by Donna Cooner
I shake my head, wrapping my hands around the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.
He steps into the door opening and leans in. I look up at him.
“It was a brave thing to do,” he says.
“Because the screenshot was so awful?” I ask.
“No, because you took your life back. I know that was hard.”
“Sometimes brave things really hurt.” I start the car.
“That picture doesn’t change who you are.” He puts his hand on the door to keep me from closing it. His eyes search my face. “Beautiful inside and out,” he adds quietly.
I let the words linger between us. It’s funny to think that any other day, hearing someone—maybe especially Ryan—call me beautiful might make my heart skip a beat. But today, I’m not sure what to feel anymore.
Still, I can tell he’s being truthful. His expression is so earnest. But I can’t say anything more.
“Thanks,” I tell him, and close the car door.
* * *
The house is empty when I get home. Mom is at work and Megan is at school. Normally, I would get on the computer or my phone. But today is not normal. My world has collapsed.
So I sit on the couch with nothing in my hands, restless for other people’s windows to look into—a distraction, a salvation. My brain is working frantically, but I can’t see an escape from what I’ve done. I bury my head in my hands, letting Cassidy nuzzle at my fingers with her soft nose.
When I hear the garage door open, I almost jump out of my skin.
Mom is surprised to find me home and sitting on the couch.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. It’s then that I know for sure she hasn’t seen the screenshot yet. That’s the benefit of having a mom who isn’t on social media a lot.
“I didn’t feel well. I left school early,” I reply.
“What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” She comes over to sit beside me on the couch, putting the back of her hand on my head just like she’s done since I was a child. Something about that simple gesture makes me feel better.
“I’m just feeling a little nauseated,” I say, and it’s kind of the truth. My stomach has felt like a bottomless pit ever since I posted the screenshot.
“You should have called me,” Mom says. “I only came home because I forgot my lunch.”
I lean against her shoulder and she pushes the hair back from my face.
“I don’t have to rush back to work yet,” she tells me, and I’m glad. There’s a moment of silence, and then Mom adds, “You know, your dad emailed me yesterday.”
I’m so surprised I jerk back from her for a minute. “He did?” I honestly can’t remember the last time we heard from Dad.
Mom nods, her face a little tight. “It sounds like he’s getting his life together more. He got a new job in Texas, finally. He wanted to know if it would be okay if he could call you and Megan up sometime to talk.”
I feel myself tighten. “What did you say?” I ask.
Mom hesitates for a minute, then says, “I told him he could.” She glances at me. “Is that all right?”
I nod, feeling my tightness start to turn to Jell-O. I’ve been angry at Dad for a while. We all were—me, Mom, and Megan. But I want to be able to forgive him. Forgiveness is important.
Mom puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. I sink into her side.
“How about some tomato soup? Does that sound good?” she whispers, and then she kisses the top of my head.
“In a minute,” I say. “Can we just sit here for now?”
She looks at me carefully. “Sure, sweetie.”
After a little while, she pulls away and raises her eyebrows at me. “You want to tell me about it?”
I realize I want that more than anything. I start talking.
After I told Mom the whole story, and she listened, and didn’t chide me for being careless or irresponsible, and told me she’d be there for me no matter what, I cried a little, and had some tomato soup. And I felt much better. Mom had to go back to work, but she said we’d talk more later.
School was done for the day by then. So I decided there was one thing I needed to do.
I drive to the familiar house, park my car, and get out. I walk around the side and down to the private entrance. This time, I knock on the door and wait for someone to answer.
Asha’s eyes widen when she sees me standing there. She steps across the space between us, gathering me into a quick hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs in my ear. My body is stiff and unresponsive, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “I tried to catch up with you after class, but you were gone. Did you go home? And you haven’t been answering any of my texts! You must be devastated.”
How can she be so fake?
Throwing the door open wider, she motions me inside. I sit in the poppy-red chair and she sits across from me on her matching couch. This room has been witness to so much of our lives, but now it feels cold and full of suspicion.
Asha’s phone rings from the table on the other side of the room.
“That must be Marcus Lopez,” she says. She flashes me a quick smile. “We’re kind of dating now, did I not tell you?”
I shake my head.
Asha waves a hand toward her ringing phone. “Just ignore it. This is way more important.”
My hands are clamped tightly together in my lap. I wish I could ignore the reality of what’s happened. I can’t believe I thought Asha was my best friend. Friends don’t threaten each other or embarrass each other or blackmail each other.
“Do you want any cookies?” Asha asks. “Mom and I made them yesterday. Chocolate chip? Definitely a cure for a broken heart.”
I shake my head again, confused by the random change in topic.
“Asha.” I get the conversation back on track. Nothing is going to distract me now that I’ve made up my mind to confront her. “Why did you want me to do all those things?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?” Asha is a good actress. She looks completely confused.
I try to be cool. Staycalmstaycalm.
“The manicure. The dress.” My voice breaks and I give a hollow-sounding laugh. “Breaking up with Luke. Are you happy now?”
