Elizabeth pulled herself together before Amanda did, was like, “Oh, hey, Judy,” which was enough evidence because she’d never said hey to me before, and certainly not all fake-casual like that, so I was like, “Oh, hi,” and bolted from the bathroom as fast as I could, worrying, even at a time like that, that they would notice I hadn’t washed my hands. Without even checking the mirror to see if I had barf on my face or toilet paper stuck to my mouth. I went straight to my locker and checked in the mirror, and I looked fine, actually. A little pale around the eyes and flushed in the cheeks, but okay. I swished some mouthwash and swallowed it, put a piece of gum in my burning mouth.
I realized I hadn’t seen Ginger all day—maybe she was absent. I was thinking about this when I saw Meghan, standing in the hallway, looking around, confused. People were staring at her as they walked by on their way to lunch, but she’s used to it too, so I didn’t have to say anything like “Sorry I brought you to my school and then left you in the hallway for the sharks to devour.” Maybe they were just staring at her because they couldn’t believe there were two dwarfs in the world and thought she was me, like, since when did Judy have tan skin and curly dark hair? When I walked up, Meghan’s face lit up and I had the thought that she really loved me and it would be so nice if she could just live in Ann Arbor and we could go to school together and shut the rest of the world out. Or shut the world out and never go to school again, just hang out and read books.
“ Judy—you okay?”
“Sorry. I got kind of sick—something about the cat freaked me out all of a sudden, so I went to the bathroom.”
“You okay now?” she asked.
“I’m over the cat thing, if that’s what you mean.”
We made our way to the cafeteria, and when we got there and walked in, it was literally like we were in a movie, and I mean a really overstated, crazy one about high school dynamics, where everything that happens is so obvious that you want to hit the writer over the head with your lunch tray. Except the person writing the story about my life was doing a little high-school-humor joke about irony, since I was the protagonist and didn’t know what the hell was happening. Isn’t that what irony is, when everyone else knows something horrible that’s going on with you but you don’t know it? Like Oedipus killing his dad and about to fuck his mom and the whole audience like, “Oh my god,” and him like, “Life’s too good to be true”?
Because when we came into the cafeteria the entire room froze. Conversation died like someone had blown a fuse, and the smell of whatever nasty food they had prepared hung like a toxic curtain over the room. My stomach clamped and I had the panicked thought that I might throw up right then, in front of everyone. The entire room was watching me. But I didn’t throw up, and the freeze lasted only one single, mind- and soul-wrecking second, before people went back to talking and Meghan started to say, “Wow, I guess two dwarfs are—” but got cut off because Goth Sarah had seen us and come over from the table where she’d been sitting alone.
“Judy! What the fuck happened on Friday night? People are talking about it.”
I started coughing when she said this, and couldn’t stop. She whacked me on the back. When it finally looked like I wasn’t going to choke to death, I said, “What are they saying?” and made my way to the line, looking at the glass counter, all steamed up from the “pasta” they were serving, which looked more like a red Jell-O mold with some bow-tie-shaped noodles floating in it.
I pointed to it and a plastic box of salad, and the hair-netted woman on the other side clacked some blocks of food onto my tray. I thanked her, slid down the line, paid.
“Um, Sarah, this is Meghan. Meghan, Sarah.” They stopped for a moment and exchanged real smiles, before we all remembered we were in a horror movie.
“Judy, did you”—Sarah’s voice dropped to a scratchy whisper—“hook up with Chris? Or Alan? Did you—um, did you guys—are you okay?”
At this, Meghan looked from side to side to see if anyone had heard, but no one seemed to have, so she went back to staring at the neon pasta she was carrying.
We made our way back to a table in the corner, where Sarah’s bags were. As we walked, I felt a million insect eyes on my sides and face and back, prickling me like a heat rash. I felt jittery, like I might drop my tray. Which would have been fine, since I couldn’t imagine eating a bite of food ever again.
We sat down and looked at our food. The red pasta reminded me of the cat and my stomach lurched. Sarah didn’t say anything, just watched me.
“I hooked up with Kyle three times,” I said. “Those times he drove me home, and then one other time, okay? And I went to his house Friday night, obviously,” I said. I was angry, even though of course none of this was her fault, and it had nothing to do with her at all. She was the only person near enough to absorb some rage.
“Yes, I deduced that when I picked you up.”
So maybe she was mad at me, too. I put one bow-tie noodle on my spork.
“Judy?” Sarah said.
“What?!”
“Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on? Is it because of Molly?” I was baffled by this for a moment before it hit me. If I had hooked up with Chris, then I had betrayed her. I couldn’t help but feel, selfishly, that that was the least of my problems.
“No, it’s not about Molly. Or you. I promise. Ask Meghan. I mean, I haven’t been able to tell you what happened Friday night, right? Because I literally can’t remember.”
Meghan nodded at Sarah. “It’s true,” she said.
Sarah said, “Was it something kinky and freakish?”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“Because you were so secretive to begin with! I mean, I asked you if you and Kyle—you know, weeks ago before the Friday-night thing, and you told me he brushed your hand! I mean, brushed your hand? Did you lose it to him? I would have been thrilled for you—you could have told me.”
