Josh was the first thing I thought of when I woke up the next morning. I lay in bed beaming to myself, remembering the feeling of his arms around me. Even the fact that it was only 6.37 and Larrie’s mobile was buzzing incessantly couldn’t spoil my good mood. Her phone had been going off at odd hours all week. I assumed it was her friends from school who’d heard the rumours, texting to say WTF? And possibly also, Beth? Seriously??
If Mum noticed any change in me on the drive to work, she didn’t show it. She reminded me tersely that she expected me to clean my room the minute I got home. I attempted some lighthearted jibes about the local yummy-mummy brigade who were out power walking en masse with their four-wheel drive prams, but by the time we pulled up outside Say Cheese, Mum hadn’t even cracked a smile. I figured she and Larrie must’ve had another fight while I was out last night.
I breezed through the morning, making happy chitchat as I rang up sales, rotating the stock in the fridge without being asked, and upselling Mr Dempster from Bland Land cheddar to a double Gloucester. What’s more, my good mood seemed to be infectious – every customer I served left smiling. I was thinking that this was the most fun I’d ever had at work when my phone buzzed in my pocket. If it was Josh, today was about to make it to my list of Top Ten Best Days Ever.
The message was from Maz.
Warning: pix on Facebook!
My heart plummeted to somewhere around my knees. Maz wouldn’t send me a message like that at work unless things were serious. I racked my brain for any situations I’d been in that would make for a compromising photograph, but unless someone had been spying on me and Josh outside the hall last night, I couldn’t think of any.
The clocks on the wall said it was 2.00 am in Paris, 1.00 am in London, 8.00 pm in New York and only midday in Kingston. Five hours till the shop closed and I could go home and see for myself. I considered asking Dylan if I could sneakily use the laptop out the back, but I valued my job – and his respect – too much to risk him seeing something I’d prefer to keep to myself. Besides, if Jay found out, he’d hit the roof. In desperation, I looked across the road to where Simon was stacking value-packs of toilet paper on the bargain rack by the pharmacy door.
“I have to get something from the chemist,” I said to Jay when I’d finished serving the last customer in the queue. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
“What’s up? You know you can help yourself to anything in our bathroom, if you need an aspirin or something.”
“Um, I don’t think a couple of guys have what I need in their bathroom.”
Mortified, Jay nodded for me to go. I raced across the road, ignoring the angry hoots from the cars coming in both directions. When I got to the pharmacy, Simon was tidying the Ear and Eye Care shelves.
“You have to help me.” I grabbed the feather-duster from his hand and dragged him to the counter. “I’ve got to get onto Facebook. Now.”
“Al, if you’re that desperate it might be a sign that you’re addicted.”
“Come on, Simon. I don’t have time to muck around. I know your cash register’s connected to the internet for the stock management system you developed. Please let me use it for two minutes.”
For a moment I thought maybe he’d say no to get back at me for being with Josh at the rehearsal. I gave him the pretty-please face I knew he couldn’t resist.
“Okay, but be as fast as you can. I’ll distract Dad.”
The instant he was out of eyeshot of the monitor that sat on top of the cash register, I opened Facebook and signed in, trying to prepare myself for what I may be about to see. I ignored the fourteen email messages in my inbox and scanned my home page for links to new photos. Halfway down the page I found one, posted on the Whitlam High group’s wall at 6.00 am. As soon as I saw it, I understood why Larrie’s phone was going crazy all morning.
Have you ever wished you could un-see something? Like when you walk into your parents’ bedroom to borrow a squirt of your mum’s Chanel No.5 before the Year Seven social and you’re confronted by the sight of your dad’s middle-aged bum wobbling to ‘You can leave your hat on’.
Or when you see a photo of your sister with her tongue down her best friend’s throat.
I stared at the screen, wondering whether they’d done it as a joke or for a dare – the only rational explanations. But neither Larrie nor Beth looked like they were having a laugh. They looked like they needed to get a room. Larrie was wearing her new “vintage” dress, so I figured it must’ve been taken at the end-of-school party. And from the way she and Beth were getting into it, this was no awkward first-kiss moment.
My heart and brain raced in tandem. Who would do something like this? And to Larrie? The photo was posted by someone called “Camille Smith”, but I didn’t recognise the name from school and her profile was only available to her friends.
It was no surprise that the photo had been remarked on. The list of comments below it read like Whitlam Year Twelve rollcall; they ranged from Mitch’s gang making unimaginative “lezzo” jibes, to a couple of hardcore religious types warning Larrie and Beth to “renounce sin and turn towards the light of heterosexuality”. The latest comment was from Camille herself: “Watch out, Whitlam, her little sister’s still on the loose.”
Simon blinked frantically at me over his dad’s shoulder, which I took as my cue to leave. I logged out and closed the browser window. Simon would see the photo soon enough; there was no need for me to hand it to him on a plate.
“Did you get what you needed?” Jay asked when I got back to the shop.
“Yes, thanks.” I clenched my hand into a fist as if I was holding something I didn’t want him to see. “I’ll just nip to the loo.”
“Take as long as you need,” he said. “I’m taking Doodoo to the groomer, but Dylan’s here.”
I closed the toilet seat and sat down to think. In the thirty seconds I’d spent studying that photo everything had changed. There was no way I could deny the rumours truth any more. And at school on Monday I’d be the one who had to face the fallout while Larrie was safely tucked up at home with her study notes.
I avoided Dylan for the rest of the afternoon. I wasn’t ready to talk about the photo and I wasn’t sure I could open my mouth without talking about it. As soon as the sign on the door was flipped to “Closed”, I gave the floor a cursory sweep and practically ran home.
I’d spent the last couple of hours mentally rehearsing my speech to Larrie. First, I’d demand that she tell me who’d taken the photo and stop it from spreading any further. Then I’d make her come clean to Mum and Dad. I imagined how furious they’d be with Larrie when they found out half of Kingston (or at least the kids of half of Kingston) had seen a compromising photo of their perfect elder daughter. If my own reputation wasn’t being wrecked by association, I might’ve even enjoyed it a little.
But when I got home there was no sign of Larrie. Her mobile went straight to voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me urgently, even though I knew she wouldn’t.
I hung up and dialled Maz’s number.
“So it’s true.”
“At least now you know for sure,” she said, as if the fact was somehow going to make me feel better. “Why don’t you sleep over at my house tonight? We’ll be done rehearsing by 9.00 and after the others leave we can plot revenge on Camille Smith, whoever she is.”
I wasn’t sure I was ready to face the guys, but, as Maz pointed out, the alternative was staying home with Mum and Dad and pretending nothing was wrong.
“At least coming to my place will stop you from sitting alone obsessing about the photo,” she said. “And don’t worry about Prad, I’ll make sure he keeps his stinky foot out of his mouth.”
Al Miller can’t believe her eyes.