Little White Lies

by Brianna Baker

  K: Of course. It’s Pulse TV. This is the big time.

  C: Right. Well. Good. I’m glad you understand.

  K: I understand perfectly.

  C: From now on, every new blog will take the format of the TV show until we launch the actual show in March. After that, the show and the blog will be fully integrated. We will start with an issue that I select—with the help of the Pulse people, naturally.

  K: Naturally.

  C: Then we’ll come up with a new Lie to fit the issue. I do my social commentary, inspired by the Lie of the Week. And finally, we bring on a kid who has a problem that’s related to the issue. And I give them sort of one-on-one counseling.

  K: Which you’re qualified to do, based on the advice columns you’ve written for your blog.

  C: Exactly.

  K: Well. That sounds perfectly … perfect.

  C: Yeah. I think it’s going to be great. The people at Pulse were really into the stuff I did on bullying back in October. They’ve got a big anti-bullying initiative. So they’re anxious for LWL to do a lot more with that subject.

  K: It sounds like you’re on the right track.

  C: Thanks, Karl. I’m glad you think so. I’m really happy that you want to be on board for this. This is going to be so amazing! My own TV show.

  K: Yep, your own TV show. Amazing.

  C: I know, right?

  K: Right. Anyway, I just wanted to wish you well and make sure everything is copacetic. Please let me know what I can do to help.

  C: Thank you, Karl. I will. Let’s talk soon, okay?

  K: Yes, soon!

  C: Okay, bye!

  K: Bye!

  Ahem. Not exactly a successful schmooze session. Coretta had failed to pick up on my very obvious sarcasm, but that wasn’t the most annoying part. She sounded dangerously out of touch with who she was. Like she was trying to convince herself that she had done the right thing.

  Maybe she really believed that. The old Coretta wouldn’t have, but what did I know about the old Coretta, really?

  It seemed to me that the best days of Little White Lies were already behind us. Still, I was contractually obliged to assist her via my conduit at AllYou™, one Alex Melrose. I was a professional. I was THE HELP. If Coretta White was happy to have her web platform hijacked by a creepy set of twins holding a giant sack of money, I was still going to be there for her. And if she and Pulse TV wanted more ammunition to wage their War on Bullying, then that was exactly what I’d give them.

  Exactly.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Coretta (January 8–10, 2014)

  I woke up from a bad dream. I couldn’t quite remember what it was or why it was bad. It was about … someone or something was coming to get me. I only remembered that I was running for what seemed like forever and didn’t think I could run anymore. I woke up just when I was about to find out.

  I had been having more nightmares as of late, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re hustlin’ each and e’ery day.

  That’s a joke. Ha. Ha.

  I was glad to be awake. I was glad to listen to the comforting, mundane, albeit odd sounds of my parents discussing whether they should finally redo the bathroom in the hall. Why is this a conversation one needs to have at 7 A.M.? We can’t know.

  I grabbed my phone to see what the world of social media had for me that morning. Another shooting in the news, Miley Cyrus did something else inappropriate, and then …

  I saw, and barf rose up my throat.

  tumblr.

  LITTLE WHITE LIES

  January 7, 2014

  The Beauty of Cyber-Bullying

  “Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

  —George Bernard Shaw

  Today, instead of a Little White Lie, I’m going to start with the Truth.

  A few months ago, I wrote my first-ever response to a reader seeking advice. The subject was bullying, and naturally my response came from an anti-bullying stance. Naturally. But I was so young then. Now that I am older, I am compelled to report that on the matter of bullying, I have decided to switch positions from Con to Pro.

  Just for the record, I remain adamantly pro-choice (but still a virgin, Mom and Dad! Don’t worry!), I still support legalization of marijuana (even though I’ve never tried it), and I continue to oppose the death penalty (haven’t committed any violent crimes yet; fingers crossed!).

