by Donna Cooner
Ryan’s mouth falls open and stays that way for a little too long.
I keep trying to explain, feeling myself flush. “It’s just more revealing than I’m comfortable with.”
I don’t know if he’s picturing it in his mind, or if he’s shocked I would let it happen. Then he gives me a sympathetic smile.
“I get it,” Ryan says through a mouthful of pizza. “You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
When he says it like that, I feel ridiculous and defensive. “Anyway, it’s not about the photo. It’s about the fact that someone is blackmailing me.”
But it is about the photo, too.
“Okay, so you caved.” Ryan nods toward my hands. “Your nails aren’t exactly the end of the world.”
“I know. I know. I thought it was just a stupid joke,” I say. “But now they want more.”
“Like what?” Ryan asks, brown eyes wide.
“I don’t know yet.” I push my phone across the table and let him read through the string of messages.
Ryan studies my screen, his brow furrowed. Then he hands the phone back across the table to me. I quickly click my phone to black, not wanting to look at it again.
Turning off the screen doesn’t turn off my brain. The words and images are still burning against my eyelids.
“I’m sorry about this,” Ryan says. “Have you told any teachers? The school counselor?”
I shake my head. “You’re the first person I’ve told,” I whisper.
“Really?” Ryan asks. “You mean you didn’t confide in your boyfriend? Or your friends?”
I stare down at the table. This is a mistake. I could kick myself for spilling my guts right about now. Ryan chews on his pizza crust, waiting for me to answer. Finally, I do.
“I’m not sure who …” My voice drops off into silence and I bite my bottom lip. Finally, I add, “To trust.”
Ryan nods slowly.
“The only thing I know is you didn’t send the messages.”
“How are you so sure?” Ryan asks.
“Because this last one was sent when you were sitting here.”
“You know you can schedule ChitChat messages to be sent at any time, right?” he asks.
“I thought of that. At first,” I say. “But you can’t have a real-time conversation.”
He considers this. “True.”
“So it can’t be you.”
“But it could be anyone else,” Ryan says, driving home the point that kept me from sleeping last night.
“What did I miss?” Harmony slides back into the booth beside Ryan. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and gives me her complete attention, her eyes narrowed in concentration. I’ve never noticed before how deep blue they are—almost navy.
Suddenly, I’m aware of how long she’s been gone. Had she already left the table when the message was sent earlier? I can’t remember.
“Have you been messaging me?” I ask her. I can’t keep it inside any longer. I hold up my phone with trembling hands and swipe the screen to show her the messages from TellTaleHeart. “Is this you?” I demand. “Just be honest.”
Ryan glances back and forth between us, like he’s horrified we’re going to get into a fight. And normally I’d be too scared of Harmony to start any sort of confrontation. The girl takes boxing classes at the gym. But I feel like I have nothing to lose right now.
Harmony looks at me steadily. “No,” she says. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
And just like that, I believe her.
All the fight goes out of me and I put my phone down.
“What’s going on?” Harmony asks. She dives into the pizza, moving the largest slice over to her plate. She promptly scoops it up, folds it in half, and takes a huge bite, leaving a long string of cheese to dangle between her mouth and the remaining pizza. “What?” she asks, looking back and forth between me and Ryan.
Ryan laughs, handing her a stack of napkins. “Can’t you eat like a normal person?”
“I’m hungry,” Harmony says, still chewing. She swallows, keeping the rest of the slice inches away from her mouth and ready for the next bite. But first she asks, “So what is happening with you, Skye?”
I open my mouth and tell Harmony about the video Asha took of me.
“Yeah, I saw it,” Harmony says. “So what?”
I’m shocked. Harmony watched the video when it went up? I know this should make me more suspicious of her, but it doesn’t. She’s clearly an honest person. And that’s a relief.
“Why didn’t you say something to me about it?” I ask.
She shrugs like it wasn’t a big deal. “Why would I?”
Then I tell her about the messages I’ve been getting. It’s easier to spill the whole story the second time around. Harmony narrows her eyes, focusing as though there is going to be a test later and she wants to remember every detail.
By the time I’m done, I’m actually feeling hungry again. I grab a slice of pizza off the tray and take a bite.
Harmony’s eyes swivel from me to Ryan. He chews on a bite of pizza, neither of them saying anything. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“Do you have any enemies?”
I can’t believe she’s asking. “Seriously?”
She shrugs. “It’s a question.”
“Of course I don’t.”
Do I?
“That’s what they always ask on Law and Order,” Harmony says. Ryan looks at her like she’s crazy. “I’m a big fan,” she explains.
“I don’t have any enemies,” I say, and I hope it’s true.
Harmony shrugs. “Then, sorry, but your friends have to be the prime suspects,” she says bluntly.
My insides drop. She just stated my worst fear.
“They know a lot about you,” Harmony continues. “Like, they know you have this interview.”
“Yeah,” I say, putting down my slice of pizza. “But anyone who follows me on social media knows a lot about me. It doesn’t have to be someone close to me.”
Ryan takes another slice of pizza for himself. “But I don’t understand what’s going on with the interview. You were going to dress up anyway, right?”
I manage a nod.