“I know. I didn’t mean—it was just, I don’t know, kind of private. I mean, nothing’s been happening, except we were kind of, I don’t know—dating, I guess.”
“You were ‘dating’? Is that like ‘brushing hands’? What does that even mean?”
“Okay, so we’d had sex.”
Sarah took this in. It seems funny now, but she had to take a moment to do the math—and I watched her be like, “Oh my god, she lost it to Kyle Malanack,” before she remembered that it wasn’t time for celebrating that fact anymore. I wished more than ever that I had told her when it had still seemed like potentially good news.
“But what about Friday night? What about the taping thing?” Goth Sarah asked. She ate a bite of iceberg lettuce with pink Thousand Island dressing on it. My mind reeled backwards and then forwards. Meghan was watching me. I could feel myself blinking very fast.
“What do you mean, ‘the taping thing’?” I asked.
“Oh, come on, Judy. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s fine, but don’t lie about it directly. Aren’t you the one with the whole ‘no direct lying’ policy?”
“Sarah.” I looked straight into her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh,” she said, the weight of whatever it was coming at her. “I thought—I mean, I assumed you—”
The bell rang and Molly came running up, half dropping her precalc book and a chaotic stack of tutoring notes. “Oh my god, Judy!” she asked. “What is going on? What happened?”
I had never heard her so lathered up. “I don’t know yet,” I said. I turned back to Sarah. “Assumed I what?” I asked Sarah, trying to keep my voice even.
Now it was Sarah’s turn to hedge. “I don’t know exactly,” she said, and I didn’t know whether that was true. “But I heard that you and Kyle taped yourselves—I mean—”
“Taped ourselves what?”
“I don’t know Judy, but I’ll find out, okay? I can’t skip right now—it’s my presentation in—”
“Sarah! Who—”
I guess Sarah figured ev
eryone already knew anyway, or if they didn’t, they were all going to find out. She said, “Kyle or Chr—one of his friends, I guess.” She glanced over at Molly, who was staring at us, one of her eyebrows raised in an angry arch.
“There’s some kind of video of you guys, Judy,” Sarah said. “A, you know, video. Do you want me to pick you up after block three? I’m so sorry—I have my presentation in AP history today so I have to—”
She started toward her locker, turned back, and said, super intensely, “Come find me in the parking lot after the bell. I’ll get you out of here, okay?”
Molly looked over at Meghan suddenly. “I’m Molly,” she said.
“Nice to finally meet you.”
Then Molly turned back to me, and I thought she was going to freak out about Chris or criticize me. But she said, “We will sue their fucking asses off,” she said. “If there’s a video, or whatever—my dad—we will tell my dad, and he will—”
“Wait,” I said, “let’s just, we don’t even—” I appreciated her loyalty and ability to look past the Chris debacle, whatever it was, but I didn’t like the sound of anyone telling anyone’s dad anything. I wanted to escape—just with Meghan. The bell was ringing.
“You should go to class, Moll,” I said. “We’ll talk about it tonight when—” I had a flash of Runaways, the opening, everyone gathered, holding hands for warm-up.
“They will not get away with this,” Molly said.
My hands had started to shake, and Meghan, either noticing this or just coincidentally, took my hand and started pulling me toward the door.
“We’ll see you tonight, okay?” I said to Molly, and then, feeling bad for so obviously wanting her to go, added, “We can talk about it then.” I wanted to be alone, and frankly, for a reason I couldn’t have articulated, being with Meghan was as comfortable as being alone. Molly walked away reluctantly, glancing back, and I thought how she should be glad to be able to walk away, how relieved I would have been to be her, to be able to leave this mess even for a few minutes. Meghan dragged me outside into the parking lot, and we started walking through it, picking up speed, toward the field.
The most sickening feeling I’ve ever had came over me. I still remember it, like a hot, filthy envelope smothering me and then sealing itself, holding in all the nausea of my Saturday hangover, the horrible spinning bathroom at Kyle’s house, the dead cat stretched out on the black table in AP bio, the smell of the girls’ bathroom, and something else, something defiled, decaying. I started to writhe in my skin.
“What kind of video do you—” I asked Meghan slowly. I tried to remember where Kyle and I had been in his house. His room? The basement? The living room? I felt like maybe if I could remember the setting, I might know what we had done, but a black curtain dropped in my mind.
“I don’t know,” Meghan said, cutting me off. “We’ll have to see it, okay? Whatever it is, we’ll see it and we’ll be okay. It can’t be as bad as you’re imagining.”
“I wonder where Ginger is,” I said absently. I had the feeling through that entire day that if I could just put everyone in his or her proper place, things would be okay. But there were all sorts of people missing. In fact, I hadn’t seen Chris or Alan either, although I knew they were there because Sarah had seen them. There was no way I was going to senior voice. Kyle hadn’t been in American lit. Where had he been?
Meghan and I got to the field behind the school and I cut class for the first time ever and sat there, stunned, trying to guess what was about to happen to me, based on guessing what had happened to me before. Neither was easy or pleasant to imagine. Time felt like a frappe, thick, icy, granular, grinding in a blender.