  Some of you may be thinking, “Pro-Bullying?! WTF?” Please hear me out. And don’t worry, I’m not going to waste our time together arguing all the most salient points my pro-bullying sistren and brethren have already well established, e.g.:

  • Bullying serves an essential social function. It toughens kids up for the hard knocks they’ll suffer for the rest of their grueling lives.

  • Trying to rid the world of bullies is just another lame attempt at inclusion and equality along the lines of “everybody wins a trophy.”

  • Labeling bullies as “bullies” and victims of bullying as “victims” does more long-term psychological damage than the bullying itself.

  • The best way to deal with a bully is to punch him in the nose; i.e., Stop Snitching and Join the Fight.

  Now that we’ve made it through Pro-Bullying 101 (any converts yet?), I will proceed to the more subtle points of my reversal. Mine is not an ANTI-Anti-Bullying stance, but PRO-BULLYING. Specifically, I would like to concentrate on promoting dynamic new bullying possibilities thanks to a platform that I know a little something about: the Internet.

  Let’s no longer think in terms of Bullies and Victims; on the Internet, we are all potential bullies and victims. If you only take one thing away from this post, it’s this: if we all work together, We Can Change the World with CYBER-BULLYING.

  For starters, let’s get rid of the noun and stick with the verb. (Technically a gerund, but gerund is not a word you want to throw around in conversation.) Let’s stick with the all-purpose description of an action. Like “friending.” If “bully” can become a word like “friend,” CYBER-BULLYING can be the great new equalizer. CYBER-BULLYING takes the word away from the strong and puts it at the fingertips of the weak, the average, the powerless.

  Like “friending,” bullying used to require some form of real or perceived power. The classic playground bully uses his size and strength to intimidate and abuse. But plenty of other bullies wield more insidious sources of power: social status, socioeconomic advantage, sex appeal … much like “friends.”

  See what we did there? No more “labels.”

  Sure, CYBER-BULLYING may come easier and be more damaging if the aggressor has a large Twitter following. (Welcome to my Bully Pulpit!) But any one of my schoolmates can wreak plenty of emotional havoc with just 15 minutes and an anonymous email address. And just as power is no longer a prerequisite, weakness is no longer required of the bully’s intended Victim. Or Target, if you will. With CYBER-BULLYING, you can target the strong as well as the weak. In fact, TARGET™ just got cyber-bullied a few weeks ago!

  Don’t like a corporation? Get online!

  Don’t like an entertainer? Get online!

  Don’t like a blogger like me? Get online!

  Get online and start BULLYING.

  If EVERYONE would just begin Cyber-Bullying IMMEDIATELY, with RECKLESS ABANDON, then before we know it, our entire online presence—both individual and collective—will be awash in a sea of senseless negativity. Dare I say we have already become awash in a sea of senseless positivity with “friending” and “liking”? Oh, yes; I have already said it.

  As for those few voices—the lonely and truly sadistic cyber-bullies (lower-case), lurking in the shadows of their dark little rooms, eager to sling their sticks and stones—we will no longer give a damn about them. Only when WE ARE ALL CYBER-BULLIES will the slut-shaming blubberheads and self-righteous comments section hate patrol cease to exist.

  A final thought: I was pleased to see a recent item on Pulse T
V about their nonprofit NGO SKOOLS 4 ALL. Or #S4A, as you might know them on the Twitternets. They are launching an initiative to provide children in Africa between the ages of 12 and 18 with their own laptop computers. They are currently distributing brightly colored “portable schoolhouses” (a euphemism for backpacks) through an ambitious “nationwide pilot program” in the Central African Republic.

  According to the #S4A website, each backpack will include a rugged solar-powered laptop outfitted with a direct satellite Wi-Fi connection, promising that “Soon, every student in every village in Africa will be truly connected.”

  And seriously, folks, just imagine if every one of those millions of lucky African children could use that shiny new laptop for CYBER-BULLYING. We would all be that much closer to becoming a World United as One.

  While it is imperative to Think Globally, we also must Act Locally. Which is why I urge each and every one of my readers—yes, I’m talking to YOU!—to please START CYBER-BULLYING TODAY!

