SEVEN

All I’ve done before the morning bell is hunt for pain meds and Windex my bathroom mirror.

Dawn creeps across the sky as I hike outside of Blackbead and stand by the pedestrian gate. Open road stretches to my left and right, and it’s as if I’m alone in the world. I turn my phone over and over, dig the pads of my thumbs into any nooks and crannies on the red and silver case, any sensation to distract me from this ice-pick migraine.

I woke and almost didn’t remember last night. Had a few tranquil seconds before it all flooded back.

The music, the dancing, the motorcycle ride with Aaron through the cool Caribbean night. The night I became Bambi.

Then: Ora. The bull drawn in lipstick. Dante chastising me. I was so close to tearing down everything I’ve tried to build, and it would have been my own fault.

I switch on my phone screen, scan all the unanswered private messages from yesterday and this morning.

I quickly let everyone know I’m alive. They all checked on me. Even Josh, in his own way. And this morning, there was no pink slip under my door, so I’m not unemployed yet. Everything seems fine.

Which makes yesterday more confusing.

Someone came into my room and drew that bull. To send a message, I guess. To scare me. But why? Could the kids have teamed up to mess with me? Did the staff haze me? I even consider asking the group chat if anyone knows something. But I’ve had a target on my back before. The more that people know they’re upsetting you, the harder they push. If the asshole hears that I’m rattled, they might escalate. And the asshole could be nearly anyone in Blackbead.

I’ll keep this to myself. And until I figure out who did this, I’ll be on high alert. If someone knows I’m not Joy, what I do next will depend entirely on who found out and what I think they’ll do with the info. Watch and be watched. That’s the game now.

There are two more unread messages. From Mom.

Right. Forgot that picture hit their phones yesterday. I set a photo to send at 11:03 a.m., proof that I’m exploring open Nebraskan prairies. Scheduled messages come in clutch.

I’m not sure what my parents would do if they learned where I actually am, aka Not Nebraska. But I can guess how they’d feel. Mom would be livid realizing I’d disobeyed her, and Dad would be hurt that I’d lied to him. They’d both be confused how I wound up in Jamaica after all of Mom’s demanding that I stay away. But to understand, they’d have to know more. And I can’t tell them more without disappointing them. Despite the tension between us over the years, I do love my parents. Hurting them isn’t something that I’d ever purposely do unless I had no other choice.

So instead, they know what they need to.

They know I was depressed toward the end of the school year. They know I spent all day cooped up in my bedroom, thinking. And they know what I said a few weeks ago—that I was ready to get back out there, shake this low mood. A cross-country road trip with a friend would be good for me. Limited Wi-Fi and cell phone reception. Plenty of free time to sort myself out. Trails and natural wonders and fresh air. I’d come home a whole new person.

I showed them the free camping gear I grabbed off someone local to prep for the trip. I gave them my itinerary, which national parks my friend and I planned to visit, which campgrounds and motels we’d stay at.

But I was never going on a road trip. I had other plans.

Jamaica.

Joy’s job in Jamaica, I mean. I got the call, the opportunity fell in my lap, and I went for it. How often does a clean slate just come to you?

So instead of taking a rideshare to a friend’s house so we could pack into her van, I paid for a trip to the airport. Because there was no friend.

Hadn’t been one in a while.

Mom and Dad were doing their best with me, but I don’t think they know what it’s like to be lost. To drift. They wouldn’t understand why I had no choice but to go on this trip. Why I needed to lock into someplace else and start anew. They don’t realize the shit I’d put myself in back home.

Mom’s second text?

Guilt pulls at my chest, tightens it. Is everything okay? Well, that’s up for debate.

“Carina, good morning!”

I leap out of my skin. Turns out it’s just Wesley at the staff door, his loud and thunderous voice carrying through the morning air. Probably waiting to hear my requests for the breakfast spread. But I don’t know how to act normal yet. Not with my nerves this raw. So I croak out a reply—“Morning! I’ll be in soon.”—and then scroll through my phone like I’m searching for something important. I look busy.

And then I am busy. Careening down the rabbit hole. Flipping through my photo gallery packed with screenshots of tweets, DMs, and texts, vivid memories of how I’m remembered back home.

@LANARJONES

If you’re mutuals with me and Carina, you’re getting blocked.

@BREANNNNNNA07

messy bitches stay messy. Emoji: Eyes the truth always comes out.

@GLITTERBITCHNY

don’t bother blocking me. got tons of accounts. and if I see you, it’s on sight. swear to god. i will FUCK YOUR SHIT UP.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

Carina. I don’t get it. Why?

On and on. Picture after picture. Everything I wish I could erase. But I can’t.

It’s everything I know that I deserve.

Maybe I should have been strong enough to stomach a month of people attacking me, but I couldn’t. The barrage was relentless. I hardly slept, and when I did, I’d wake up to so many messages like these, each ripping me to pieces. Most from strangers, some from girls I grew up with, people I called my friends before everything. I made a mistake—a huge one—and I’ve been paying for it.

Dad used to worry that all of my partying and drinking with Joy was my biggest problem. That the alcohol might kill me if I wasn’t more careful. But those texts? The tweets? Nearly took me out.

After last night, should I leave Blackbead? Apparently, someone here thinks so. But there’s no going home. I’m not ready yet.

I need this to work. I will make this work.

I turn on my phone camera, angle the lens so it shows only my face and none of my surroundings. Press Record.

“Mom, consider this proof of life. I’m fine. And Scotts Bluff was very cool. Now don’t worry about me. Everything’s perfect.” I force a smile. “I’ll update you soon.”

The video slowly loads into our thread.

I make sure my next scheduled road trip update is ready to send in two days. A picture I found of steam rising from white rock terraces and pools of hot water. The Mammoth Hot Springs, apparently.

Hope my parents love seeing me in Yellowstone.