly linked, which made me feel a lot better. But the minute the bell rang and we had to go our separate ways to class, I no longer had their protection.

  The gauntlet stretched out in front of me like a dark jungle path with hiding leopards ready to rip out my throat with their sharp teeth.

  It’s just a hallway, I told myself. Not a jungle.

  The combination of deep breaths and the way my heart pounded made me feel dizzy. I made myself walk ahead, toward math class. With my books clutched tight to my chest and my phone zipped securely inside my backpack, I tipped my face up slightly, chin jutted out.

  Put one foot in front of the other.

  Classmates were all around me, laughing and talking, but none of them had emojis bubbling up over their heads to let me know exactly what they were thinking.

  I tried to freeze a smile on my face, but I knew I must look like some kind of weird creepy clown. It didn’t matter what I looked like anyway. Not anymore.

  I straightened my back and took two more steps.

  “I think Jameson is adorable.”

  His name caught my attention. Even though I didn’t want to look, I glanced quickly toward the voice.

  Mariah Hadad.

  Mariah and her best friend, Jordyn Hull, were lingering in the hall outside a classroom. Mariah was tall and slender, with legs impossibly too long for her body. She was gorgeous, with long, wavy black hair and big brown eyes, and her makeup was always perfect. She worked at the Macy’s fragrance counter after school, so she was always wearing a new perfume. Today it was a mix of lavender and grapefruit.

  Jordyn was just as thin, but petite. She was always laughing hysterically at everything Mariah and the other popular girls said.

  “Are you sure he’s really available?” Mariah asked, and Jordyn nodded enthusiastically. A thread of jealousy pulled tight at my stomach. I tried to breathe normally—in and out—without gasping for air. But my chest felt heavy, like it was full of sand.

  Of all the people in the world, of course Mariah would be the one who would be interested in Jameson. She was always the one to comment on a ChitChat post if Jameson wore something new or cut his hair. In real life, whenever Jameson said something slightly amusing, Mariah would laugh and then Jordyn would join in like it was way funnier than it actually was.

  “I’m positive. Have you seen this?” Jordyn held out her phone, and Mariah stared down at it. I knew what they were looking at. I didn’t need to see it again. I made my feet keep moving toward the open classroom door.

  Too late. Mariah suddenly glanced up and caught me watching. Her face twisted into an awkward smile. Jordyn glanced around the crowded hallway, then over at me. They both looked as though someone just caught them cheating on an exam.

  I gritted my teeth, then gathered my strength and looked Mariah square in the face. “What’s up?”

  The question was chum thrown in the water between us. Mariah and I locked eyes, and I held her gaze, determined not to flinch.

  “Not—not much,” Mariah stammered, then recovered enough to smirk just a little. “You?”

  “I’m great,” I said, daring the two of them to say otherwise.

  Then I turned and walked inside my math classroom, leaving them behind. I couldn’t believe I’d done that. My arms were shaking. I wasn’t fooled by this tiny victory, though. It was only the beginning and I needed to conserve all my energy to make it through the day.

  I walked to my desk. All the faces around me blurred into noise, but I could see that most of my classmates had their phones out in their hands. I resisted the urge to check ChitChat and read more hateful comments.

  I sat down, slumping behind Iain, who was, of course, on his phone. No doubt he’d seen the video, and probably “liked” it. My fingers clenched so tight under the desk that my hands cramped up into claws. I made myself stop, but then immediately began picking at an invisible thread on the leg of my jeans.

  Don’t check your phone. Don’t check your phone.

  I tried to focus on other things. The teacher’s desk, with its pile of papers. The whiteboard behind the desk, with today’s homework assignment in red at the top right under the date. I concentrated on those familiar things. The world had not ended overnight no matter how I felt this morning.

  Ms. Garcia walked into the classroom, and her eyes scanned the room until they landed on me. She gave me a small smile of encouragement, and a few students swiveled around in their desks to stare. I realized that even the teachers knew what had happened last night on ChitChat. I sank a little lower in my desk.

  Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I pulled out my phone and looked. My friends had texted me.

  LUNA: WHAT’S WRONG WITH PEOPLE? THERE’S NO REASON FOR THAT KIND OF MEAN.

  CAITLIN: I THINK YOU SHOULD REPORT THEM, A. DO YOU WANT ME TO DO IT?