  What in the hell did “I” just write? Had Karl lost his mind? I’d just told him that he couldn’t write something without my approval, which would then require the Skool twins’ approval. And of all things, he writes something in favor of bullying? And promotes their nonprofit as a mechanism for the spread of bullying?!

  The ramifications of this post were beyond my capacity to imagine. The Skools … well, I couldn’t even go there right now. I thought of the kids who read my Tumblr. They looked up to me. They would be hurt by this. The teachers and administrators who endorsed me would feel betrayed. The parents, oh God, the parents! Why didn’t Karl think of the parents?!

  My hands were shaking as I read it. My eyes felt like they were coming out of my head. I wished my eyes were coming out of my head, because that might mean that I wasn’t actually awake to be experiencing the hell that was this blog post. I dialed his number, and took a deep breath.

  K: Hey there. I thought you might be calling …

  C: What in the hell do you think you are doing? You wrote a pro-bully post? Pro-bully? Who does that?! And then you call out SKOOLS 4 ALL, which is something that actually does good in the world—

  K: Coretta, calm down. I thought it was funny. I was using satire.

  C: It wasn’t approved, Karl! Take it down right now. Right now! No, I’ll take it down. You don’t do anything!

  K: Coretta—

  C: The Skool twins are going to kill me! And— OH MY GOD! I can’t even take the goddamn post down! The site has crashed because of all of the comments it’s getting! You shut down Tumblr! You … you …

  K: Wait, Coretta? Coretta, are you crying? Don’t cry, okay? Don’t cry—

  C: Shut up. I’m not crying. I have a cold. But Karl, the Internet lives forever, something I think you’re keenly aware of.

  K: It’s just a post.

  C: Just a post? G-g-go to hell. This is my life.

  K: Your life. Okay. Gotta go, Coretta—

  C: Gotta go? We need to fix this, Karl. Karl? Karl?!

  He hung up on me.

  Karl hung up on me.

  That just happened.

  My cheeks were on fire. If I were lighter-skinned, I think you’d see that I was blushing. My throat had a grapefruit in it. My stomach left my body. What was I going to do? How was I going to fix this?

  I stared at my computer and waited for the server to respond. As I watched the refresh wheel continually spin, I talked myself down. It was going to be all right. As soon as the server came up, I would simply take down the post, and it would be fine. Shit happens, right? Right. Maybe I could make up something. Like I was hacked. On the other hand, lying about being hacked didn’t turn out so well for Anthony Weiner aka Carlos Danger. Like me, he was another disgraced person my parents had once admired.

  My cell phone started ringing. It was one of the Skool twins. I don’t know which one, because when they gave me their numbers, I put them in as “Skool 1” and “Skool 2.” Truth be told, it didn’t matter. Both were equally terrifying in this situation. I did not pick up.

  My phone filled up with voicemails.

  Listening to the messages was not an option. I could not face them. What would the Skools say? What did they know? Why were they still calling? You left a voicemail; stop calling!

  I closed my eyes, my phone still buzzing, and pictured my life swirling down the toilet.

  There was only one thing to do. I told my mom I was too sick to go to school, then went back to bed and slept for nine hours. I woke up in a fog. Then I remembered my horrible morning. I had to call Rachel. Even with all of the resentment festering between us, the state of our friendship didn’t compare to the shit storm that I found myself in. I needed a safe place. I needed a safe person. I couldn’t go to my parents about this, not yet. It was too embarrassing. I declined another incoming call and dialed my friend.

  R: Umm … hello? (She sounded bored. She really did not want to be talking to me right now, if at all.)

  C: Rachel (sniff, sniff)… It’s Coretta.

  R: I know. Don’t worry, your number is still in my phone.

  C: I, I’m sorry, and I will get into all of that, but I need your help … I mean, I need your help again, like, right now—

  R: Whoa, slow down there, girl. You’re hyperventilating.