“Maybe they’re going to try and make you blow it,” he says thoughtfully. “But how?”
I shake my head. “It can’t be good.”
“You’ll be okay,” Ryan says. His dark eyes are so calm, I almost feel better. Even though the phone in my hand feels like a doomsday clock ticking down to some kind of explosion. “Keep us posted?” he adds.
“Yeah,” Harmony says. “We can try to help you solve this.”
I nod, feeling grateful. I hadn’t ever expected to confess everything to Harmony and Ryan, of all people. This realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
Who are my real friends? I don’t think I know anymore.
“Anyway.” Harmony points to the last slice of pizza. “Are you going to eat that piece?”
“Go for it,” I mumble.
To my surprise, though, Harmony doesn’t eat the slice. She asks the waitress for a box so she can take it to go. I figure she’ll save for it for a snack later.
When the bill comes, Ryan offers to split it with me, and I’m grateful. Harmony thanks us, but it sounds somewhat grudging.
I check my phone. No new ChitChat messages.
* * *
Outside, Harmony and I say good-bye to Ryan. He lifts his hand in kind of a salute, then heads off toward his Jeep. I stand there, watching him walk away, and feel my slightly improved mood leave with him.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?” I ask Harmony, and shoot her an overbright smile. She shakes her head.
“No, I’ll walk the rest of the way.” She turns and quickly heads toward the corner of Mountain and College. My car is parked in the same direction, but I have to practically run to keep up with her. We cross Mountain Avenue, Harmony in front, me trailing behind. Then she stops suddenly and I almost run int
o her back.
There is an older man bundled in a blanket on the bench. A pit bull mix is huddled at his feet, beside a sign that reads HOMELESS. ANYTHING HELPS. It is an all too common sight, but Harmony doesn’t walk past like everyone else does. Like I would have done. Instead she squats in front of the bench, patting the dog’s head and talking softly. If I weren’t standing so close, I wouldn’t have heard the words.
Harmony says, very softly, “Hey, Sweetie. Who’s a good dog?” She takes something out of her coat pocket and holds out a bone-shaped treat on the flat of her palm. The dog leans forward, mouth open, and takes the treat very gently and slowly out of her hand, then chews it with eyes almost closed in ecstasy.
The man stirs and struggles to sit up, gathering up the blankets around him. “How you doing, Harmony?” he asks.
I’m surprised he knows her name. He looks over at me and I manage a self-conscious smile.
Harmony puts her box of leftover pizza down on the bench and pats him on the shoulder.
“You warm enough, Bennie?” she asks.
He nods and smiles. “We’re good. Thanks for asking.”
Then she keeps walking. Like it didn’t even happen.
I follow behind her, and finally catch up.
“Is he going to stay out here tonight?” I ask her, gesturing back toward Bennie. “There’s a shelter just around the corner. Maybe we should tell him.”
“He knows.” She shrugs. “But they don’t take dogs. He won’t go without Sweetie.”
We stop beside my parked car. I don’t know what to say in response. I wish I did.
“See you at work tomorrow.” Harmony turns away and I watch her walk off toward the corner. I get into the car and am about to turn on the engine when I’m interrupted by the ping of a new ChitChat message.
The screen lights up and my world turns black.
TELLTALE♥: WEAR YOUR WINTER PROM DRESS TO THE INTERVIEW. THE PINK ONE.
The convenience store is empty except for the man and woman behind the counter. Harmony would have been surprised to discover anything different—and she is rarely surprised.
But there he is: the small, wrinkled pear of a man in blue overalls who always sits at the tiny metal table behind the counter, the Coloradoan spread out in front of him. Even though she doesn’t know his real name, Harmony thinks he looks like Matthew Cuthbert, the character in Anne of Green Gables who gives Anne a home. The woman, who doesn’t look anything like Harmony’s idea of Marilla, sits at her usual place on a stool behind the cash register, her permed brown hair a fuzzy halo around her fleshy, scowling face.
Harmony nods in her direction, but there is no response.
“You didn’t fill up the paper towels in the bathroom again,” the woman says to Matthew.
No matter how often she’s heard it, the venom in the woman’s voice always makes Harmony cringe. She thinks again how there are some things worse than being alone. Yesterday the old man forgot to sweep off the steps—the day before that it was something about the ice machine. Harmony yanks open the cooler door to a blast of foggy cold air and pulls the Diet Coke out of the front space, watching tomorrow’s drink slide down to take its place.
“How many times I got to tell you something.” The voice carries clearly over the rows of candy bars and toilet paper.
Harmony picks up a package of powdered sugar doughnuts and heads toward the counter, trying to ignore the growing rage that never seems far from the surface these days.
The scowling woman behind the counter doesn’t look up as she chants out the total: “Dollar thirty seven.” Harmony reaches for her wallet.
“I do everything around here.” The woman keeps talking in that same screeching tone, as though Harmony isn’t even standing there in front of her. But they both know the woman isn’t talking to Harmony, and the object of her anger, the little man behind the counter, simply turns to the sports page and keeps reading.