  LUNA: GIFS? CAT PICS? WHAT DO YOU NEED?

  CAITLIN: MAYBE U NEED TO KICK SOMETHING?

  A lump formed in my throat. It must be bad. I slid my phone farther under the desktop. My trembling finger hovered over the ChitChat icon; then I tapped it open. It was a mistake.

  RABBIT FACE? OR FAT FACE????

  CAN’T SAY I BLAME HIM FOR DUMPING HER. SHE’S REALLY LET HERSELF GO.

  THE ONLY THING MORE ANNOYING THAN HER BODY IS HER FACE #ANNSON

  ANNIE WEBB: HOT OR NOT? DEFINITELY NOT!!!!

  My head filled with a sound like the roar of howler monkeys. The tide of comments turned against me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I blinked hard, then put my phone away in my bag.

  The rest of the morning swirled around me. I couldn’t think about science or history or literature. All I thought about was what I was going to say when I finally saw Jameson face-to-face. When the bell rang for lunch, I found him sitting on a bench in the courtyard. Just sitting there doing absolutely nothing. Not reading. Not playing a game on his phone. He looked down at his feet, biting the corner of his mouth. I knew that look. I’d seen it plenty of times. Like when he didn’t want his dad to know he dented the car on the pole outside the Sonic Drive-In. Or when he was avoiding telling me he accidentally broke the red-heart-covered mug I gave him for Valentine’s Day. But the heart he was breaking this time was mine.

  I looked around the courtyard. Clusters of kids gathered on the sidelines, shooting furtive glances our way. A few even had phones out in their hands pointed in my direction. I intentionally tried to meet all their eyes—one by one—until eventually they lowered their cameras, if only for a few minutes. I knew ChitChat would still be full of videos and posts about my heartbreak. This was the biggest show in town.

  I sat down beside Jameson. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. My throat closed. I could barely swallow.

  “Hi,” I finally said.

  “Hi,” Jameson replied. We were both silent for a while until Jameson spoke again.

  “I didn’t mean for you to find out like that.” He pushed his sneaker into the rocks at his feet. He was still not looking me in the eye. “That video wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “How was it supposed to go?” I demanded. Jameson searched for something else to look at besides me. It only made me angrier. “How?”

  Jameson shook his head. He rubbed his face with his hands and stumbled for an answer. “I don’t know what to do. Milo posted it. He’s the only one who can delete the video.”

  “Even if the video gets deleted, it doesn’t matter,” I snapped. “Everyone has already seen and shared it hundreds of times. There are no take-backs on the internet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jameson mumbled. “I shouldn’
t have … said those things.”

  “What are you saying? You were just joking around?” I knew in my heart that wasn’t true, even though there was some tiny piece of me that would have believed him if he said it was.

  Jameson didn’t answer right away, which was all the answer I needed. “It’s just …” he finally said. “I’ve been thinking about this stuff … for a while.”

  “Say it.” My head hurt. I had this weird calm feeling and my voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. “I need to hear it from you, not from a ChitChat video.”

  Jameson tried to meet my eyes, but his glance skittered off again to the ground by my feet. “I want to break up,” he said finally.

  “So I heard,” I said, my voice cracking.

  He kept his gaze on the ground. “Things just aren’t the same.”

  “You mean I don’t look the same. That’s why you’re breaking up with me, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not about how you look. It’s not about you at all,” Jameson said. I cringed at the stereotypical breakup line.

  “Then why?” I hated the desperation in my voice, but I needed a reason.

  I didn’t get one. At least not one that made any sense. He shrugged. “I need some space to figure things out.”

  I didn’t know what that meant. We figured things out together. That’s what we did. “What things?”

  “Just some stuff. About me.” He stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth in front of the bench. “The band is really getting some attention. Now Milo wants to hang out. I feel like I could be part of something bigger.”

  I frowned. “And there’s not room for me?”

  “I know. I know,” he said. “It sounds terrible.”

  “Yes, it does,” I replied, feeling the tears start in my eyes. “It sounds like I’m not good enough for you.” A sudden rush of heartache pounded through my body. “I was the biggest supporter of your band, remember?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. The words struck like arrows.

  “You’re sorry?” My voice was too loud. Two boys walking by with tennis rackets stopped to stare. I felt like I was going to be sick. Jameson reached out to touch my shoulder, and I jerked away. “How long have you felt this way?”