by Emma Doherty
I look at the caption she’s sent attached to a video, and my eyes burn.
When you’re obsessed with the ex who dumped you and figure out you’re too dumb to graduate high school.
I want to burst into tears.
She’s telling everyone my private, embarrassing, humiliating news.
And that’s not even the worse of it, because when I click to open the link, I see the video is of me in the bathroom on Saturday night. Sasha is blocking the view of me for the most part, but for one moment she turns around and you can see me, crying my eyes out, half naked, looking just about as pathetic as it’s possible for a person to look.
I look back up, and Sarah’s at the end of the hall, a cruel smile on her face.
She’s just sent that to everyone.
That nasty bitch.
I hate her in this moment. I hate her, and she’s supposed to be my friend. I hate her because I’m at the end of high school and I don’t even have a friend who cares enough about me not to try to humiliate me in front of everyone so she can belittle me and take my spot, as some sort of revenge for the way we’ve always treated each other.
The worst thing about this is that Sarah probably thinks she’s justified because of the way I’ve treated her over the years. Because I knew her boyfriend from sophomore year was cheating on her and didn’t tell her, because I bitched at her about anything and everything, because I took her for granted and was a shitty friend to her when she probably needed me.
She definitely thinks I can take it and I deserve it, but right now, I really can’t take it.
And no matter what I’ve done to her, I’ve never purposely been cruel, and I don’t deserve this.
I take a step after them, knowing I should follow them into the cafeteria, walk over to my usual table, and let them know they don’t bother me, knock Sarah off her high horse and remind her exactly who she’s dealing with, but in this moment, as I remember Chase’s face at the party and then how uncomfortable Aaron looked as he unhooked my arms from around his neck, how straight-up horrified Brendon was when I was hitting on him…
I know Sarah’s right.
I am dumb and stupid and pathetic and a loser.
I take a step back, dangerously close to my tears spilling down my cheeks, but one thing I know for absolute certain is that I can’t cry in front of them.
Not just Sarah and the girls she’s with, or the junior girls I know are still watching me.
Them. All of them.
I need to get out of here. I turn on my heel and walk down the hallway with my gaze straight ahead, take a swift right into a stairwell, and cut out through the exit, walking quickly across the path to the outside gym, which I know from experience is never locked. I step through a side door, ignoring the entrance to the gym and instead walking into the female bathrooms at the end of the hall.
This is the quietest bathroom in school.
I know because this is the bathroom I used to hide out in during those first months of high school when I had no one to talk to.
It’s old, with peeling paint and old-fashioned sinks—apparently the school’s renovation budget doesn’t stretch to this bathroom—and with it being so far from the cafeteria and the rest of the school, it’s relatively deserted at all times.
This is where I’d come when I wanted to disappear, when nobody talked to me and I had no friends. There was no way I was confident enough to sit in the cafeteria by myself, no way I’d dare approach another group to ask if I could join them, and no way I’d even sit in the library doing work. My paranoid self thought people would just assume I was sitting there because I had no other friends, and it didn’t even occur to me to just try talking to people. I was way too self-conscious to do that, and looking at it now, three and a half years later, that’s exactly what I’m doing again.
I guess I’m back to where I started.
I almost laugh out loud at that. I’m back exactly where I started, no high school diploma and no friends.
I lock myself in a stall then lean against the door, and only then do I let the tears fall.
And they do. They fall and fall.
I lean there, thinking about what a mess I’ve made of everything and how pathetic my life really is, how ultimately I probably deserve all the snide comments and looks I’ve been receiving and people’s happiness at my expense.
I’ve been a complete bitch at times over the last couple of years, and I probably deserve everything I’m getting.
I cry for a solid ten minutes, full-on, heart-wrenching sobs as I think about everything I’ve done wrong and how ultimately I’m still the pathetic loser I was when I was a freshman, only now I’m three and a half years older.
The door bangs open, making me freeze and hastily wipe at my eyes as I stand stock-still.
Hopefully it’s just one person who will quickly do their business and go, but knowing my luck, it’s probably a group of girls who are going to do their makeup and gossip in the mirror to pass the lunch hour, probably gossip about me and add to my humiliation.
“Abigail?”
I straighten up.
“Abigail, you in here?”
Sophie?
Is that Sophie Steele?
She starts banging on the stall doors, and I hear them swinging open.
What is she doing here?
While I’m under no illusions about what Sophie thinks about me, I wouldn’t think she’d track me down to rejoice in my misery. It’s just not her style. To be honest, I don’t think she cares enough to do that. I’m not even a blip on her radar, just an occasional annoyance.
She’s banging on my door now.
“Abigail, come out.”
I don’t reply.
She lets out a noise of irritation.
“I know you’re in there—I see your shoes.”
I still don’t reply.
She lets out another frustrated noise, and I hear her take a couple of steps on the tile floor then the stall door next to me bangs open again.