My mind was on a loop. What video? What kind of video? What had I done? A video of us talking? A video of me naked? How bad was it? I couldn’t imagine what that video looked like. Where was it? It took me so long to sort out even what those words meant that it wasn’t until Carrie Shultz walked by Meghan and me on the field, where we were waiting for Sarah to be done and drive us far away, and said, “How’re things?” in a voice like six octaves deeper than her normal one, that I realized I had to get a copy as soon as possible. I had to see what it was, to know what everyone had either heard about or seen. Had everyone seen it? Why was Carrie’s voice all weird like that? Because of Chris? What did she think, or worse, what did she know? I began to freak out.
“They’re okay, Carrie. How are you?”
She said nothing, walked off.
“Was that as bizarre and awkward as I think it was?” I asked Meghan.
“I dunno,” she said. “Is she like a super weirdo?”
“I don’t remember,” I said. I didn’t think so. “Do you think she’s seen the video? Do you think she knows about it? Do you think everyone has seen it except me? Oh my god—what if—” The hysteria was mounting in me like lava and I could imagine the horrible images breaking open the top of my head, erupting my brains and blood out. It would spill over the sides of me and harden into a black crust.
“We have to see it,” Meghan said.
“I know.”
“Call him.”
I took my cell phone out of my purse and popped a piece of gum out of the package before I dialed Kyle’s number. It rang and rang and his voice mail picked up. I hung up, chewed the gum. As soon as the bell rang, Meghan and I stood up and went straight out to the parking lot to wait for Sarah. She came right after the bell, unlocked the car, and we climbed in. She didn’t start the engine right away, though, we all just sat there for a minute. I felt safe for the first time that day, locked into Sarah’s car, with Sarah driving and Meghan in the backseat, all of us about to be far away from D’Arts.
I inhaled. “Oh my god,” I said. “What’s happening?” I slid down in the seat.
“I don’t know, Judy,” she said. “Let me take you home. We’re called at seven.”
“I’m not coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no way I’m coming tonight.”
“You’re going to drop out of Runaways? Drop out of D’Arts? Slow down. We haven’t even seen the video yet, and we don’t know who else has seen it, if anyone. Pretend nothing happened, go tonight, perform anyway—I mean, all our parents, teachers, everyone—”
“Um, Judy, I think you should do the show too,” Meghan said from the backseat. “Don’t let this ruin everything. If you don’t go tonight, everyone will know that something’s going on. It will just make things worse, and besides, maybe focusing on the play will make you feel better.”
“How did you find out about the video?” I asked Goth Sarah.
“Tim Malone said something as you walked into American lit,” she said.
“Tim Malone?” I asked.
She nodded.
“How the hell did Tim Malone know? What was he saying?” I heard myself ask.
“I don’t know, Judy, I guess he’s friends with those guys.”
“Don’t spare me. I want to hear what they were saying.”
I could feel Sarah make eye contact with Meghan in the rearview mirror.
“That it was the latest celebrity sex tape,” Sarah said quietly.
I tried to take this in. “Tim Malone said that? He called it a sex tape?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” I listened to the sound of my own breathing for a minute.
“How did you know it was me?” I asked.
“I just do.”
“How?”
“It was clear.”
“They used my name.”
“More or less.”
“Don’t take me home,” I said.
“Where do you want me to take you?”
“Take me to the Grill.”
She turned so abruptly that the tires squealed, drove to South U. and slammed the brakes on in front of the Grill.
“You going to be okay?” she asked.
“I want to see if my parents know.”
“What if they do?”
“I’ll kill myself.”
“Don’t be crazy. We’ll work this out. You’ll be fine. This kind of shit happens all the time. We have to get in touch with Kyle.” I punched his number into my phone, got his voice mail. This time I asked his mailbox please to call me.
Then Sarah said, “What a complete asshole.”
“I’m not sure,” I said. It was as if my brain couldn’t send a realistic message to my mouth fast enough. “I think he has another side.” I heard how pathetic this sounded, but hoped, unbearably, that he’d be able, in some way, to explain.
“A side other than the one that made a video of you? And apparently invited Alan and Chris over to get in on the action?”
“That’s not how it was. I mean, it was my idea to—I mean, I called you and Molly, or Ginger, but—” I couldn’t remember if that was right. Had I called anyone? I remembered he had said I should call my friends. Had I? Why hadn’t I?
“He’s had a very hard life,” I said, hating myself as the words escaped.
“Kyle Malanack has had a very hard life?” Goth Sarah said, incredulous. “His sister died.”
“His sister died? What are you talking about? His sister died? And this is the first anyone’s ever heard of it? And what does that have to do with taping you having sex?”
“Maybe he just needs to preserve, I mean, to keep track of—we don’t even know yet if he did anything, right? I mean, maybe it wasn’t—” I stopped myself. Overwhelmed, I opened the car door, climbed out into the street, and walked toward Judy’s Grill with Meghan. I didn’t wave to Sarah. The bells on the door rang as we came in and my mom, behind the counter, looked up. She was surprised to see me.
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