She leans back against the couch, frowning. “Why would I be happy? I’ve always liked Luke. It’s true I could see how you two weren’t totally right for each other. But I didn’t want you guys to break up.”
She’s lying right to my face. I scoot to the edge of the chair and lean in across the space between us. My anger spills out in my voice, but I don’t care. It’s time for me to stand up for myself. I have to do this.
“Did you send me anonymous messages threatening to share the screenshot of me?” I pull my phone out of my pocket and pull up the ChitChat conversations. I hold the phone out for her to see, my hand shaking. “Look at these, Asha, and then tell me you didn’t do it.”
Asha takes the phone from my grasp. She reads silently, looks up at me, then back down to read more. A look of shock passes over her face as she scrolls through to the end.
“You thought I did this?” Her face looks ashen, like my accusing her was the worst thing I could have possibly done. “That’s why you’ve been so distant lately.”
“You were the one who took the video in the first place,” I say. “And how do I know you didn’t save it to your phone?”
“But I didn’t do this.” She sounds desperate. And hurt. “Skye, listen. I know I can sometimes be pushy … and insensitive. But I’d never do anything like this to you. Never.”
I want to believe her. Even if it means that then I won’t know who is behind the messages. My world is all mixed up in my head.
“Listen, Asha. Sometimes you take things too far and I don’t say anything.”
“So say something,” she says. “Speak up. Tell me. I can take it.”
I blink. Is she serious?
“I’d rather you tell me what’s bothering you than
shut me out.”
Have I been doing that?
“I feel like I’m always in your shadow. You expect me to do whatever you want.” Saying the words, I feel a huge relief. And anxiety. I’m saying things I’ve never said to Asha before. “Maybe what you want isn’t always what I want.”
“Skye,” Asha says, letting out a long breath. “We both know how headstrong I can be, but I never meant for you to feel that way. You are my best friend—and I hope you always will be. I did not send you these messages, but when I find out who did …”
She clenches her hand into a fist.
“No,” I say firmly. It’s time to start putting my newfound courage into practice. “This isn’t your battle, Asha. It’s mine.”
Asha nods, and she’s quiet for a long moment.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you either,” Asha finally says. “I couldn’t tell you before, but I need to tell someone.” She stops, tears filling her eyes.
#IAmAshaMirza crying? I’m shocked.
Asha bites her lip and looks down at her hands. Finally, she whispers, “My mom is sick. She has … Alzheimer’s. She’s been sick for a while. And she’s not going to get better.”
I slip over onto the sofa beside her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I have so many questions, but it is not the time to ask.
Now is the time to hug.
Asha’s tears turn into sobs and I just keep hugging. Honestly, I don’t know what else to do.
“I need you to be my friend,” Asha manages to get out when she’s finally able to speak again. “No matter what happens.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her.
We sit together for a while longer. Then my phone buzzes and I reach for it. Asha looks down at the screen, too. A new ChitChat message is waiting there right before our eyes.
TELLTALE♥: I WASN’T GOING TO EVER SHARE THE SCREENSHOT
I grab the phone and immediately write back, fueled by anger.
ME: OH REALLY? WHY WERE YOU TORTURING ME THEN?
In response, I get a photo: a picture of a Band-Aid stuck to a window. And nothing else. I don’t know what to make of it.
I look from Asha to the screen and back again. She is sitting right there in front of me. Her phone is across the room.
It hits me then.
It definitely isn’t Asha.
The next day at work, the checkout lines are long and the aisles are packed with customers. The store seems to be doing better than it has in ages.
I’m actually happy to be here and away from school for a week. The hectic pace of the store keeps me from dwelling on all the events of the past few days. By the time school starts back up, I’m hoping someone else will be the next big thing to talk about. For now, I try to keep from looking online at all. It’s the only thing that helps.
Ryan is pushing around the rolling cart with a big pole sticking out of the top. The blue flashing light on top of the rod is off for now, but a small parade of bargain-seekers with overloaded shopping carts still follow him all around the store to be first in line for the next amazing special.
Ryan gives me the go-ahead on the walkie-talkie and I make the announcement from the service desk.
“Attention, Kmart shoppers!” I say. “If you look toward our hosiery section, you’ll see the bubbling blue beacon of bargain …”
There is immediately a flurry of activity as the crowd pushes their shopping carts like bumper cars toward the flashing light.
For socks? Seriously?
“There are snacks in the break room,” Harmony says, stopping by on her way back to her checkout station. “Millie Johnson made snickerdoodles.”
I finish giving a refund for a defective can of spray cheese to a lady who is wearing the signs of splattered cheese all over the front of her purple T-shirt. I nod at Harmony and tell the cheese woman, “Thank you for shopping at Kmart.”
Harmony lingers. “Are we getting together tonight after work?” she asks.
I never would have thought it, but our little after-work group has become something I look forward to. For once, there is no expectation to be a certain way. I can just be myself—a different me.