“Seriously, hiding in the bathroom?”
I jump at her voice coming from above and turn to see her peering over the dividing wall.
I want to throttle her. I really want to throttle her right now. Why she can’t just leave me in my own misery, I don’t know, but one thing I have learned about Sophie over the last few years is that she’s tenacious. If she’s decided she wants me out of the bathroom, sooner or later that’s going to happen, and I might as well give in to her.
“Fine.” I open the door and step out. “What do you want?”
“I was looking for you, obviously.”
I glare at her as she emerges from her own stall, making a face as she looks at her hands and heading over to the sink to wash them.
“How did you know where I was?”
She snorts. “Please. This is the bathroom everyone goes to when they want to disappear. It’s always empty.”
That makes me stop. Sophie never wants to disappear. Her life is perfect. She’s pretty and she’s popular, but in the same way Chase is—because people actually like her. “You’ve wanted to disappear?”
She smirks at me. “Of course. This is the perfect hook-up spot during school hours.”
I roll my eyes as she dries her hands. Of course that’s what she means, and I shouldn’t be surprised. I seriously doubt Sophie’s ever had to disappear to cry, but she’s definitely hooked up a bunch of times at school. Hell, even I’ve done it, and she’s right—it was always in this bathroom. The teachers never come around here.
“If you’re here to go off at me for Livy then forget it.”
She snorts. “For Livy?” She shakes her head. “Livy can’t say anything about unrequited love. She was obsessed with Jessie for years.”
Unrequited love? I guess that’s what it is. Chase definitely doesn’t feel the same way back.
“I really don’t think that’s any of your—”
“Oh, cut the crap, Abigail. I was there Saturday ni
ght. I know what happened.”
I can feel my face burning with humiliation.
“Look, Livy really doesn’t need to send you—”
“I already told you—forget about Livy.”
“She’s not pissed?”
She shakes her head. “I actually think she’s worried about you.”
I scoff, shaking my head. Of course she is. Livy Chapman is too damn nice for her own good. No wonder Chase is crazy in love with her.
The last thing I want is her pity.
Sophie takes a step closer, looking closely at my face. I scowl and turn away as the bathroom door bursts open and a group of freshman girls appear in the doorway. They stop dead at the sight of us and hastily retreat back out the door.
Sophie doesn’t manage to keep silent for long. “Seriously…Aaron?”
“I was just messing around.”
She cocks her head. “And Brendon?”
I can’t even pretend I was kidding with him. I definitely tried to lay it on him. “Yeah, I was drunk.”
“Yeah, drunk, not stupid. Like were you trying to catch something?”
I glare at her. “You know, Sophie, I’m having a pretty shitty couple of days. I really don’t need you to be a total bitch to me right now.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, well, the whole school could have done without you being a total bitch to us for the last three years.”
“Thanks,” I snap.
“You’re welcome,” she throws straight back.
I pause. “Look, I know it was dumb, okay? I just…”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course they weren’t going to go for it. They’re Chase’s best friends.”
“Like he’d give a shit.” That’s the problem—even if they had gone for it, I don’t think he’d have cared, and that’s what hurts most of all. I was his girlfriend on and off for three years and he’s so in love with Livy he wouldn’t have cared about who I was getting with.
Sophie opens her mouth to say something but then snaps it shut again. She looks at me for a couple of seconds, and her face softens. “He doesn’t define you, Abigail. I know you were with him for a long time and loved him, but Chase Mitchell doesn’t define who you are.”
I feel my face heat again, but I give her my most withering stare. “Spare me the sympathy.”
She scowls back at me and I’m pretty sure she’s going to flounce out of here, but she doesn’t budge.
We don’t say anything, just glaring at each other until she lets out a long sigh and reaches into her bag, pulling out a thin tube of concealer. She holds it out to me. “Here. Fix up your face.”
I scowl, turning away, but one look in the mirror tells me she has a valid point. My face is red and blotchy from the crying, and I have streaks of mascara running down my cheeks. I reluctantly take the tube, and after splashing water on my face to clean it, I pat it dry with a paper towel then dab the concealer under my eyes and onto my cheeks before rubbing it in. Then I take the mascara she’s holding out in my direction, for some reason ignoring my own makeup I have in my bag, and put enough on to make me look less of a mess.
I hand it back to Sophie.
After a minute, I let out a long sigh. “I can’t believe she sent everyone that video.”
“Most people saw it on Saturday. Some dicks knew something was going down and had their phones out. They always do.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better.
“The point it that a version of that video had already been seen by a bunch of people, don’t give her credit for sending something new when it’s not.”
I feel ill. “People saw that before just now?”
She nods. “Maybe not the exact video but the same thing, and because you’re you, everyone already knew about Saturday night.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Some people might consider you the most popular girl in school.” She smirks at me. “People were bound to be talking about you.”