By now Harmony thought she might have an occasional conversation with the woman—maybe even just a word or two—about the weather or something in the news. But the woman never says more than that to her: “Dollar thirty seven.” Never once looks up at her.
Then Harmony thinks she might make the woman notice her—say something—by doing something so outrageous that she would have no other choice than to acknowledge Harmony’s presence. But then, just as quickly, Harmony thinks, What would be the point? She is invisible to the woman behind the counter, and to everybody else, it seems—except of course for the folks at the Kmart checkout counter who need toilet paper and toothpaste.
But then there’s Ryan. And Skye. It was kind of nice, having dinner with them tonight. Hearing Skye’s problems. It makes her suspect that Skye’s life is not nearly as perfect as it seems. People’s lives are complicated. She of all people knows this truth. When Harmony’s mom hurt her back in a car accident last year, Harmony’s whole life turned upside down. With no insurance and no way to make a paycheck as a waitress at Denny’s, her mom’s medical bills began to pile up quickly. Then the rent, utility, and food bills joined the growing pile and eventually swallowed them both up. Her mom got better, but they were so far behind it was impossible to catch up. They eventually gave up on crawling out of the mounting debt and just concentrated on the next day. And the day after that.
Harmony puts the money on the counter and leaves, untwisting the top of the Diet Coke and taking a long, caffeine-filled drink.
The glass door of the convenience store swings shut behind her on the woman’s parting comment to her ever-silent companion.
“You hear me? I’m talking to you.”
Outside, Harmony sits down at one of the pianos on the square. They’ve been painted by local artists and placed around town for the public to use. She picks out a melody, soft and haunting. Head down, she plays quietly at first, her fingers moving over the chords, stopping and starting again and again on one particular refrain. She waits for a moment, staring off toward the doors of the store, then starts playing again without pause. It’s only when she thinks of the old man in the store that the notes come without a struggle. She wants to share how he must feel, trapped in a world so far away from Green Gables.
After she finishes playing, she takes a picture of the store and posts it to ChitChat. Then she checks in.
HARMONY HEAVEN IS WITH MATTHEW CUTHBERT AT WESTERN CONVENIENCE STORE.
When she leaves the piano behind, Harmony walks through the square and farther down Linden. She dodges some abandoned shopping carts filled with sleeping bags and discarded clothing from the Fort Collins Rescue Mission across the street. As usual, the Mission will be her final stopping place tonight, and she will meet up with her mom in a small room full of bunk beds and strangers in similar situations, but not now. Not yet.
When I get home that night, all I can think of is the pink prom dress. I want to run straight to my room to look at it, but Mom is sitting at the table in the kitchen as I walk in.
“How are you?” she asks me, glancing up from her laptop. “Ready for your big interview tomorrow?”
If only she knew.
“Kind of,” I say. “I just need to figure out what to wear.” I feel a knot in my stomach as I say these words.
Mom rubs her eyes, then glances back down toward the computer.
“What are you working on?” I ask, hoping it will distract me from my problems.
“You’re going to laugh,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning down into a grimace.
I think about my day. “Probably not,” I say.
“Two weeks ago, Paula said I needed to get a life.”
Paula is my mom’s best friend and coworker. She’s my mom’s age, but she dresses a whole lot younger—lots of eyelash extensions and fringy boho dresses.
“So what did you say?” I ask, sitting down at the table beside Mom.
“Well.” Mom pauses and clears her throat. Her face reddens. She’s embarrassed, I realize. “You know how she always wants to f
ix me up on a blind date?”
I hesitate. My mom hasn’t dated anyone since she and my dad divorced three years ago. “And?” I finally ask.
“Paula dared me to make an online profile on that LoveBytes site and I did and then I posted it.” Mom says all this in a big run-on sentence. Then she takes a huge breath, staring at me with a terrified expression on her face.
“Oh,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. I never thought about my mom being on a dating site. Now that she is, I’m not sure how I feel about it.
I think about ChitChat. About the screenshot. Online, it’s like the world is a huge apartment building with rows and rows of windows. For a few minutes, the shades snap open to reveal a carefully selected reality. And, just like that, the image is gone again, leaving behind only speculation and interpretation.
You have to be vigilant if you want to see everything. But no one really sees what happens beyond those windows.
Now my mom is opening up her life to new viewers. Crafting exactly what she wants them to see.
Some of the confusion must show on my face, because I see an instant flash of doubt cross Mom’s.
“I’m going to delete it,” she says, looking back down at the laptop screen. “It was a silly idea.”
“No. It’s okay, Mom,” I say, mostly to make her feel better. “I think it’s great for you to meet new people.”
Her head comes back up. She runs her hands through her shoulder-length brown hair.
“Are you sure?” She leans in close and looks right at me, hazel eyes to hazel eyes. It’s her secret way of getting the truth out of me. She used it when I was five and lied about stealing a coloring book from Mrs. Pratchett’s kindergarten class. And she used it when I was thirteen and she asked if I was really okay with my dad moving two states away.
But I’m better now at hiding my feelings—even eye to eye. There’s a quivery sensation in my stomach, but my stare is steady.
“Yes, definitely,” I tell her. “You deserve to be happy.”
I’m just not sure the internet is the way to do it.