“Yeah,” I say. “Ryan said to meet at the Starbucks in Old Town Square.”
She smiles, looking happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. “Cool.”
“Did you see the screenshot I posted?” I ask quietly, glancing around for any customers in earshot.
Harmony nods, then shrugs. “You looked hot.”
As she walks away to the checkout station, she winks at me. I can’t help but smile back.
* * *
We drink Starbucks iced lattes and stand listening to a salsa band playing on the stage in the square. The suddenly warm weather has brought everyone out in their flip-flops and shorts, ready to soak in every minute while it lasts. Two little kids are jumping in and out of the fountains, squealing and laughing as the water spurts randomly out of the ground. Over by Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream Shop, a little girl, wearing a very fancy ruffled dress and a big green bow on her head, is in complete meltdown mode. Her father tries to coax her back into a good mood with a spoonful of chocolate chip dangled above her screaming red face, but she is not having it. An elderly couple show off some serious mambo moves in front of the stage, while others simply move to the music—feet tapping and bodies swaying.
It’s the perfect spring night—full of possibilities and new beginnings. At the end of our shift, we received good news from Mr. King. Business has improved, so the store will remain open for at least six more months. Now everyone knows what’s coming and we have time to try to find new jobs. Harmony has already been successful. She starts working at the gym part time at the end of the month. We’re celebrating.
“Congratulations,” Ryan says, holding his plastic cup out to Harmony. She taps it with hers.
I touch my cup to the others. “You’re going to be great. I’m going to be first in line to sign up for your boxing class.”
Harmony grins. “You’d both better be there,” she says, nudging Ryan.
We all drink our lattes like they’re champagne and we are millionaires—not part-time Kmart employees. A little boy dancing in the fountain misjudges the timing of the water spout and is suddenly drenched in the gush of water. His astonishment results in peals of laughter from the watchers, but a dad quickly rushes in with a warm towel to wrap him up and dry him off. It makes me think of my mom, how good it felt to tell her everything yesterday.
“So what did you say to Asha, after you realized it wasn’t her?” Harmony asks me. I’ve just been filling her and Ryan in on what happened at Asha’s place.
“We talked about a lot of things. Stuff I’d been holding on to for a while. Stuff she’s been holding on to. She has a lot going on with her family right now that I didn’t know about. It felt good to clear the air.”
“And how are you feeling about Luke?” Ryan asks. He looks uncomfortable. “Now that the screenshot is out there, you can try to explain to him more about what happened. You could make it right.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t want to.” I feel like I can finally give voice to something that’s been on my mind since possibly the night of the winter prom. “Luke is a wonderful guy, but I was dating him for all the wrong reasons.”
“What do you mean?” Harmony asks.
I search for the right words. “I think I was in love with … the idea of being with someone as popular as Luke. But that’s not the same as being in love with him.”
Ryan raises an eyebrow.
“I’m okay,” I say firmly.
Harmony looks at me doubtfully.
“Seriously, I am. Besides, Luke deserves better,” I say.
“So do you,” Harmony says. Then she opens her eyes wide and tilts her head toward Ryan, not even trying to be subtle. I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I give her a dirty look, but she just grins back at me.
I walk ahead of the two of them to let
my face cool down. “I do hope Luke and I can be friends again someday,” I add over my shoulder. “That’s what we’re really good at.”
“So everything worked out,” Ryan says, catching up with me.
“I’m still disappointed about the internship.” I swallow hard, clutching my iced latte. “But I’m determined to volunteer at Senator Warren’s office this summer every chance I get and make a good impression.”
“With your likability?” Ryan asks, his mouth twitching into a smile.
I shake my head. “With just me—flaws and all.”
“But we still don’t know who was blackmailing you with the screenshot,” Harmony says. She sits down on a metal bench in front of the newly planted flower beds that will be in full bloom by the time the summer tourists arrive.
“Maybe I’ll never know,” I say, joining Harmony on the bench. I take a sip of my drink and try not to show my drop in spirits.
Ryan sits down on the other side of me and the three of us sit in companionable silence, drinking our lattes.
“Wait,” Ryan says, making me jump. “You said the last thing the blackmailer sent you was just a photo?”
I nod, bewildered by his sudden excitement.
“Can I see that picture?” he asks.
“Sure. I have no idea what it means.” I fumble in my pocket for my phone and click open to my ChitChat messages. The three of us look down at the close-up of the Band-Aid stuck to the window.
“That’s it?” Harmony asks.
I nod.
“Well …” She thinks out loud. “I guess Band-Aids are supposed to help things heal? At least it’s not some ominous message.”
I shrug. It doesn’t make any sense. “If this is supposed to be some kind of symbolic peace offering, I’m not taking it.”
Ryan hands me his cup to free up both his hands. He takes my phone and taps intently at the screen while Harmony and I watch.
“I thought so,” he says.
“What?” I’m confused.
He says, very softly, his voice tight, “There could be a geotag on this photo.”
My eyes meet Ryan’s. This is important, but I’m not sure why.