The most popular girl in school—it’s a crown I’ve always coveted, but I can’t raise a smile at her words. What does popularity matter when you can’t trust your own friends?
“Look, you and Sarah have always had some fucked-up rivalry between you. She’s jealous of you, and she can be plain nasty. You should have seen this coming.”
“Yes, well, I couldn’t exactly predict me falling apart like that on Saturday night!”
She opens her mouth to say something then clearly thinks better of it, which just makes me wonder if actually other people could have predicted it based on my behavior over the last few months.
“Did you see her caption?”
She nods, and I know she knows I’m failing out of high school.
I honestly don’t know how much more humiliation I can handle.
“I can’t believe she’d do that to me.”
Sophie scoffs. “Then you’re an idiot. Sarah would sell out her own grandmother on her birthday for a piece of gossip, especially if it’d mess you up too.”
I guess I’ve always known that deep down, but the fact that other people can see our friendship for the messed-up, one-upmanship, no-holds-barred, harsh reality that it really is is embarrassing and depressing. I think that’s another reason I was so reliant on Chase. I actually could trust him, unlike some of the other people in my life.
“I’m pretty sure she sent out a mass email telling everyone when I cheated on Mark last summer.”
“It was a text,” I tell her dryly.
Sophie snickers. “She’s a dick.”
I can’t argue with that. I look back at Sophie, expecting her to go, but she looks perfectly comfortable leaning against the wall with her gaze locked on me.
“You can go now,” I tell her.
“Are you going to go eat lunch?”
I snort. “No.”
“Why?”
“Honestly?” And just because I’m so damn exhausted and tired and fed up, I’m honest with her. “I really cannot deal with everyone looking at me and pitying me and laughing at me right now. I’d rather just not deal with it.”
She just looks at me, like she doesn’t recognize me.
“What?” I snap.
“Who the hell are you right now?”
“Sophie—”
“I’m being serious. Who the hell are you? You’re gaining weight?”
“Hey!” I snap. Surely it’s not that bad? “It’s just a couple of pounds.”
“You’ve completely given up on your roots by the look of it.”
I scowl again.
“You might not graduate? You’re hitting on people I know you’re not even interested in, and you’re pining after someone who has moved on?”
“That’s not—”
“Because you’re not the Abigail Baker who’s been giving me shit for the last few years, that’s for sure.”
“Giving you shit? Do you want sympathy for that? Because we both know you can give as good you get.”
“I never said I couldn’t.”
I let out a long sigh. “I haven’t put on that much weight.”
She rolls her eyes. “You actually look better for it—you were too skinny before—but the Abigail I know wouldn’t be seen dead going up a dress size or letting her roots show.”
“I like junk food,” I mutter.
Sophie snorts. “Who doesn’t?”
“And I’m not a natural blonde.”
“No shit!”
I glare at her before turning to the mirror and seeing she’s right. My roots desperately need to be dealt with. My natural hair is a light brown, and I always dyed it a light blonde because it’s the same color as Livy’s. I always knew Chase liked her, and I figured he’d like me more with blonder hair. That’s how pathetic I was—am.
My eyes go to Sophie in the mirror. She’s still watching me.
I whirl on her. “Wh
at are you even doing here?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Seriously, Sophie, because we both know you can’t stand me. What do you want?”
“What do I want?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to remember that you’re Abigail Baker.”
I let out a long sigh. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means you don’t take any shit from anybody, you walk around thinking you’re it and actually back it up because half the kids in this school are in love with you, and you certainly don’t let your supposed best friend sit at your lunch table making jokes at your expense and acting like she’s just inherited your role as queen bee around here.”
“I can’t…” I trail off as she holds up a piece of paper. “What’s that?”
“Dan Summers’ phone number.”
Dan Summers.
The star of the soccer team at Liberty, our rival school. Seriously good-looking, seriously arrogant, and someone Sarah has been seriously crushing on for years.
The reason she wanted the Liberty guys to “swing by on Saturday.”
It’s a known fact between us cheerleaders. She drools over him every time we play against them.
Something Sophie is definitely aware of too.
A smirk covers Sophie’s face. “You know he’s asked you out a bunch of times.”
He has. Almost every time we’ve played their school and I’ve cheered at the games, he’s found a way to come over and ask me out—the guy has no shame. But I was never interested because I’ve never seen past Chase, and even when we were off, I didn’t want to upset Sarah. I had some loyalty toward her; clearly she didn’t return the favor.
I look at Sophie, and it’s not hard to figure out what she’s thinking. “Of course you’d have his number.”
She shrugs. “I haven’t used it since I was a sophomore.”
“I don’t need your sloppy seconds.”
She rolls her eyes. “First of all, I resent that. Second of all, who cares?”
I think back to the way Sarah was talking about me in the hall and the look on her face when she sent that video out. The way I didn’t hear from her all weekend. The way she’s kicked me when I’ve been down. The way she’s made it perfectly clear that she’s happy about my downfall.