  C: Did you see the blog this morning? I have a TV show thing, and I know I should have told you, like, months ago … Anyway, these twins are calling me, and they are, like, Vikings, but from the future, and I don’t know what to do. This guy, the guy your connection set me up with, he helps me write. Umm, he is mad at me, and he messed it all up, and I, I, like, can’t think—

  R: Shh. I’m coming over to your house. You don’t sound like you should be riding public transit. Are your parents home?

  C: Yes. It’s a school night.

  R: Okay, just let me come to the front door, and I’ll tell them we’re working on a project. Stay in your room. And blow your nose. I can hear the snot dripping.

  C: Okay.

  It felt so comforting just to hear her voice. Like when you’re a little kid and you go to your first sleepover, and it’s all fun and games until it’s time to go to bed. At that point you realize that you want your bed, with your parents in the room down the hall—not sleeping on the floor next to all these other kids in someone else’s house. When your parents finally pick you up, you feel shame in leaving the party. But you don’t care. You’re going home.

  By the time Rachel showed up, I was laid out on the bed, rubbing my bleary eyes at the computer. The server hadn’t come back up. The post was just sitting there, staring at me, mocking me.

  She quietly closed the door. Then she sat on the edge of my mattress. Once she looked at my face, I think she deserted any plans to let me have it. I was already defeated. Knocking me down would feel like punching a kitten.

  Funny, the last time Rachel and I had a heart-to-heart was the last time I broke down over this blog, and here we were again. I wasn’t sure if Rachel knew anything about Karl. She’d only introduced me to AllYou™, after all. And the woman at AllYou™, Alex Melrose, made me sign several agreements promising never to reveal Karl’s identity or the nature of our relationship. So I figured I had to start from the beginning, for Rachel’s sake.

  It all came out in a rush, just as it had before.

  I told her that at first Karl was there just to help. As Rachel had promised. And he had been helpful. The original idea was that he would guide me, and maybe write a little post here and there. At least, that was my original idea. But then the tables turned a bit when my most popular post (Beyoncé) was his, which led to a shift in our dynamic. I thought Karl was jealous of the recognition that I was getting from his—well, to be fair, “our” work. Now he was out to get me, sabotage me, defame me. (I was going to say “crucify,” but that felt a bit much.)

  I told her that by the time I met with the Skool twins I was determined to take charge of the blog again. They instilled this sense of power in me, and
that I really thought everything was going to be okay. But when Karl found out about the Pulse TV deal, he responded with the pro-bullying post. He responded by getting pissed. At me. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I was hoping he would be more … I wasn’t sure. Grown-up. But what did I know about grown-ups? My parents were unfathomable sometimes, too …

  That’s where I ended.

  I looked at Rachel. She didn’t say anything. I wanted her to tell me what to do. I half-expected her to tell me to get on a plane and leave the country. Sadly, that wasn’t feasible for several reasons: I had no passport, I had no money (yet), and they’d probably stop me at the gate for being a traitor.

  All of a sudden, Rachel grabbed my hand. It felt good for the same reason it felt weird: we hadn’t spoken, much less hugged, in weeks.

  “You know what you have to do,” she whispered.

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “You have to come clean. You have to tell people before they find out. Trust me on this.”

  She was right. I knew she was right.

  Besides, I had no choice but to trust her. She was the only person who knew the whole truth.

  It took the two of us about a half hour of feverish back and forth to make the final decision.

  I would write a confession. I would then email it out to the people in my life that would be most hurt by my lies. It was a small but vital list.

  Moments later, I was sitting at my computer. Rachel stood over my shoulder, helping me craft the letter sentence by sentence.

  As painful as it was to put it all into words, it was cleansing. What’s the word? Cathartic. That sounds very hippie-dippie, but it was cathartic and cleansing, so shut up about it. I was fragile. My blog should’ve been called Big Fat Black Teenager Lies. Not that I was fat, but the lies were fat. Not that it would matter if I was fat. Never mind.

  I hit SEND. Rachel squeezed my shoulder. Then she left.